The Longest Road (Book 1)

by Thompson, A. S.

  The radio went silent, and Collin closed the refrigerator door, leaving the woman in her frigid tomb. He exited Helen’s House of Pancakes the same way he had entered. Then he hurried around to rendezvous with the others. Down the road, Collin saw Mike throw his arms up, empty handed. He looked up to Steve, signaling him to maintain vigilance, then met Billy, Mike and Alex at the RV.

  “I think we might be in luck,” Alex said, leading them to the fuel truck next to the RV. “There might be some gas left in this puppy.”

  Collin stared at the massive eighteen-wheeler, assessing the situation. “Great job. Now we just need a siphon. Mike, go back down to the houses and see if you can find a garden hose or something like that.”

  “Damnit, I just came from there,” Mike said, throwing his head back like a child in protest. “Okay, I’m on it.”

  In a matter of minutes, Mike came back in sight, wheeling a spool of hosing behind him. He dragged it over to the tanker, where Collin helped him unravel it. Alex, being the most nimble, scaled the truck and unscrewed an opening on top. He gave Mike a thumbs-up to toss it.

  Mike’s first attempt barely made it halfway up the tanker.

  “Is your skirt in the way?” Alex joked. “Put some muscle in it.”

  “Fuck off,” Mike snapped back. His second toss soared high.

  Alex stretched out his hand and caught it on the downfall. “That a girl.”

  “All right, let me know when you stick it in, ’cause I’m gonna have to suck it to get it started,” Collin declared, lifting the end to his mouth.

  “That’s what she said,” Mike laughed. “Epic!”

  “Wow, really, Mike? I haven’t heard that one since the world was still alive, and it sucked then,” Alex said playfully.

  The tubing was solid green, so Collin couldn’t tell if he was getting close. After multiple draws, the gas gushed into his mouth, mid-suck. It caught him off guard, and he coughed violently, trying to expel the liquid from his mouth and throat. Billy grabbed the line from Collin and jammed it into the RV’s tank.

  No longer needed, Mike unzipped his jacket pocket to light up a joint, but was stopped by a kick from Billy.

  “Mike, come on. Gas? Lighter? Boom?”

  Mike gave him a textbook stoner nod and stepped away to browse the convenience store. The others dismissed him and Mike took off. He cracked open the door, but immediately closed it. “Dude, that place reeks like shit,” he called back. The smell was so unpleasant that he took a second to light up his joint first.

  “I know. I don’t want to talk about it,” Alex said quickly, reliving his lost bet. “If you find some beer, bring it back.”

  The new aroma masked the foul smell and Mike continued on his quest. He flung the door open so hard that it slammed against the back, knocking the bell to the ground. The ringing caused a murder of crows to flee from a nearby tree.

  Back at the pump, Collin, Billy, and Alex looked over with furious looks. Had Mike been any closer, he would have received a kick, dead arm, or slap to the groin for his idiocy. But before they could curse him, Mike ducked into the shop.

  Steve turned and sighted his scopes to the noise, but lowered his weapon after seeing the false threat. “Nothing,” he called out below. “Just some birds.”

  Almost everything in the store had been cleared, but Mike gave the aisles a quick check anyway. Finding no success in the food department, he proceeded to the clerk’s counter to continue browsing for nothing in particular. Near the tobacco storage, he saw a stack of porno movies and magazines. His face lit up. He unzipped his jacket like a shoplifter and took one Penthouse magazine and two DVDs:N.C. Double Anal—a college spoof—andCumdogMillionaire. He spun around to the cash register and stroked a few keys. Suddenly, his eyes caught a stack of Utah maps. Somehow remembering, he pocketed one, as per Collin’s request.

  He took one last, deep hit, then ashed out the end of his joint. Satisfied that the bud wouldn’t catch him on fire, he stuck the rest in his pocket for later. That joint was first he smoked all day, and he got stoned, fast. In the corner, stuffed behind an empty box, he saw a microphone. Putting the receiver to his lips, he acted like a radio host.

  “Hello. Hello. Testing. One. Two. Three,” he said, tapping the end of the mic. “This is Mike-Easy and you are listening to the End of the World Radio, where no one gives a shit, ’cause no one is alive to hear it!”

