Dutroux did as he was told.
“If you stab anything that isn’t dead, I’m gonna take that knife off you and shove it up your fuckin’ nose until it comes out the back of your fat fuckin’ head.”
“This ain’t the way to do it. You want to survive, homes?”
“Do you?” Barcomb squared up to him. “The law is still the law, and I’m still police. Kill if you gotta, but if you kill when you don’t gotta, I’m fuckin’ coming for you.”
Barcomb turned and saw Haws stuffed five packets of beef jerky in his pants. Haws stopped.
“What?” Haws said, laughing. “I’m stealing beef jerky. Not the same thing, bro.”
A banging noise sounded from the warehouse, metal on metal.
“We better check out the back before we load up,” Barcomb said.
When they hit the Health and Beauty section on the way to the warehouse, the lights had gone out. They slowed and took deliberate steps, listening for zombies or looters. Barcomb stepped over a small body and tried not to take it in. The kid had been trampled to death. His head had been split open like a smashed watermelon. The blood looked almost purple.
“Jesus,” Haws said.
The came to the warehouse entrance. Haws took the right, Barcomb took cover behind a forklift, and Dutroux hung back. The sound of metal banging continued. They heard a cry of frustration. Barcomb motioned with his hand for Haws to go in three, two, and they round the corner with their weapons drawn.
“Don’t shoot! Please!”
Barcomb and Haws stopped.
A skinny kid with a hipster beard and thick glasses was trapped in a small cage, the place where the generators were kept. He wore the Frankenfood’s uniform and held a large wrench in his hand which, at this moment, he was waving over his head in a panic.
“I’m not one of them!” he screeched. “I’m OK!”
Barcomb scoped out the room quickly before lowering his weapon. The loading bay door was open. He nodded to Haws and Haws went over and shut it with one pull.
“Dutroux!” Barcomb shouted. “Get your fat ass in here! Ain’t nobody here to hurt you, you pathetic sack of shit!”
Dutroux walked in, trying to look confident and failing.
“Listen, please,” the kid in the cage said. “Can you let me out?”
The cage was surrounded by the bodies of five or six other Frankenfood’s employees. Barcomb looked at it and immediately knew what was going on.
“Can you? I’ll die in here,” the kid said.
Barcomb checked the lock. It was padlocked from the inside.
“I don’t have a key,” the kid said.
“What’s your name?” Barcomb said.
“Duke.” He nodded furiously. “McBride. Duke McBride. That’s me. Can you let me out?”
“Duke,” Barcomb said, “why are all your co-workers piled up dead around you while you sit safely in a cage which has been locked from the inside?”
“Oh, shit,” Haws said sarcastically. “We got ourselves a real hero, here.”
“Look, I didn’t have time to think!” Duke said, bordering on tears. “I know these people. I like them.” He looked down at the corpses and pointed to a girl. “Well, OK, not all of them. But I liked that one.”
“Don’t think you’ll be getting that hand job you were after now,” Barcomb said.
Haws stopped. “Hey,” he said. “You think these things fuck each other?”
Barcomb turned and raised an eyebrow.
“For real,” he said. “I seen ‘em eat every motherfuckin’ thing that moves. I seen them claw each other to shreds. These things don’t give a fuck.”
“Why would they fuck?” Barcomb said.
“News said they eat because of instinct,” Haws said. “Well, people fuck because of instinct as well. It’s one of the major food groups as far as instinct goes. So why wouldn’t they fuck?”
Barcomb didn’t know what to say.
“I mean, shit would be nasty,” Haws said. “You’d have things fallin’ off, things gettin’ stuck, and all kinds of smells like you ain’t never dreamed of, but-”
“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Duke said.
“I’d fuck one, she was hot enough,” Dutroux said, nodding with a faraway look in his eyes.
“OK,” Barcomb said. “Shut up. Everyone, shut up.”
Barcomb shot the lock on the cage. Duke cowered and squeaked, not expecting it.
When Duke got to his feet, he moved sheepishly out of the cage, stepping over the bodies of the colleagues he had so bravely left outside to die.
Barcomb looked at Haws and said, “I think I should hit him.”
