by R. J. Spears
“But you may not be able to get out of here on foot,” Russell said.
It still took a gentle shove by Jo to set Kara in motion for the truck. Russell followed, but his legs felt sluggish.
They both got in the truck and looked back at their two comrades. Sure, Brother Ed was a pain in the ass, but when the chips fell, he showed his true colors and sacrificed himself for the good of the group. Kara would never think the same about him again. It was hard for her to meet Jo’s eyes. Jo had become like a big sister to her in the past months.
Kara felt a tightening in her throat as tears filled her eyes.
“They’ll be none of that,” Jo said “and we’re far from dead. Aren’t we, Brother Ed?”
“Darn tootin’”, Brother Ed said, putting on the worst false grin in the history of the world.
“Time to get out of here,” Jo said.
The engine roared to life, and Kara dropped the transmission into drive.
Without looking back, she pressed down the gas pedal, and the truck shot out of the loading dock. They rode off the paved area behind the building and bounced over some uneven ground for a few seconds; then, the terrain smoothed out. She looked out over the farm fields, and her heart sank. Much of their corn and other crops had been ruined, either by the other escapees in their panicked flight or by the approaching undead army.
Two armored zombies angled on an intercept path for the truck, and Kara took gentle evasive maneuvers, not wanting to risk tipping the truck if they hit any soft spots or dips in the ground. One armored zombie, with what looked like a metal crown attached to its head, had the best angle. Kara decided it was time to use all four tons of the truck as a battering ram. The front bumper of the truck took the zombie head on, bouncing the armored monstrosity across the field like a trashcan.
When the scorekeepers were done, it would easily be Truck 1, Zombies 0. Kara eased the truck back onto its original path around the small horde of zombies coming toward the building.
Any sense of satisfaction was shockingly interrupted when a series of bullets bounced off the front hood, sending a spider web of cracks across the windshield. Kara jerked the wheel to the left and overcorrected, sending the truck sideways in an uncontrolled skid in the soft soil around their farm fields. Naveen and Madison screamed loudly, and Russell braced himself as they headed for a large oak tree standing between their corn and wheat plants.
The tree was coming up fast on the driver’s side of the truck, positioned for a direct impact, dead center. Kara took her foot off the brake and goosed the gas pedal. Some slight control came into play, and the back of the truck angled away from the massive trunk of the oak, and it almost cleared the tree. Almost.
The back of the truck slammed into the oak tree, sending a jarring shock wave through the truck as it spun around like a top in the soft ground. It took two seconds before the spin completed its revolution. Both of the kids screamed again as bullets struck the side of the truck. Gertrude and Clara joined in, but Mr. Schultz stayed silent as he gripped onto the hand rest and rode the spin out with a grimace. Jason threw his body over the kids to protect them in the only way he knew how.
Kara turned the ignition, but the engine protested, churning and churning to start.
Kara shouted, “Everybody get down.”
Russell felt as if they were totally exposed, being out in the open. He looked out his window and saw a contingent of zombies break away from the ones assaulting the complex and start their way. The sound of shots echoed, and bullets broke the side window of the truck, sending shattered glass into the cab. He jerked his head in the direction of the sound and saw a series of muzzle flashes off in the tree line. He had no angle from the front seat, so he grabbed the door handle and jumped out, immediately going to one knee and returning fire.
“What are you doing?” Kara yelled.
He shouted back over his shoulder at her, “We’re sitting ducks out here. I have to distract the shooter somehow. Get the truck going, and get out of here.”
His shots had worked to some degree, because no new shots came their way, but Russell saw a dark figure moving in the shadows of the woods, just about a hundred feet away. He tried to track it, but the mottled spots of sunlight cut through the canopy of trees, and the shadows made that nearly impossible.
The best thing he could do was wait for the next shot from the attacker and hope to get off a lucky return shot.
The engine finally cooperated and started.
“Get in; we’ve got to go,” Kara shouted.
“No,” Russell said without turning around, training his aim on the section of trees where he had last seen the shooter. “He could still take you out if I’m not out here to distract him.”
“Then, I’m getting out with you,” Kara said.
“No!” Russell yelled, “You need to stay with the truck. Now, please, just go.”
Everyone inside the truck knew he was right, but no one wanted to leave him behind. They needed shooters on each side of the truck in case there were other attackers out there, but Russell would have to cover both sides the best way he could.
“We’ll come back for you if we can,” Kara said, but not believing it.
A new shot rang out, and a bullet slammed into the back fender. Russell whipped his rifle’s aim to the location of the muzzle flash and fired off three quick shots.
“GO!” he yelled.
Kara pressed the gas pedal down, yanked the wheel hard to the left, and drove toward an open meadow, past the now gone-to-seed golf course. She watched in the rearview mirror as Russell got smaller and smaller.
Chapter 32
Setting the Scene for the Final Act
I took an oblique angle toward the north side of the ridge. The Lord of the Dead’s vehicles were clearly visible now. A couple dozen armored zombies stood in place, silent sentinels awaiting a command from their evil overlord. It made me wonder if this guy wore a long black cape and glowered a lot. Maybe he even laughed in a deep and ominous tone.
