Collin huddled the group around the kitchen table to go over the plan one last time. “All right guys, if we are going to do this, we have to do it right. No drinking, no smoking, and no fucking around. Got it?”
The others nodded in agreement.
“We’re going to be moving fast, so that means only one on the roof. Can you handle it, Steve?”
“Hell yes!”
“Okay. I want Alex on shotgun and Billy on the kitchen window. Bill, just pop out the screen so you can cover our left.”
“Done,” Billy responded, speaking for both of them.
“Mike, I want you to prep a few Molotov cocktails. Check some of the liquor and see if any of it burns. If not, find something flammable and make it work. I want a backup plan.”
Mike gazed at the shelves. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, shrugging.
“I know you know we only have a few rounds of ammo left, so pick your shots. No long distance. You are going to have to wait until they’re close. Billy and Alex, I want you wearing gloves and an extra layer for your arms, just in case one gets close and tries to bite you. If anything happens and the car gets stopped for whatever reason, we bail to the nearest building and run like hell. Understood? Any questions?”
Collin took the silence as a collective no and the group dispersed.
They were as ready as they would ever be, but it was too late in the day to make the daring attempt. They decided to get a full night’s sleep.
Darkness fell over Utah.
April 6, 2009
0647 hours
Morning came fast. Collin woke the group up one by one. It was, without a doubt, the most restless night they had ever had. No one had slept well.
Deep in thought, they sat together and ate a breakfast of canned fruit and half-full bowls of Cheerios. Collin brought in a kettle of boiling water he had warmed on a small fire he had started outside. He added some green tea and instructed everyone to drink some. “It’s got almost as much caffeine as coffee, and I want you guys cracked out of your minds for what we are about to do. But it’ll make you pee, so go before we leave or you’ll be holding it.”
They all drank without protest, then left for their designated positions. The three gunners checked and rechecked their firearms and ammunition; Mike managed to scramble together two one-liter glass bombs.
“Molotovs prepped and ready to go,” Mike said. “It’s a mix of 151, gas, and some other stuff I found.”
“Good job, Mike. Hey, if we have any dish soap, add some.”
“Why soap?” Mike asked, squeezing a glob of green dish cleaner into the containers.
“It helps spread the fire. I learned about IIW’s in the military.” Collin looked up and, noticing Mike’s confused look, clarified. “IIW. Improvised Incendiary Weapon.”
0717 hours
It would take Sweetie five minutes to navigate down the hill to their starting point, and if all went well, another fifteen minutes to make it through the city.
“This is it, guys. Everyone ready?” Collin asked.
“I think this is only appropriate,” Alex said, sliding in an unlabeled mix CD. The first song on was “Bro Hymn,” by Pennywise.
As soon as the bass line hit the speakers, Collin slammed on the gas.
The first leg came and went. A few scattered undead turned at the sound of the RV. They tried to hobble toward it, arms extended, but Sweetie flew past them.
The next leg was more difficult. Cars, trucks, and other obstacles made the road look like a ski slalom. Collin had Sweetie paced at around twenty miles per hour, fast enough to navigate as safely and quickly as possible. The other infected must have heard their companions’ moans, because more came out from buildings and vehicles to intercept the RV.
On the roof, Steve picked off two in quick secession before they had a chance to step in front. Alex and Billy hadn’t needed to fire yet, and Mike stood patiently behind the driver’s seat, waiting.
Collin turned right. Two down, three to go, he thought. He was able to speed up to forty miles per hour for two blocks before having to decelerate to make a hard left turn. Above, Steve skidded to the side, nearly falling over before grasping the rail.
“You trying to toss me or what, Cully?”
“Sorry, man, hang on. I got a bad feeling it’s going to get worse,” Collin yelled back through his half-opened window.
On the next straightaway, even more cars blocked the road, forcing the RV to a sluggish ten miles per hour. The first shots rang from Billy’s and Alex’s handguns. Alex drilled one approaching sprinter in the head, but missed a second, piercing it in the solar plexus. Billy had more luck, dropping his nearest three threats with three bullets.
