Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City

by Jay K. Anthony

  “Let’s go!” Matt yelled.

  I am so getting my shotgun, Luke thought. Instead, he climbed into the driver’s seat and bent over so that he could hold the two ignition wires. Bending over hurt his head, so he squeezed his eyes closed and wondered if any of the cigarettes survived being crushed in the pack he had just thrown against the wall. “Ready when you are,” he wheezed.

  “What?” Matt yelled.

  Luke coughed and worked to clear his swollen throat. He raised the volume of his voice so Matt could hear him from under the hood. “Ready when you are!” he screamed.

  “Go for it,” Matt replied and Luke opened his eyes so he could see enough to touch the two wires together. He got a spark and could hear the truck engine try to turn over. Luke twisted the two wires together so they would not separate on their own and sat up. He pushed down the gas pedal with his foot and the engine continued to crank. He kept his foot on the gas, but the truck would not start and the garage quickly began to smell like gasoline.

  “Shit!” Matt yelled from under the hood. “Stop! That’s enough! You’re flooding the damn thing.”

  Luke let off the gas and pulled the two wires apart. He leaned forward, closed his eyes again and held onto the steering wheel with both hands. He wished he had not crushed his smokes. Matt walked over. “Hey, it’s not naptime,” he said.

  Yep, gonna shoot him, Luke thought but opened his eyes and looked at Matt. “Let me try to get some more gas into the tank,” he said.

  “You do that,” Matt said and turned and threw a crescent wrench the length of the garage where it clanked against the far wall. “Shit!” he complained. He stomped around in a circle, punched at the air, and then walked over to pick up his wrench. “I’m going to pull the starter from the tow truck.”

  Whatever, Luke thought and slowly lowered himself out of the truck. He walked over and picked up his crushed pack of smokes and fished a cigarette out of the package. It was bent and smashed but he patted it back together and stuck it in his mouth. He went to the back door of the garage and opened it as he lit his crooked cigarette. That’s better, he thought. Suddenly, he felt another coughing fit coming on, so he sucked down the cigarette as fast as he could and got through it without having to stop and choke. Maybe these are helping, he thought. He fished out the second best cigarette from the pack and smoked that one too.

  “Hey!” Matt yelled from the front of the tow truck. “You just going to stand around? Let’s get this done!”

  Luke grit his teeth but dropped what was left of his cigarette onto the ground, smashed it with his boot and went back to the fuel drum to try to figure out how to get the stupid hand pump to work. Luke was not sure he had even set it up correctly. He had never used a hand pump like this before and his headache plus the sudden tightness in his chest made it hard to concentrate. It has something to do with leverage, he thought and looked at the setup again. He knew if he had one part of the pump through the pour hole and the body of the pump braced against the lip of the rim, then he should be able to run the hose from the drum to the truck and just stand there and pump the handle. The problem was the pump body would not stay on the damn rim! Every time he thought he had it right, he would try the pump and the whole thing would slip off and pour whatever gas was in the hose onto the floor. The whole thing is a piece of shit anyhow. Made from some kind of cheap-ass plastic! he thought. Plus the hose was about half the length of what Luke thought it needed to be to actually be useful.

  Luke reached for another cigarette, put it in his mouth and then looked at all the gasoline around him on the floor. Maybe not the best idea, he thought. What I really need to do is find a stash of chewing tobacco. He figured it would probably also help with his cough, which he suddenly noticed had gone away, though now he felt his stomach start to churn. Nope, going to ignore that, Luke thought and decided to give the hand pump another try. He slipped the hose into the drum and ran the long end into the truck tank. He secured the pump body to the lip of the barrel and slowly worked the handle. Fuel gushed through the hose and Luke thought it sounded like it was working. Going slow must be the trick, he thought and kept working the pump. After five repetitions his shoulder cramped and his arm began to get tired. He had absolutely no energy. He knew he could not keep going much longer, so he tried going a bit faster. After a single hard repetition, the pump slipped off of the rim of the fuel barrel and fell onto the floor where the plastic handle snapped off.

