“We’re gonna need a lot of ammo,” Barcomb said, throwing the AR-15 over his shoulder. “If this guy Torrento won’t let us into his little fortress, we’re gonna have to take it.”
“Man, I know this motherfucker,” Dutroux said, “he’s gonna let us-”
“No offense, Dutroux,” Barcomb said, “but any friend of yours ain’t exactly a friend of mine. If he’s half as much of a fuckin’ degenerate piece of shit as you are, I’m gonna want to go in there armed to the fucking teeth.”
“What we gonna do about this bitch?” Dutroux said, pointing at Munday curled up in pain on the floor.
Haws rushed over and grabbed Dutroux by the throat and lifted him into the air. Dutroux gasped and kicked and turned red. “Bitch?” Haws said. “Who you calling a bitch, bitch? You talk to your mother that way, little man?”
Haws dropped Dutroux on his ass.
“My mother was a whore,” Dutroux said, under his breath.
“You good, Munday?” Barcomb asked.
She looked up with tear-streaked eyes.
“I do not give a single, solitary fuck how you feel, to be honest,” Barcomb said. “I am not your fuckin’ friend and I am not your fuckin’ babysitter. To survive this, you gotta take care of your own fuckin’ self. If you fall behind, that’s where you stay. And there’ll be no-one around to bury your sorry ass.”
Haws tossed her a shotgun.
“Get your shit together, Munday,” Barcomb said.
Haws pulled out a map of Elizabeth and a red marker. “You,” Haws said to Dutroux. “Hey, fat Shaft. Come here. Where the fuck is Torrento’s place?”
“No fuckin’ way, man. I ain’t telling you shit.”
Haws held out the pen and frowned.
“Look, I’ll take you there.”
“If you die along the way, we’re left with our dicks hanging in the wind,” Haws said. “So, how about this? Either you take this pen and draw a big fuckin’ X on the map where this bastard lives, or I take this pen, stab you in the fuckin’ eye, and draw an X on the map myself with your blood while you think about what a fuckin’ dumbass you are.”
Dutroux took the pen.
“We’re gonna need wheels,” Barcomb said.
“We’re gonna serious wheels to get out of this shit storm,” Munday said.
Barcomb said, “Buddy around here somewhere?”
“Who’s Buddy?” Munday said.
“Buddy can lend a hand,” Haws said with a smile.
*
The townhouse backed onto a large warehouse and yard for Hambone Trucking. All the trucks were long gone and all that lay around the yard was scrap, old tires and truck parts. And something under a giant green sheet.
“I can’t believe you got Buddy going again,” Barcomb said.
Haws nodded and petted what was under the sheet. “Took some doing, and half my wage down at the dockyard, but I got this bad boy going good as new. He’s ready for anything.”
Haws pulled the sheet away to reveal Buddy, an enormous military Humvee painted entirely black. It gleamed in the moonlight. Far off human screams and zombie shrieks echoed around the yard.
This’ll do the job, Barcomb thought, smiling to himself.
“Wish I’d got around to putting that turret on,” Haws said.
Dutroux shared a look of disbelief with Munday.
“But we can always bust out the mini-gun, I suppose,” Haws said.
“We need to hit somewhere for supplies,” Barcomb said. “I’m sure everyone else has had the same idea, so we better move fast.”
“What about the Twin City supermarket?” Munday said. “It’s away from the stadium, a little on the outskirts. Nice part of town. Should be quiet. Probably has a few other things we could use.”
“That’ll do,” Barcomb said.
Haws fired up the Humvee and they all felt the roar as it kicked in. It rattled them to their very bones. Barcomb was stood on the back with a mini-gun resting on a tripod, the ammo piled up on the floor beside his feet and his AR-15 on his back. Munday and Dutroux were sat inside, Dutroux with an MK-12 sniper rifle dangling out of the window and Munday with a two-tone EAA Witness Elite Match, the kind of pistol which can take a head clean apart and with which it’s pretty hard to miss at close range.
Haws had a Desert Eagle on his belt and his sledgehammer rested on the front passenger seat. Dutroux and Munday were made to sit in the back.