The zombies concerned me, but my focus was on the vehicles. I wondered if every vehicle had a transmitter or only a select few did. I took a moment to examine all of them closely, looking for any sign that they had a transmitter. After several seconds, I finally saw something – elaborate antennas on the front cab of two of the semi-trailers and a similar one on both sides of the buses. These weren’t CB radio antennas, but something more sophisticated, sticking up above the reach of the trailers.
I double-clicked the talk button on my walkie-talkie twice in succession and waited.
Travis came back about three seconds later, talking in a whisper, “I’m just about in position. What do you need?”
“Two of the semis have antennas,” I said. “I’m guessing they have transmitters. Same for the two buses. As of right now, I don’t see any humans in the area, but I’m guessing that there are people on the buses. I’m going to take out the semis, and that should distract them. You can use that as your chance to come up with the grenades. You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he whispered back.
“Ready or not, be prepared for some fireworks,” I said and went to stow my walkie-talkie when a new voice came from the speaker.
“Joel, this is Kara. Joel, if you’re there, please speak to me.”
I pressed the talk button and asked, “What is it, Kara?” My hands were shaking. This couldn’t be good news.
“Joel, we’re out,” Kara said. “Well, most of us are out. Jo and Brother Ed are still inside. We ran out of room.” Her voice sounded strained. “Russell had to stay behind to protect us, too.”
I didn’t have any words. I knew this was a possibility, but facing it was a whole different ballgame.
“Did Aaron get out?” I asked, not really wanting to know.
“He didn’t make it to the dock,” she responded.
I closed my eyes and stood there in silence for a moment.
“Are you still there?”
&nb
sp; “Yes,” I said, “but Madison and Naveen are with you, right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And Jason?”
“Yes.”
That was a great relief but also brought little consolation. We were losing so much. Too much.
“Okay,” I said, “you need to keep driving. One of us will contact you if it’s safe for you to return. If you don’t hear from us, keep driving. Head east. You know where to go.”
“We’ll see you back here,” she said.
“I sure hope so,” I said, “and now, please just keep driving. No more farewells, okay? They’ll break me.”
“Okay,” she said, trying to put as much positive energy into her words as she could, “we’ll see you soon.”
“Gotta go,” I said and pocketed the walkie-talkie.
I picked up the RPG launcher and opened the pack with the three warheads. There was no margin for error if we wanted to take out all the transmitters. I loaded the first one up, trying to remember all the steps that Greg had taken us through when he trained us on how to fire these damn things. I wished I had paid better attention. It seemed simple: insert Part A into Part B, pull Part C and wham-bam, thank you, ma’am, you had an explosion. Still, I fumbled with the warhead for a couple of seconds until it clicked into place. I brought the RPG up to my shoulder and aimed it at the semis, trying to decide which one to fire on.
Ennie-meanie-minie-mo, a small voice said in the back of my mind.
I knew I had better be more strategic than random selection, so, just to be safe, I picked the outside one. I locked in my aim and knew the moment of truth was upon me. I said a silent prayer with my eyes still open and then pulled the trigger.
There was an extremely loud explosion next to my ear, followed by a whooshing sound. A couple of milliseconds later, the truck I had aimed at exploded in a ball of flame. A large plume of smoke erupted from the impact with parts of metal and glass flying out of it. When the smoke cleared, I saw that the truck cab was fully engulfed in flames.
Score one for Joel, I thought. I knew how to bring down the house.
Anthony thought, What the hell was that?
He snapped his head around and saw smoke rising from one of the trucks, quickly followed by flames. His eyes darted over the field, looking for an attacker, but saw no one. They had to be using a rocket launcher or something. This thought chilled him because that left him very, very vulnerable. He had hoped that the worse they had were grenades. No, this wasn’t a good sign at all. He remembered all too well being trapped on a burning bus: the choking smoke, the searing flames, and the burning. His sense memory came alive with the thoughts of his flesh heating up, feeling as if someone were tearing into him and ripping it off, a piece at a time with a superheated pair of pliers.
His fingers shook, but he tamped down the panic and went back to work. He was too close to his goal to let his fear take him. He turned his attention to unlocking the cage and tried to keep thoughts of burning alive on the bus out of his mind, but like a flame, the thoughts still flickered in the distance.
The lock came loose, and he slowly pulled the cage door open.
He extended a hand and said, “Come out, my little ones. It’s time to go to work.”
Success! That was how I felt as I watched the truck burn. Of course, this sense of accomplishment was quickly tempered by the idea that there was still a shitload of zombies attacking our home base and five more vehicles to deal with. In other words, I knew we were far from hanging up a mission-accomplished banner.
I looked out into the field and saw a large group of zombies stop in place as if someone had pulled out their power cords. They stood motionless, awaiting the next compelling command, but none came.
While those were stopped dead (no pun intended), there were still hordes of them assaulting the complex. The fire that had been on the third floor of the main building had spread to the second and was burning unabated.
Despite my momentary happiness about taking out one of the trucks, my heart sank as I watched our safe haven going up in flames. First the church, now the Manor. It was getting to be too much.