Sweetie pulled through the mess and hit another straightaway, where Collin accelerated back to forty miles per hour. One infected man lunged at the RV on the right, only to get knocked down by the force. Another one, legless, crawled head on. Steve let Sweet Tooth have the kill. A thump was the only sound they heard as the creature’s body was crushed underneath.
Hearing the screeching tires and sounds from their undead brethren, more and more infected came to greet the RV. Reacting to the increasing number of infected, Collin took the final left turn quickly.
“Hang on!” he shouted.
As Sweetie turned the corner to the final leg, Collin saw too late that a former police blockade had been established on this particular stretch of road. For whatever reason, the city police and sheriffs had made their last stand here. A line of cop cars sat in strategic positions, along with fire trucks and other emergency vehicles. Collin used both feet to slam on the brakes, but was too late. The RV skidded and smashed into the blockade at twenty miles per hour.
Steve did his best to hold on, but was just as caught off guard as the rest. He flew over the front and slammed onto the top of a police sedan, landing on his back. Luckily, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Steve was able to displace most of his weight during the impact and rolled over the top. A piece of jagged metal sliced his forearm, leaving a four-inch-long gash. Blood trickled from the flesh wound, but other than that, Steve was relatively okay, sustaining nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. His Sig slid onto the street away from him and he limped over to pick it up.
Inside, everyone had sustained their own injuries. The seat belt burned Collin’s shoulder, but kept him safe from being flung forward. Alex tried to use his arms to brace for the impact, but wasn’t fast enough. His chest hit the dash, knocking the wind out of him. Billy’s shoulder slammed into the wall behind Collin, nearly dislocating it. Mike had it the worst; his head smashed into the top bunk, knocking him out instantly.
“Steve! You okay?” Collin shouted through his window.
“Yeah, I’m all right. Cut my arm pretty good, but I’ll live. Just need some Ibuprofen. Got any?” Steve called back, trying to laugh off the injury.
“I got some in the glove compartment. Now get your ass back here—”
“Lookout, Bill!” Steve screamed.
A woman wearing a muddy Utah Jazz jersey lunged at Billy. Before Billy could move, her jaw locked on tight to his right arm.
Billy was hysterical, howling in pain. “Help! Get this bitch off me!”
Steve didn’t have a clear shot, nor did Alex, who was still gasping for air. Mike was out cold on the floor. Without hesitation, Collin tore off his seat belt and looked for something to use against the woman. He grabbed a rifle from behind the seat and used the butt end to strike the basketball fan on the bridge of her nose. She stumbled back and got within Steve’s sights. He fired one through her temple.
“Billy, are you okay?” Steve yelled.
Collin threw the rifle down and spun Billy around. “Are you bleeding? Did she pierce your skin?”
Billy frantically peeled off layers of clothing, examining every inch of his skin. He stuttered as he said, “No, I don’t think she got anything.”
The woman’s canine teeth had punctured through
his outer nylon jacket, but had not pierced through the second layer. Fortunately, Billy had taken Collin’s advice and had doubled up his layers. The thick cotton material underneath had stopped further piercing. Although the pressure of the bite had bruised some of the skin, there was no contact with blood.
Billy scurried away from the window, fearful of another attack. “Fuck me,” he mumbled, massaging his arm.
Alex redirected everyone’s attention out the window. “I hate to be a buzz-kill, but we have to go, now!”
A dozen infected had appeared, clawing at the sides of the RV. Dead hands beat against the metal exterior and reached through the open windows.
“Steve!” Collin shouted, remembering his stranded cousin.
Steve was cut off. Even if he had had the bullets, there was no way to get past a crowd that size.
Before Collin could say more, Steve stopped him. “It’s okay, I’ll meet you down the street. Now go! Go! Go!”