  During his mock radio impression, his hand slid over a button on the back. “What’s this?” he whispered. Without hesitating, he turned it on.

  RINGGGGGGGGGGGG!! A loud noise screeched through the station’s speakers.

  Shocked, Mike dropped the mic. It slammed to the ground, but the now-constant ear-piercing noise continued to sound through all the speakers inside and out. Mike panicked and pulled out his knife, cutting the cord.

  The noise stopped, but the damage had been done.

  Mike hopped over the counter and through the door. Outside, the cousins grabbed their ears, cringing.

  “What the hell was that?” Collin shouted through the ringing in his ears. “What the hell did you do?”

  “I was just messing around and it got stuck like that. I didn’t mean to, I promise,” Mike yelled back.

  “Wasn’t the power out? I don’t get it,” asked Alex, putting a finger into his ear like a Q-tip.

  Billy shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the ringing. “It must be on a battery or something.”

  Above, Steve called out over the radio, but no one responded. Those below heard something crackle, but couldn’t make it out; they were temporarily deafened.

  Again Steve tried, now screaming into the transmitter. Nothing.

  He was trying to call out that they were not alone, trying to warn his cousins to get prepared. Mike’s shenanigans had served as a dinner bell and Steve saw the first infected off a quarter mile away. Two middle-aged men in flannel shirts, probably truck drivers, ran from one of the houses down the street. Knowing his shouts weren’t working, Steve lined up a shot and squeezed. The bullet blasted through the first man’s mouth, splitting his face in two.

  Even though they couldn’t make out the radio call, the cousins down below definitely heard the shot. They knew full well what it meant.

  Danger.

  Steve never messed around or wasted bullets. Billy, Alex, and Mike, maybe, but never him. It had to be something. It had to be them. Collin ran to the street for a better angle. He attempted to signal Steve, but saw him lying on the roof’s edge taking aim at something.

  Distant tree branches intermittently blocked Steve’s view. He fired at the second man, but only hit his chest. Collin followed the shot and saw the sight. One infected man down, the other running a few more steps, before Steve’s third took it down for good.

  Steve looked down at Collin and screamed, “They’re here, damnit!”

  Collin heard loud and clear. He regained his focus and sprinted back to the other three. “Get ready guys, they’re coming!”

  “Shit!”

  “Fuck!”

  “From where?”

  “How many?”

  Collin’s back was turned, but Alex saw one coming from around Helen’s House of Pancakes. He took aim and fired, blasting its brains all over the diner window.

  “Everywhere!”

  As if preparing for battle, Collin ordered each of them into defensive positions, with two covering the south end and two for the north. Above, they heard intermittent shots from Steve’s rifle. They listened to Collin’s orders without hesitation. His experience and leadership hadn’t failed them, and Collin had yet to give them a reasonto question him. Every second wasted would bring them one step closer.

  In any other situation, the group would have booked it, but they were forced to stay. They needed the gas. Unfortunately, the environment limited them to the ground. As a last resort, they knew they could fall back to the semi-secure confines of Sweetie. It could be a death trap, but still remained an option.


  Initially, only a few sprinters appeared; some rounding corners, while others over hopped over fences. Mike, Collin, Alex, and Billy didn’t have too much trouble, because the sporadic attempts made it easy to pick shots.

  Steve stood up and released his magazine, then pocketed it and shoved in a new one. He cocked back the slide and surveyed the scene. In his 180-degree view of the town, he saw dozens now pouring from the outskirts. Dozens quickly increased into well over seventy-five. The heat was coming, and coming fast.

  “Toss me another rifle mag! There’s one on the counter!” he shouted to the ground, hoping one of the others would hear him.

  Smoke rose from Collin’s .357; his final round was a successful kill. The shot blasted the skull of a woman in full sprint. Since he also needed more ammunition, he responded to Steve first. “Okay. Anything else you need?”

  “We are gonna need a shit-load of ammo. Bring it all out! Everything! There’s got to be a hundred coming!”

  Collin hopped over the fuel line and headed toward the RV’s side door.Probably half full. Just a little bit longer, he thought. He jumped inside and spotted Steve’s spare magazine precisely where Steve said it would be. He grabbed that and a fresh speed loader for his .357, then ran back outside. After throwing a perfect toss up to Steve, Collin quickly emptied his spent rounds and filled the chambers with new bullets.