  “Goddamn-holy-son-of-a-bitch!” Luke screamed and kicked the worthless piece of shit hand pump across the floor where it skidded into one of the service pits.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Matt asked from where he stood holding the tow truck’s starter. “What did you go and break that for?”

  “Eat shit, Matt!” Luke screamed. He felt horrible and the last thing he needed was to take a bunch of crap from anyone.

  “Watch your tone,” Matt growled.

  “Or what?” Luke yelled so loud and hard that bloody spit flew from his mouth.

  Matt’s face scrunched up and he tossed the truck starter at the bank truck where it landed under the open hood with a crash. “I’ve got a headache like you wouldn’t believe,” Matt said as he stormed at Luke. “So if you think I’m in the mood to put up with your shit, you're wrong.”

  Luke could not believe Matt threw their only good starter at the truck like that. “You stupid asshole!” he yelled and pointed at the bank truck. “Are you trying to keep us here forever?”

  “Put your hands up,” Matt said coming at Luke.

  “Or what!” Luke yelled again.

  “Or I’m going to kick your ass!” Matt said and threw a looping right, punching Luke on the side of the head. Luke felt like he had been hit with a brick and his head exploded in pain. Blood gushed from his ear and he stumbled backward and into the fuel barrel. He smacked the drum with his hip and tripped over his own feet. Only because he caught the workbench at the back of the garage on the way down did he keep his feet at all. He looked up as Matt came in for another shot. Luke saw it coming and ducked. Matt’s haymaker of a punch went over his head and Luke lashed out with his own right hand and caught Matt square in the nuts.

  “Oh my God!” Matt squealed and cupped his genitals with both hands as he fell down onto the floor and curled up into the fetal position. “You dirty bastard!”

  Luke stood over him and pointed at Matt with his finger. “Never lay your hands on me again!” he yelled and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. A huge pain blossomed in his chest and he was sure his heart had stopped. Crazily, he felt his neck for his pulse. Nothing? Wait, my fingers are numb too! he thought. What the hell is happening to me?

  He stumbled through one of the open bay doors and outside. He stopped and stared at the horde of zombies standing against the fence. What in the hell? How … where? I’m hallucinating, he decided and hobbled toward the tow truck. He was surprised by how much the wind had picked up and he smelled rain in the air. He looked up and stared at the wall of black clouds storming in from the coast. Not good. Zombies are going to go ape shit when that weather hits. Luke reached the tow truck and pulled his backpack out from behind the seat. He could not remember for sure if he had the rest of his smokes in there or not. He was having trouble thinking straight. Looking inside, he was elated to find the cigarettes were in there. He picked up his shotgun and ignored the zombies at the fence. As he went back to the garage, he planned on opening all the packs at once and then chain smoking until he died or felt better. He did not care anymore. He knew that something was seriously wrong with him and he was pretty sure it was more than just a hangover.

  When he got back into the garage he saw Matt crawling into the back of the bank truck with his .44 magnum in one hand and the other still around his nuts. I’m fine with that. Son of a bitch wants to be alone, I get it. I don’t want to look at his ugly face right now either. Luke went to the far end of the garage and climbed slowly up onto one of the work benches. He looked out
the bay door at the zombies, took out his lighter, and opened his first pack of cigarettes. To my health, he thought and lit up.

  TASHA

  “Let me know when you are in position,” Williams’ voice said over the radio. After leaving Tanner on the rooftop, Williams had the other four of them split up. Tasha and Ortiz went around and behind a row of cargo containers to get an angle on the garage from the right. Williams and Cleveland were to approach from the left side. “I want to try and make friendly contact with the people inside first,” Williams had said. “Hopefully all will go well from there.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Tasha had asked.

  “Annihilate all opposition inside the garage,” he said. “Your job will be to put as many rounds into that building as you can. Don’t worry about hitting anything with the SAW machine gun, just fire at the windows because with that thing going off, anyone inside is going to be face down on the floor and hopefully not shooting back. Got it?”