Collin hated leaving Steve, but knew he had to get the RV moving. He quickly shifted into reverse and backed away from the impassible road. Every second, more appeared and more weight pressed against Sweetie. Collin dropped the gear into drive and floored it. The weight of a dozen bodies made it difficult to pick up speed, and the RV rolled slowly.
###
From the nearby buildings and cross-streets, infected closed in on Steve. They moved like frenzied sharks as they smelled the blood dripping from his arm. Steve knew that every second of hesitation worsened the already-volatile situation, so he turned and ran. He didn’t have a plan, but he knew that moving was better than waiting.
Emerging from a side alley, a teenage boy with a missing cheek almost collided with Steve. At the last second, Steve sidestepped to the left, avoiding the child’s lunge. In a swift motion, Steve turned and fired, hitting the boy’s temple.
Steve’s desperate evasion from the onslaught of infected was short-lived. “Shit!” he cursed, coming to a sliding halt.
A second line of diagonally parked police cars and lone fire truck faced him, impeding his most direct escape route down the street. Any chance of sprinting down the sidewalks was foiled as more and more infected appeared. Every direction, it seemed, was perilous.
Steve was trapped.
###
“We gotta do something!” Alex shouted, clearly panicked.
“He’ll be okay,” Collin answered.
“No, I mean us,” Alex responded, rolling up the two front windows. “They’re all around us! What are we going to do?”
“Mike, get your ass on the roof and light these fuckers up!” Collin yelled. Through all the chaos, he hadn’t realized that Mike was unconscious.
“He’s out cold! I’m on it!” Alex declared, hopping over Mike’s limp body.
Alex grabbed the bottles from the sink and opened the roof latch. He fumbled for his lighter, and after two clicks the cloth caught. He launched the bombs into the crowd ahead, showering the group with liquid flames. “Take that, motherfuckers!”
In front of the RV, the infected scurried about like disturbed ants, trying to rid themselves of the flames. The Molotovs distracted the creatures long enough; Sweetie had a clear path, and Collin floored it.
Alex unfolded the road map and frantically shouted out directions. “Take the next left!”
Collin barely made the turn. He kept his eyes on the road as he asked, “You know where you’re, going right?”
“I hope so, for all our sakes.”
The street was cluttered with obstacles, but luckily no infected were lingering. “Where to next?” Collin asked, nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Not this right, but the next!”
Alex’s directions took them into an alleyway behind an inner-city basketball court and an industrial warehouse. “You think we have time for a quick game?” he joked.
“Focus, Alex!”
“Sorry, take the next left, and we should run into Steve,” he concluded, arming his pistol.
As they rounded the last corner, Sweetie plowed into three more infected. The RV jumped up, as if it had gone over a speed bump, before settling back into cruise. Three mangled bodies lay unmoving in its wake.
“This should be the street,” Alex said, pointing ahead at the next block.
Alex’s directions proved correct, and Collin slammed on the brakes as they reached the far side of the barricaded street. Collin peered through his window. “Oh no,” he muttered.
“He’ll make it, right?”
They hadn’t even considered the prospect of Steve not making it. They all expected Steve to be waiting there already. They expected to listen to Steve joke about why it took them so long.
Billy wanted to be hopeful, but stayed objective. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
###
The splashing of the Molotovs and the squealing tires behind him brought Steve back to reality. He needed to make a decision, and to make it quickly. As fast as he could, Steve weighed his options.
Left-sidewalk? No go. There’s too many of them. Right-sidewalk? Same. Climb over the cop cars? Too risky. Fire truck? Fire truck! Go, now!
A group of five infected intercepted Steve from the right. He fired his remaining four shots, dropping each. With no time to reload, he holstered the Sig. The fifth and final threat, a stocky middle-aged man who was slower than the rest, rushed to cut Steve off from the truck. Steve saw him coming and jumped off a fire hydrant, plowing his right boot into the man’s face. The impact flung the man backward, splitting the creature’s head on the concrete.
Steve wished Alex had been there to see his karate-style death kick, but wasted no time celebrating. Grasping a handle on the fire truck, Steve climbed up the side steps and lifted himself from the street seconds before more infected arrived.