  Numerous bodies were piled up around the station. The cousins had done a great job keeping the first wave at bay, but now more approached. Collin knew their personal ammo had to be running thin, if it wasn’t entirely out already. Before heading back for the rest of the ammo, he fired a quick shot at a boy, maybe twelve years old. The boy’s head exploded like a watermelon. Collin hated killing children; they all did. Even though the kids were already dead, something about it disturbed his conscience. But now was not the time for a moral debate; he’d come to terms with that later.

  “We need some ammo, Cully!” Billy shouted, not taking his eyes off the enemy.

  “I know, I know. It’s coming!” Collin answered sternly.

  “Better hurry, man, I’m almost dry,” Mike added.

  As Collin ran back to the RV, shots rang out all around him. It felt like a war-zone, like his days in the military. He shook off old memories before they could surface and distract him.A distracted soldier is a dead soldier, he repeated in his mind like a mantra.

  Inside, Collin grabbed another rifle off the gun rack, threw it over his shoulder, then went for the backup ammo. They always kept it up front, next to the door, in caseof emergency situations. This definitely constituted an emergency. The former Marine felt the adrenaline pump through his veins as he picked up two boxes, one markedShotgunand the other.30-06. Collin dragged the boxes out and dropped them on the asphalt.

  “All right, guys, fall back closer to the RV. We’re gonna do firing lines. One fires, one reloads. Pick your shots, damnit, ’cause this is all we got!”

  The cousins reacted without hesitation. Billy fired his last three rounds. Then he drew back to the stash while Alex continued to fire. He tore open the first box and found five packages of Federal Shotgun Ammunition. As fast as he could, he chambered six rounds and stashed a handful in his pocket.

  “Alex, you’re up!” Billy declared, taking over shooting.

  Collin tapped Mike on the shoulder, indicating for him to reload. He took Mike’s place, aimed his newly acquired rifle, and fired.

  Mike ripped open the rifle box, which was filled with loaded magazines and a dozen boxes of loose ammo. He released his empty magazine and replaced it with a fresh one, then went back to assist Collin.

  The cycle of firing and reloading continued for one very long minute. Like the spent magazines, bodies piled on the grounds nearby, falling closer and closer to the group. At this rate, they knew they wouldn’t be able to last. They simply didn’t have the bullets.

  “I can’t get clear shots,” Billy screamed.

  “Do your best,” Collin responded quickly.

  The setting could not have been less ideal for a battle. Abandoned cars and trucks forced them to wait until the undead were closer to shoot. The infected advanced by any means—around corners, under big rigs, over cars. Their hunger drove them, and they were starving.

  “What are we waiting for?” Alex yelled. “Fuck the gas!”

  “We should leave while we still can, Cully!” Billy agreed.

  “A little bit longer, guys! Hold on!” Collin shouted as he drew back to reload. His timing was terrible.

  Mike was left alone to defend against a three-person wave. He stopped the first two with head shots, but missed the third, tearing through its cheek. The infected man was even more furious, and now steps from Mike’s position. Mike panicked and fired wildly. One shot missed, and the other caught it in the chest, not even phasing it.

  The infected man leapt at Mike and tackled him to the ground. Mike used his rifle to keep the man’s gnawing teeth away. It twisted and turned, grabbed and clawed. Mike turned his head and closed his eyes, trying to avoid the infected man’s dripping fluids.

  “Someone help!” Mike screamed.

  Collin heard Mike’s shouts and turned. His foot accidentally clipped one of the cardboard boxes, sending some of the loose .30-06 ammo to the ground. “Fuckin’ A!” he cursed, as he ran over to his cousin.

  The force of Collin’s kick knocked the beast back two feet. Without hesitation, Collin stepped on its chest, took out his Colt, and fired, splattering what was left of its brain all over the concrete.

  Collin picked Mike up from the ground and slapped him back to attention. “Focus, Mike,” he shouted.

  After his last shot, Steve swung his rifle over his shoulder and hopped down onto the top of the RV. He landed awkwardly, but regained his footing and jumped to the asphalt below. He rose, already firing his Sig. “How much longer, Cully?" Steve shouted in between bursts from his handgun.