Haws gunned it out of the yard and towards the outskirts.
West 73rd was bedlam.
Carson Avenue was a war zone.
Samasko Street was Hell on Earth.
Haws couldn’t stop smiling.
Buddy ran like a dream and barely registered a bump when Haws pounded through acres of zombies. Some were freshly dead, soaked in blood with insides hanging from their torsos like garish fashion accessories; some had been dead some time, their skin discolored, their bodies bloated or emptied after autopsies and their movements slow and clumsy due to being half or completely blind after their eyeballs had rotted out of their head. The freshly dead, they were fast, agile, angry. They locked onto the sound of the Humvee and sprinted towards it in a frenzy. They threw themselves at it in a fury and almost all were destroyed under the wheels, their brains crushed beyond recognition. The older dead, they stumbled through the streets in a daze, confused, sad, their rotting carcasses barely holding them upright. Some crawled, dragging their rancid, lifeless legs around.
Haws smashed through them all, as happy as he’d been in years.
“Don’t get me wrong now,” Haws shouted back in response to the disapproving look from Munday. “This is a terrible tragedy. A horrible waste of human life. I feel bad for the people who died. But these things I’m hitting right now?”
A fat old lady hit the front of the Humvee and exploded in a shower of blood and stomach fluids.
“These things,” Haws continued, “they ain’t the same people any more, you know? Shit. They’re just like cattle now. Ain’t no sin in killing cattle. Whatever made these people human, it’s all gone. Now they’re just zombies.”
“What if they’re not zombies?” Munday said.
Dutroux and Haws both looked at her with their very best “What the fuck are you talking about?” expressions. Munday turned red.
“OK,” she said, looking out of the window. “They’re zombies.”
Dutroux leaned forward excitedly, pointing out the window at a lone zombie isolated from the crowd with a huge gold chain around its neck. “Holy fuckin’ shit, Haws!” he said. “You get that motherfucker I’m gonna buy you a fuckin’ gold watch. That shit’s the mayor!”
Haws scowled at Dutroux. “Sit your fat ass back down now. Don’t you be comin’ up here in the front, you son of a bitch. Tell me what to do one more time and you’re fuckin’ walkin’.”
Dutroux sat down and sulked.
Haws couldn’t help but smile a little as he made a small adjustment in his steering as Buddy barreled down the road at 70 miles per hour.
Bam!
The mayor was cracked in half by Buddy’s front grill, his legs going under the Humvee and his upper half going over it, wailing. Dutroux nearly wet himself laughing.
Munday sighed.
*
Barcomb ducked as the top half of the mayor flew past his head. He frowned and shook his head. He was itching to use the mini-gun, but there wasn’t much in the way of targets. Haws was doing too good a job of crushing them all under Buddy’s wheels.
Elizabeth was in utter chaos. People fought in shop fronts, looters and zombies getting blown away by shop keepers and Elizabeth P.D. Elizabeth was a shit hole, Barcomb had no doubt, but it had never been through a major crisis. He wasn’t sure she would survive this. With the destruction on this scale, he wasn’t sure anyone could.
Barcomb suddenly found himself wondering about the future. It wasn't something he was prone to giving much thought to. Barcomb was always a head-down kinda guy. Whatever went wrong, that's
just the way it was. If things were going great, well, that was OK too. Despite his penchant for violence and quick temper, he was an understated guy. He wasn't one for drama. He wasn't easily troubled by things. Things had happened in his life that would send most people upstate to the men in white coats, but Barcomb took everything in his stride. His muscular physique gave off the impression of a solid core, an almost unmovable force, and his personality was much the same.
One thing, however, really had moved Barcomb. And however much he tried to shake it, the moment kept coming back to haunt him.
Ash.
His dead partner's widow.