Okay, what next? Don’t stop. Keep moving! Ignoring the pain from his arm, Steve pushed himself as fast as he could go. He was like an acrobat as he hopped over and moved around on the roof. Navigating on top of the truck was not easy. The ladders and other bulky equipment made the trek laborious, but he managed.
Halfway to the end, Steve spared a glance down the road, but he didn’t see the RV. Where are they? They wouldn’t take off without me, would they? He thought, letting his doubts get the better of him.
His fears vanished when he saw Sweetie pull up a quarter mile away.
“Keep it together,” he whispered, hitting the side of his head.
Between him and the RV, Steve could see a dozen and a half infected scattered about, and he could feel a mob at his heels. The street ahead was a labyrinth of deserted cars and trucks, but was the only way to safety.
Balancing himself at the end of the fire truck, Steve took out his Sig and slid in his last magazine. If I’m going, I’m sure as hell not going alone, he thought, springing from the roof and hitting the ground running.
It seemed as though the entire population of the Salt Lake City region was gunning for Steve. He ran over the tops of cars and fired at anything that came close. Glass cracked and hoods bent with every leap. Halfway in, Steve slipped off of a wet hood and fell back, crashing into a sedan’s windshield.
“Steve, get up! They’re almost on you!” Alex shouted, running toward Steve. Billy was running next to him, matching him stride for stride.
Steve heard the call echo in his head and slapped his face to regain focus. The impact from the fall had been jarring and had knocked the wind out of him. His arm, legs, and back hurt, but he knew he couldn’t waste any time sulking in pain. Pushing with all his might, Steve righted himself and took off.
“Only two more rows left, Steve, you can do this!” he muttered to himself. “Two more!”
Close footsteps compelled Steve to run faster, but he was exhausted. He fired three more rounds at nearby infected, dropping two of the three. Fatigue was catching up fast, and he started feeling the painful throb from his arm wound.
Billy and Alex joined the fight and cle
ared a direct path for him.
“Almost there, Steve!”
“Faster! They’re almost on you!”
Steve holstered his gun and pumped his arms like an Olympic runner, but he was running on fumes. From behind, a man leaptat Steve. To avoid being tackled, Steve turned his body and fell to the ground. The move worked, and the man smashed into the side of a black Chevy Tahoe. On the pavement, Steve kicked back, desperate to evade him a second time.This is it… he thought, now knowing exactly how Mike must have felt in Danton, Arizona. Dried lines of blood ran down the man’s chin, staining his flannel shirt. He rose to attack again, and took one step before his brains splattered against the passenger-side door of the Tahoe.
Alex lowered his gun and ran toward his cousin. “Geez, take forever why don’t ya?” he joked, picking Steve up by the shoulder.
“Nice shot, for once,” Steve teased back.
With Alex’s help, Steve limped back to the RV while Billy covered them from behind. Blood dripped from Steve’s arm, forming a red trail. Without delay, Billy, Steve, and Alex hopped in through the side door and slammed it shut. A few infected smashed into the door, but Collin slammed on the gas. The infected tried chasing after Sweetie, but slowed to a brisk walk after the RV sped away.
“Well, not exactly the plan, eh, Collin?” Alex said jokingly.
“No. Not exactly.” After one last look in his mirror, Collin exhaled a sigh of relief. “Fuckin’ A, guys.”
“How the hell did we pull that off?” Billy asked.
“We’re out of the city?” Mike asked, holding an unsteady hand to his head. The sounds of gunfire had brought him back to a painful, head-throbbing reality.
“Yeah, Mike. You missed all the action. Your bro almost kicked the bucket, but yours truly saved him, of course,” Alex declared, smiling.
With Billy’s help, Mike got to his feet and sat next to Steve at the kitchen table. Both brothers were silent and completely exhausted. Alex came over after a few cheers and tended to Steve’s arm.
The Longest Road (Book 1) Page 13