  Tasha nodded.

  “Good,” he said and turned to the others. “We have no idea what else we might find in there. We could find prisoners, dead bodies, a bunch of vegetables, or maybe someone injured. So, everyone needs to be ready for anything. Depending on how things go, we either meet up inside the garage or back at the fire escape. Let’s move.”

  Tasha followed Ortiz into position and now looked at one of the men through a window. He was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette. Tasha knelt on the ground next to Ortiz behind one of the cargo containers and could hear the hiss and growl of the creepers at the fence. Ortiz looked at her. “If those vegetables break through that fence,” she whispered. “I’m racing you back for that fire escape.”

  “I ran track in high school,” Tasha said and smiled. “Hurdles.”

  “Shit. Figures.”

  Tasha hefted the machine gun. On the rooftop, Tanner had quickly explained the gun fired the same rounds as the M16, but it didn’t use a magazine. Instead, the rounds were linked together and held in a plastic container which attached to the side of the weapon. Each container held 250 rounds. The gun only fired on full automatic and it fired them really, really fast. “So you need to be careful with how many rounds you shoot at one time,” Tanner had said. He recommended she not try shooting it when standing up because the gun would be hard to control and bullets would go everywhere. If she could, she would be best off resting it on something or using the little bipod legs that were at the end of the barrel.

  Tasha decided the bipod legs would work best in this instance so she extended them, pointed the machine gun at the garage, and got down on the ground behind the weapon in the way Tanner had shown her. “I’m ready,” she said to Ortiz.

  “Good to go,” Ortiz said into her radio handset.

  “Moving to contact,” Williams said. “Wish me luck.”

  Just then Tasha saw the smoking man hop down from the bench he had been sitting on. “Hold up!” she said and Ortiz repeated it through her radio.

  “What is it?” Williams asked.

  A door opened from the back of the garage and the smoking man stepped outside with a cigarette in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Tasha did not know how she knew for sure, but she had no doubt the man was sick with the virus. His skin was pale and waxy, his eyes were red, and he moved like he ached to his core.

  “Hold your fire,” Williams ordered through the radio and Tasha saw Williams lean out from behind a trailer at the other end of the garage. “Hey, buddy!” he called out.

  The smoking guy jumped like he had been stung. “What!” he cried out. “Hey! Where are you?”

  “Calm down,” Williams said waving one hand and only showing half of his body from behind the tractor trailer. “Don’t shoot. I’m friendly.”

  “Like hell you are,” the guy replied. He pointed his shotgun at Williams who promptly ducked back behind the trailer.

  “Put your gun down,” Williams yelled. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We’re United States Military and we’ve come to help you. I’m not the bad guy. The vegeta … the infected, those are the enemy. Let’s calm down. We can work together.”

  “Infected?” the smoking guy asked without lowering his shotgun. “That what you call them? Look like zombies to me.”

  “Actually,” Williams replied. “We call them vegetables.”

  The man apparently did not find Williams very funny and looked at the door to the garage he had come through. “Hey!” he yelled. “We got someone out here!”

  Williams peeked back out from behind the trailer. “Calm down,” he repeated. “I know you’re scared.”

  The smoking guy looked offended. “Screw you man, I’m not scared! I’ll blow a hole clear through you.”

  “If you start shooting, you’ll stir up those vegetables so bad that there is no way that fence will hold.”

  “What? You can see them too?” he asked and turned to look. “Well shit,” the guy said. “Look at all those bastards. I’ve been trying to figure out what called them.” He rubbed his forehead. “Wait a minute … I bet it was the goddamn drill.”

  Now Tasha understood why there were so many zombies stacked up. If that asshole had been holed up in the garage using power tools, then she was surprised there were not even more creepers.

  “Hey!” the smoking guy said to Williams, lowering his weapon. “How did you get in here?”

  “We came in through the gate over on the other side,” Williams replied. “Got caught up in your little ambush.”