Barcomb had picked her up in his own car on his day off and taken her down to the station. The lieutenant had called on him first to tell him what had been delivered in the mail. The lieutenant showed up at Barcomb's door with a face like Barcomb had never seen. Officers had died in the line of duty before, but this was something else. Barcomb knew straight away that Jimmy was dead. Barcomb took a minute. When the lieutenant told him what had happened, Barcomb took a knee. His strength left him all at once. His partner was dead and his head was in a box in the station. Jimmy's head was evidence now, nothing more. Immediately, he thought of Ash. They had been married less than a year. They were still in the honeymoon period. Everything was great and her and Jimmy were the best thing that had happened to one another. Barcomb had always had a thing for Ash. She worked at a diner near to the station. That's where he saw her. That's where Jimmy saw her. Jimmy just made a move first. These things happen, Barcomb always thought.
Jimmy's head lay in a box in the morgue.
These things, Barcomb remembered thinking, they're not supposed to happen.
Barcomb took Ash up to the lieutenant's office. He had to tell her Jimmy was dead. She didn't take it well. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how he'd died. When she heard that, she headed for the nearest bridge and Barcomb had to talk her down.
When she had to formally identify Jimmy's head, Barcomb and her hit the bars afterwards and they didn't see daylight for a week.
I have to find her, Barcomb thought.
Barcomb turned to face forward, the wind making his face sting in the cold. A severed arm flew towards his head and he turned sideways just in time to let it fly by. He pulled up his radio.
"You trying to get me killed back hear, Haws?"
"Sorry, brother," the reply came. "Having too much fun is all."
"I need to ask a favor," Barcomb said.
"Detour?" Haws asked.
"Detour," Barcomb replied.
"Who is she?"
"Her name's Ash. She lives in Holbrook Heights."
"Holbrook Heights? That's right next to that massive cemetery, isn't it?"
"I know I'm asking a lot."
"Fuck that," Haws said. "Let's go to the fuckin' cemetery! It'll be a great fuckin' time!"
The radio clicked off and Barcomb heard an enthusiastic "Yee-hah!" from inside. Barcomb smiled.
As hard-assed, head-cracking psychopaths go, Barcomb thought, Haws is a good fuckin' dude.
The Humvee pulled a U-turn in the road and Barcomb nearly lost his mini-gun. Within moments, they were headed for Holbrook Heights.
If she's alive, Barcomb thought, she'll be needing help. If she's dead, I'll kill every son of a bitch in sight.
Chapter 5: Caged
Driving through the dimly lit neighborhoods of Elizabeth on the back of a Humvee with the sound of screams and explosions in the distance, Barcomb felt like he was at war. He wasn’t sure what it made him, but he liked it.
A zombie on a rooftop screamed as the Humvee passed its building. It threw its arms in the air and ran after them, right off the edge of the roof. It crashed through the sunroof of a parked sedan and exploded inside, tinting the windows very red.
Barcomb laughed.
They might be scary, he thought, but these things are dumber than a bag of bricks.
Inside the Humvee, Munday stared out the window at the passing destruction. Her eyes were glazed over. She was in shock. Her arm had stopped bleeding, but her clothes were soaked through in blood. Dutroux eyed up Munday’s pistol. He glanced in the rear view mirror and nearly shit in his pants when he saw Haws looking back at him through it.
“Everything alright back there, Munday?” Haws said.
Munday came out of her daze. “What?”
“Stay frosty, Munday,” Haws said. “Don’t you start sleeping on the fuckin’ job.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
Dutroux sat forward to talk to Haws. “Look, man,” he said. “Where’d you get all this gear from, yo?”
“I know people,” Haws said.
“You got better shit than me and I thought I knew everybody!”
“Maybe you’re just not a people person.”
Barcomb’s voice came on the radio. “Slow it down,” he said. “We’re coming up on a supermarket. This might be a chance to get some supplies along the way.”
Haws saw it down the street. It was a Frankenfood’s.
“Goddamn it, Barcomb,” he said. “I ain’t eating that Frankenfood’s dollar store shit. I don’t care if it is the end of the fuckin’ world.”
“Pull in to the parking lot. We’ll take a look around. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Haws hit the steering wheel hard.
“You don’t like Frankenfood’s?” Dutroux asked, confused.
“My mom used to shop here. I fuckin’ hate this place. It’s a fuckin’ bullshit, cheap-ass store full of cheap-ass shit.”
Haws pulled into the parking lot.
“Well, it’s not got any better, homes,” Dutroux said.