  Collin glanced at the tubing. “Almost there,” he guessed. “A few more minutes, maybe.”

  “Where’s the handgun ammo?”

  “Shit, I forgot it. It’s still inside. Grab it and hurry. We’re almost out.”

  Steve sprinted inside, scanned the room, and saw the ammo sitting in a crate behind the driver’s seat. He tossed his rifle on the counter and his Sig into the crate, not wasting time to holster it.

  On the wall, he saw a Beretta 9 mm and a Springfield 1911. He tossed those in and carried everything outside. He snatched his .40 and gave Mike the Beretta.

  “What the fuck? No more shotty?” Billy cursed as he rummaged through the box, looking for more shells.

  Steve stopped his search, tossing him the Springfield. “Here, take this.”

  “Guess it’ll have to do,” Billy said, sliding the rail and chambering a round.

  Alex turned. “What’s taking you so long, Bill?” As he turned, a woman in torn-up jeans and a bloodied long-sleeve T-shirt came running from out of view. She lunged at Alex.

  “Alex! Look out!” Steve shouted.

  Steve fired fast enough to hit the monster, but only in the stomach. She fell inches short of Alex’s feet, causing him to pull back defensively. Before it could get up, Alex pressed the barrel of his rifle against the beast’s head and discharged a round. She twitched, then stopped moving for good.

  “Holy flying vaginas, that was close,” Alex called back, obviously shaken.

  The others wore panicked looks, unsure of what to do next. The rifle and shotgun ammo were out. Mike hurriedly tossed all the nearby empty magazines into one box and carried it inside. The handgun crate only had one loaded .45 magazine, two .40, and one 9mm. Their good fortune was running out as fast as their ammo.

  Steve tossed the final magazines to Billy and Mike. “Collin, screw the gas. We gotta bail, man. We can’t keep this up. We’re sitting ducks!”

  Collin rapidly assessed the situation. Steve was right. They had to leave, full tank or not. If they stayed, they would surely die. “All right, let’s
bail!” he called out to the group. “Those with ammo, cover the others. Bill, get the nozzle and let’s go!”

  “On it!”

  Mike leapt inside first and headed to the back, desperately searching for a joint to calm his nerves. Collin followed Mike inside, but sprang toward the driver’s seat. Steve stayed to cover the south side, only firing at the nearest threats, careful not to waste precious ammo.

  A half-deteriorated man dragged his broken leg toward Billy. Alex used the butt of the rifle to knock the elderly man down, and Billy finished him off with a .45 slug to the forehead. “Sorry, Grandpa.”

  As Billy went to pull the tubing, gas came flooding out. Full tank.

  Instead of dropping the hose, Billy sprayed gas all over. “Awesome fuckin’ timing, huh? Alex, get back to the RV. I got this.”

  “Hurry up, man. I still owe you that drink!”

  Alex sprinted back to the other side of the RV and stood with Steve, waiting for Billy.

  Billy kept pouring out the gas and shooting nearby threats. When he was satisfied, he tossed the hose aside, grabbed a lighter out of his pocket, and held it to the pool in front of him. “Take this, fuckers!”

  Instantly, the puddles of gasoline lit up into towering flames. Nearby undead squealed, roared, and fell as their bodies were consumed by the fire.

  At the smell of burning flesh, Steve and Alex ran to the other side.

  “Billy, get your ass onboard now! We have to go!” Collin shouted from the driver’s window.

  “Bill, let’s go, man,” Steve added.

  Billy stood, clearly entranced by his own creation, seemingly oblivious to the others’ shouts. Alex ran up and shook Billy back to reality. ”Yeah, bro, we gotta go now!”

  Billy hesitated for a second, then snapped out of his arson-fueled trance and returned with them. With Steve’s cover fire, the three safely hopped inside.

  “All clear!” Steve shouted. Collin had already slammed on the gas. They peeled out so fast that they left skid marks on the ground.

  Steve made his way up front to Collin, while the other two went to the windows to see the destruction. All around them, the town burned. Undead ran wild, blinded by the fire. Many of them threw their hands and bodies at the departing RV, but Sweetie powered over them.