“I think you should too,” Haws said.
“No, wai-” Duke said, before Barcomb’s fist knocked him on his ass.
Barcomb turned back towards the entrance. He grabbed a nearby shopping cart and rolled it over to Haws. He grabbed another one for himself.
“Let’s get some shit and get the fuck out of here before more of those motherfuckers show up.”
Duke nursed his jaw on the floor.
Barcomb headed for the canned food aisle. Haws headed for the liquor.
“Haws, dude,” Barcomb said, “we need food.”
“I don’t give a fuck if it is the end of the world,” Haws said. “I’m gonna have myself a nice big crate of beers and watch it go down from this big fancy castle on the hill you guys are always talking about.”
Barcomb laughed, shook his head and made for the Spaghetti-Os.
He rounded the corner of the aisle and a box of Fruit Loops exploded next to his ear. Barcomb instinctively ducked and turned out of the way, placing his back against the end of the aisle and shouting.
“Elizabeth P.D.!” he shouted. “Put your weapon down, quickly and quietly!”
“Fuck you, pig!” came the response, with three more shots fired from two different positions.
At least two shooters, Barcomb thought. Could sure use some back up.
The shelving units were seven feet tall and heavy as shit with all those boxes and cans loaded onto them. Barcomb couldn’t believe it when he saw the one next to him swaying and then toppling over with a huge crashing sound and a couple of screams from underneath. Barcomb rounded it and saw Haws standing on top of the overturned shelves. He swung his sledgehammer down hard between the shelving with a sickening crack and screams like Barcomb had never heard.
Haws walked over and said, “Relax, bro. I’m playing by the rules. I only killed their legs.”
“Please, man!” came a cry from under the shelves. “I got kids!”
“Shoulda thought of that before you fucked with my friend, you cocksucker,” Haws said.
They loaded their carts - about an even split between beer, spirits and food - and headed for the exit. Dutroux tailed behind and Duke followed sheepishly.
Walking into the parking lot, it was like a small gladiator arena, full of dismembered limbs and dead people in various states of being eaten by rabid zombies. A few people put up a fight, but were quickly swamped and devoured by packs of the undead. There was no running from them either. Those who tried to run were quickly caught. Zombies run on instinct, Barcomb thought. So they don’t save energy. They go all out, full speed, all the time. There’s no running from the freshly dead. You have to fight.
And fight he did.
Barcomb’s AR-15 fired like a dream, almost purring in his hands after being fired. It tore through legs, disabling the zombies, and it shredded skulls like they were made out of papier-mâché. Haws started with the sledgehammer and popped head after head, some even flying clean off the shoulders. Dutroux and Duke hung back. Duke was in awe.
“Where the fuck did you meet these guys?” Duke said. “They’re like fuckin’ superheroes.”
“Shut the fuck up, kid,” Dutroux said. “Keep an eye out.”
Barcomb and Haws slaughtered their way through the bustling parking lot. Barcomb hopped on top of the hood of a sedan and climbe
d onto the roof. He took a knee to stabilize himself and kept on thinning the crowds. He had enough ammo to invade a small country, but he still took his time and lined up his shots. Barcomb didn’t know how long he’d have to make them last, so he fought smart.
He spotted the Humvee across the parking lot. Munday was hanging out of the driver’s side door and clearing the area around her. When Barcomb got her attention, he waved her over. She gave a thumbs up and got behind the wheel. The engine roared into life, enough to attract the attention of a dozen zombies right before she plowed through them and crushed them under Buddy’s enormous tires. She pulled up next to the entrance and Duke and Dutroux started loading the supplies while Barcomb and Haws kept the horde at bay.
Haws was on his twentieth kill and starting to sweat.
“We nearly done here, Barcomb?” he shouted. “These motherfuckers keep on comin’!”
Barcomb saw another couple dozen zombies running at full speed across the street, attracted by the noise of the gunfire and the Humvee. “OK!” Barcomb shouted. “Let’s fall back to the Humvee and get the fuck out of Dodge!”
Barcomb turned back to the Humvee, which was parked fifty yards back.