I wondered if there was any redemption in the human race. With a common threat, we should have banded together to save the species from extinction. But it seemed the exact opposite was the case. What little amount of living, breathing humans left in this undead world fought and struggled for dominion over the same things we had always fought about in the past - land, power, and food. I contemplated the flood of Noah’s time and felt as if I now had some idea of how God felt before He brought down the rains.
Russell watched the truck drive up the long and gently sloping hill that led to safety and felt very lonely and exposed on his own. He turned his attention back to the woods, where the shots had come from, and saw a shadowy figure standing back from the tree line, aiming a rifle at the escaping vehicle. The figure was about seventy-five yards away and fired off several shots. A couple bullets pinged off the back of the truck, sending sparks into the air.
Russell aimed and fired, not considering that he was out in the open and an easy target. His anger overtook any logic or thoughts of self-preservation. This bastard was trying to kill his friends, and he would have to pay.
His bullets quickly got the attention of the attacker, but none hit home. The attacker swiveled and let loose with a rip of his own bullets. Russell’s self-preservation instinct finally kicked in, and he threw himself face down on to the ground. He heard bullets whiz over his head, and a couple kicked dirt into his face, as the attacker corrected his aim.
Russell knew he had better return fire or else he was dead meat. He remained prone, but rose up onto his elbows, brought his rifle up, and clicked off a couple of shots. The figure ducked but didn’t go down. Because Russell was more in panic mode, he knew his first shots weren’t really aimed, so he took a deep calming breath and targeted the last place he had seen the figure. He fired off two more shots and waited. There was no movement in the woods where he was aiming
Afraid to stand or move, Russell trained his rifle on the trees and waited, the muscles in his arms starting to bind up because of the tension. A clattering noise sounded off to his right, and he learned the attacker was, indeed, still alive. Moaning their guttural noises, a group of around ten armored zombies had broken from the pack on the southeast corner of the complex and started shambling his way. He had some time because of their slow movement, but he knew he couldn’t stay there forever. The problem was that as soon as he stood, he’d stick out so blatantly he might as well paint a target on his chest.
Russell felt his sweat turn from hot to cold, waiting for the hammer to fall. The moans and metal clanking noises got closer. The zombies’ metal enhanced forms looked even more frightening from his perspective on the ground.
The culmination of all this fell onto him, and he realized that he was about to die if he didn’t do something. A bad line from an old movie hit him, “it was better to die on your feet than live on your knees.” For some unknown reason, this caused him to laugh, his breaths kicking up dust on the ground. He started with small chuckles at first, but he quickly found himself caught in a belly laugh. This went on for at least twenty seconds until he had to reach up and clear the tears out of his eyes.
A voice came from the shadowy darkness of the trees, “What the fuck are you laughing about?”
While this did put a slight damper on his laugh fest, he still felt an absurd giddiness overtake him. “Maybe it’s because I’m about to kill you, you son of a bitch,” he said.
“You and whose army, asshole?” the voice asked.
“I don’t need an army,” Russell responded. “It’s just me and you.”
“And those zombies coming down on you.”
Russell focused himself, reducing his world down to his eyes and his ears. “You want to know something?” He asked in a shout.
“What?” the voice replied.
“You talk too much,” Russell shouted an
d pulled the trigger.
He had isolated the source of the voice coming from behind a large oak, just a few feet off the edge of the grass line. He knew there was no way to hit his man, but he had to keep him pinned down and out of sight. He adjusted his fire, first shooting one side of the tree and then the other side, with some of his bullets flying past the tree and into the woods. That was okay, he thought. He just needed the man to stay behind the tree long enough for him to get up and start moving. That was a long run, but, when it came down to it, he knew he had no other choice. It was death by being shot or death by being ripped apart by zombies. Neither option seemed too good.
As soon as his rifle was empty, he discarded it and leapt to his feet, starting a dead out sprint toward the tree. As he ran, he retrieved his .45 from his waistband and held it out in front of his body, aiming it at the tree. He knew his aim was shaking like a can of paint in a paint shaker, but it would have to do. It didn’t matter as he pounded his way toward the tree. He only hoped his all-out barrage would be enough to keep whoever it was behind the tree, hunkered down and afraid to peek around it for fear he’d get his face shot off.
That’s what Russell hoped. It seemed a long, long distance away as he felt his throat go dry.
Chapter 33
The Final Act
Strangely, there was no overt movement from any of the other vehicles. I let my glance slide from the remaining two trucks to the two buses. I don’t know what I expected: maybe a swarm of vampire bats or a line of dancing girls. None of the above showed up.
I looked over my shoulder, to the stilled zombies in the field, and an amazing transformation took place as they went from statues to moving again. The group split in half, with one part moving toward the complex, and the other part coming straight at me.
Staying where I was seemed like a bad idea. While they weren’t speedy, they would be on me in a few minutes if I stayed in place. I cautiously moved forward and went to one knee as I loaded the next warhead. It clicked into place and brought the launcher up into the firing position. With an inspired new confidence, I locked on the next truck with an antenna and let the missile fly.