  “Shit,” the man said. “If you’re here, then I guess that means there isn’t any more Pete and Ted.” The man raised his shotgun again and pointed it at Williams. “That’s messed up. Ted was a worthless piece of shit, but Pete … he wasn’t nothing more than just a kid.”

  Williams ducked back behind the trailer. “Nothing I can do about that now,” he said. “They opened fire on us, all we did was fight back.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” the smoking guy said.

  Williams leaned out again from behind the trailer so that just half of his face was showing. “Point that weapon somewhere else,” he said. “I’m telling you. It doesn’t have to go down this way.”

  “What you talking about?” the guy asked. “Ain’t nothin’ goin down. It's just you and me, talking.” He pointed the shotgun straight at Williams.

  “Enough of this shit,” Ortiz said from beside Tasha and stood up. She pointed her rifle at the man. “Hey! Put your gun down. Put it down, now!”

  The smoking guy swung his shotgun around and aimed it at Ortiz. “Son of a bitch! How many of you little cockroaches are there?”

  “Over here!” Williams called out. “Don’t you point that at her!”

  Tasha looked over at the creepers against the fence. They were becoming agitated from all the shouting. They were clawing and grabbing at each other and the links in the fence.

  The smoking guy went into a coughing fit and appeared to give up. He pointed his shotgun in the air and held his other hand up, palm out to face Ortiz. “Hey, it’s cool,” he said between coughs and started slowly walking backward toward the garage.

  “Don’t move!” Ortiz ordered, but the man kept walking away.

  “Ortiz!” Williams shouted. “Stay calm! We can still make this work so that everyone wins.”

  “It’s cool,” the smoking guy said. He was only a few steps away from the door. “I’m just going back in to get my smokes.”

  “Sir! This is your last warning, do not enter that building,” Williams ordered. The smoking man flipped Williams the bird and kept going.

  “Screw it,” Williams said and keyed his radio. “Tanner, take this dipshit out.”

  “What?” the guy asked when suddenly a bullet zipped past the guy’s head and ricocheted off the asphalt behind him.

  “Damn it,” came Tanner’s voice through the radio.

  “You sons a bitches!” the man yelled and fired his shotgun from the hip as he ran for the backdoor to the garage. Another bullet zi
pped by as the smoking guy pushed through the entrance and was gone from sight.

  Tasha heard the creepers going ballistic against the fence, but she ignored them. I have one job to do and I do not intend to screw it up, she thought. The smoking guy was already out of sight, so she aimed as best she could at the windows of the garage and opened fire. The machine gun roared and the windows exploded. Tasha could not believe how fast the gun shot. Every time she pulled the trigger, chain links and shell casings would fly out to her right. She did not want to go through all of her ammunition, so she would hold the trigger for a couple seconds, release, aim somewhere else on the garage, and then shoot again for another couple seconds.

  Ortiz knelt next to her. “Williams said to get ready to move forward,” she yelled over the gunfire. Tasha let off one more burst of rounds and picked up the machine gun. The entire front half of the weapon was hot.

  Tasha watched Williams and Cleveland sprint for the far corner of the garage and Ortiz ran forward to the same door the smoking guy had disappeared through. Tasha stayed right on her heels. As soon as they reached the door, Tanner’s voice came through her radio. “Hold up,” he said and Tasha heard the zip of a bullet fly through one of the broken windows. There was the smack of something wet and a second later, the thump of a body hitting the floor.

  “Okay, go,” Tanner said.

  “Going in,” Ortiz replied into her radio.

  Tasha did not know if she was supposed to go first, but she charged inside anyhow. It was darker than she had expected and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. The garage was big but mostly empty. She saw what looked like an armored bank truck at the far end. Glass from the broken windows she had shot out was everywhere. The smoking guy was lying dead under one of the windows with the side of his head blow off. Nice shot, Tanner, she thought. “I don’t see anyone else in here,” she said into her radio. “Clear?”