“Motherfucker!” he shouted.
Munday, Dutroux and Duke were surrounded by men with shotguns and rifles. They were shouting at Munday to put down her gun. She did as she was told. The one who seemed to be the leader wore a baseball hat and a police uniform. He had a large mustache and a big smile on his face while his men tied up Munday, Dutroux and Duke and threw them in the Humvee. He touched the Humvee with appreciation. The rest of his men were dressed like civilians.
Before Barcomb could say anything, Haws fired across the parking lot. The attackers ducked down and took cover, returning fire. The leader shouted and pointed to the Humvee. There were six men in all and three bundled onto the back of the vehicle while the others piled in. The leader got in the passenger seat and one of his men drove. The Humvee lurched ahead and smashed through a ring fence and onto the road.
“Sons of bitches!” Haws shouted. “They’re not getting away with that shit!”
“Quick!” Barcomb said. “Get in!”
Barcomb jumped inside the car he was stood on top of, a blue-gray Toyota Corolla, and pulled out the wiring. Within sixty seconds, the car rumbled to life. Barcomb hit the gas.
Who the fuck was that cop? Barcomb thought.
Chapter 6: In Pursuit
“You’re losing them! They went up Thirty Third!” Haws was anxious as Hell. He’d put a lot of time and a lot of love into that Humvee and he’d be damned if some fuckin’ punks took it from him now. Barcomb was gonna make sure that didn’t happen.
The Toyota was a weak-ass car for weak-ass drivers, Barcomb thought, and there was no way it could keep up with Buddy in a straight race. But this wasn’t a straight race. Debris, human and otherwise, littered the roads. Barcomb’s only hope was that something slowed them down.
“Who the fuck were those guys?” Haws shouted.
“I don’t know, but we’ll catch ‘em,” Barcomb said. “They’ll soon see they just fucked with the wrong people.”
“Take a right!” Haws shouted.
Barcomb yanked the wheel to the right and they sped down an alley between two strip joints. The car sent trash cans flying and a few living people jumped out of the way. The dead, too ravenous to think of such things, ended up doing somersaults over the hood of the car.
A zombified stripper hit the hood and her head pierced the windshield, getting stuck. She gargled and hissed and tried to bite her way through as Barcomb gunned it onto the next street. Haws punched it in the face, but it wouldn’t come out.
“Come on!” Haws shouted.
Haws lost patience and grabbed the zombie stripper by the head and started pushing down against the broken glass. Blood filled the car.
“Aw, man!” Barcomb shouted. “What the fuck!”
“It’s a shame man!” Haws shouted. “She’s got a great ass!”
Haws groaned and pushed so hard down on the zombie stripper’s head that the glass of the windshield went right through her neck and out the other side. Her body tumbled to the road and Haws was left holding her head in his hands. Her head still hissed and snapped at him. Haws held her up by the hair.
“She reminds me of my ex,” he said. “I might keep her.”
Barcomb laughed as he wound down his window. “You sentimental bastard,” he said. He grabbed the head and tossed it out. It bounced off the hood of another car and landed in the gutter.
“You’re no fun,” Haws said.
“There they are!” Barcomb said, pointing ahead to the Humvee.
Buddy was swerving in the road to avoid the hordes of zombies and the police officers engaged in a running battle with them. They were entering Elizabeth’s modest financial district. This miniature Wall Street had three banks. Two of them, from the looks of it, were in the middle being looted by crowds of people. The other was full of zombies which were snacking on those who tried to loot that place.
World’s gone to Hell, Barcomb thought, and the first thing these fuckers can think of is to go robbing banks. Maybe we deserve to die out.
Barcomb got the car within a block of the Humvee, but it was hard keeping up. Every zombie he hit massively slowed the car down, and he didn’t want stray arms and legs getting tangled up in the wheels.
“This car’s a piece of shit,” Barcomb said. “We’re never gonna get anywhere with this bullshit.”
Barcomb looked ahead.
“I got an idea,” he said. “Take the wheel. I’m gonna slow us down for a second. Soon as I get out, you floor it and keep on at them. Don’t fuckin’ lose them.”