In front of the store, a police officer was pushing a shopping cart full of cans with one hand and firing his handgun wildly into a crowd full of looters with another. A stampede was underway to get out of there. People were pressed against walls until their ribs snapped in their chests and trampled until their skulls collapsed in their heads.
Haws stopped the Humvee and Barcomb leaped down from the back. Haws wound his window down to talk to Barcomb.
“What you think?” Haws said.
“Something in there is scaring them out,” Barcomb said. “Must be zombies.”
Gunshots sounded from inside the store. People ran screaming past the Humvee with arms full of cheap-ass food.
“We wait until it passes, guard the Humvee, and then we see what all the noise is about. Maybe we can get some good shit out of there, enough to last us until the army arrive.”
“You think they’re bringing the army to fuckin’ Elizabeth?” Dutroux shouted from the back. “To Elizabeth? Man, you fuckin’ high. Don’t nobody give no shit about Elizabeth. Every motherfucker in a uniform on this side of the country is either headed for DC or New York. That’s just the way that shit goes.”
“You might be right,” Barcomb said. “But we need food. We’re not surviving jack shit unless we help ourselves. Whatever comes after, we’ll deal with that when we come to it. For now, we gotta prepare.”
Haws looked at the crowd of hysterical looters. “Looks like everyone else had the same idea.”
The crowd started to thin.
Barcomb said, “Dutroux, come with me and Haws. Munday?”
Munday wasn’t paying attention.
“Munday!”
She snapped to and looked at him.
“Fuckin’ wake up. You watch Buddy. Anyone tries to get in or even looks like they want to start some shit, you blow their fuckin’ knees off. You got me, Munday?”
She nodded and climbed into the front seat as Haws got out. She chambered a bullet in her pistol.
Haws went around to the other side and grabbed his sledgehammer. “Let’s see what’s shakin’,” he said.
Barcomb, Haws and Dutroux walked towards the Frankenfood’s supermarket.
“Don’t I get a gun, guys?” Dutroux said.
Haws handed him a combat knife.
“Fuck am I supposed t
o do with this?”
“Make me a fuckin’ sandwich,” Haws said.
Barcomb laughed.
“Just stay out of our way,” Haws said. “And be a good boy and jump in front of me if one of those fuckin’ zombies comes flapping its arms at me out of nowhere, OK?”
Dutroux spat on the ground. “This is some bullshit.”
*
Inside Frankenfood’s, under the buzzing yellow lights, the floor was slick with dark blood. Staff and looters lay down with gaping wounds on their throats, their faces, their bodies, and with faraway looks in their eyes. One or two moved and groaned. Dutroux took his knife and pressed the point into the skull of a woman in a green apron. She began a “Please”, but the blade hit her brain before she could finish it.
“What the fuck is that?” Barcomb shouted. He punched Dutroux and he hit the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“That bitch was gonna turn, man!” Dutroux said.
“She was still breathing!”
“She was done, homes! She was all fucked up!”
Barcomb put a boot on Dutroux’s wrist so he let go of the knife and he pointed the barrel of his AR-15 at his head. “We don’t kill people,” Barcomb said. “Zombies is different.”
“Bitch was gonna be a zombie, just like your boy in Hell House!”
Haws kept an eye on the store. The lights were off in the rear. The entrance to the warehouse was pitch black. He had the sledgehammer in his hand and a tactical shotgun on his back.
“Then you fuckin’ let her turn,” Barcomb said. “Do what you like when they’ve turned, but you ain’t no fuckin’ doctor and you don’t know that help isn’t on the way. You leave them turn.”
“Fuck you know about dying?”
“I worked these fuckin’ streets for over ten years. You don’t get ten years in Elizabeth P.D. without taking a few lives. I took a bullet or two, as well. I’ve had that wait, lying around in some shitty alleyway with a fuckin’ hole in my lung, waiting to see if someone would come before I’d drown in my own blood. I know guys like you. You send teenagers out to do the dying and the killing for you.”
“Fuck you, man.”
“Get the fuck up,” Barcomb said. “Pick up your knife.”
Officer Barcomb vs. The Undead Page 4