“What the fuck are you up to?” Haws asked.
“Trust me, bro.”
Barcomb let up on the accelerator and Haws grabbed the wheel. Barcomb checked the bullets in his glock. Enough, he thought. He threw the AR-15 strap over his shoulder. The car slowed right down. The Humvee was getting farther away.
“See you in five!” Barcomb said, and he jumped from the car, tumbling in the road.
The car almost swerved out of control as Haws took the reins, but he muscled it back into a straight line and got into the driver’s seat. His foot hit the floor.
Barcomb grabbed his arm. That hurt like a motherfucker, he thought. Then he saw what he was after. There was a dead motorcyclist on the road with his helmet on. Barcomb ran over to him and looked around.
“Where the fuck’s the bike?” he said to himself.
A zombie came up behind him and Barcomb opened up his skull with a pistol-whipping.
“There!” he said, spotting a white superbike with red flames painted on the side, a Honda Fireblade. “That’ll do the trick.”
The keys were still in the ignition and the motor was still purring away. It had been a few years since Barcomb had ridden a motorcycle, but he felt right at home as soon as he pulled it up off the ground and got on. He could see Haws in the distance taking a right turn. Barcomb revved the bike and took off like a tornado, hitting a hundred miles per hour in a matter of seconds. The force of the bike going past knocked over a zombie as he raced to catch up with Haws and the Humvee. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he caught up with them, but he knew he needed to get to them. Too much was at stake now. That Humvee and that food and those people, he thought, they might be the difference between two more weeks of living and two more years.
The Fireblade moved like a dream, floating through the streets and responding to his slightest touch instantly, roaring to life when he needed it and gliding around the corners. He felt the wind in his face and the AR-15 rattled around on his back as he leaned into the corners. He couldn’t help grinning. He’d missed this.
He gained on Haws in the shitty Toyota in no time. He sped up beside Haws’s window, gave him a signal to keep going.
“Cover me!” Barcomb shouted, knowing it was probably lost under the sound of the Fi
reblade’s engine.
He hit the throttle and the bike raced ahead, picking up speed as it navigated through the carnage in the street.
Barcomb weaved between upturned cars and jack-knifed trucks and dodged zombies of all shapes and sizes that sprinted towards the oncoming sound of his engine. Haws took a few out behind him as he tried to keep up. Barcomb saw them being flipped into the air, spinning as they went and leaving an arching spray of blood in their wake, as they collided with the Toyota.
The Humvee was up ahead. Barcomb couldn’t see inside the tinted windows. The wind in his face was making things difficult. The Humvee hit a zombie and it exploded into six or seven parts on impact. Barcomb thought fast and swerved aside as the upper torso of the zombie flew towards him. He saw it bounce under the wheels of the Toyota which, by now, was losing considerable ground.
When Barcomb’s Fireblade was within a few yards of the Humvee, it suddenly swerved to cut Barcomb off. They’d spotted him. A rear window opened and a Latino kid of about twenty years old hung out and started popping at the bike with his pistol. The bullets hit the tarmac. The kid was a shitty shot.
Barcomb wasn’t.
He drew his glock and fired three rounds. One hit the kid in the neck and slumped over the window, dangling out with his necked opened up and pouring blood all over the road. Barcomb holstered the glock and quickly swerved to avoid the blood. If I come off this fuckin’ thing at this speed and hit my head without a helmet, he was thinking, I’m as good as dead.
The Latino kid bounced past in the road and hit an upturned car, his back snapping in two with a crunch even Barcomb could hear over the sound of the bike. The bastards must’ve just tossed him out the window, he thought.
Barcomb zipped the bike around the side of the Humvee and could see Munday and Dutroux thrashing around with someone in the back, throwing punches and elbows. The three on the open back of the vehicle finally got wise to what was going on and scrambled for their guns. Barcomb drew his glock and got a shoulder-shot on one and flustered another one to the point where he panicked, stumbled backwards and fell over the side, hitting the road head-first with his neck spinning right around killing him before he could even realize he wasn’t on the Humvee any more.
Officer Barcomb vs. The Undead Page 5