For Which We Stand: Ian's road (A Five Roads To Texas Novel Book 3)

by Joseph Hansen

  “We got a long way to go, Big Boy,” he said. “I’ve been in some shit before today and made it out okay. We’ll get through this. We just gotta trust each other.” Jasper licked his face in response. “That’s my boy, let’s go.” He saw the dog visibly relax his stride.

  Low and slow they moved, making sure their movement was smooth. They stuck to the concrete barriers as much as they could until the building cast a more favorable shadow, causing them to become virtually invisible from the street; it was also considerably cooler. They slowed at windows to make sure they didn’t alert any screamers inside the building. Ian doubted any out here would hear it, being drawn by the speakers that were now blasting out Radiohead from the arena and Guns N’ Roses from the stadium.

  He watched the streets from the shadows and slowed when he came to bodies lying on the pavement. He watched them closely for movement, ready to plunge the sharp end of his spike into their heads. People who were attacked, however, eventually stood up and moved off in their own quest for street meat. That didn’t mean it wasn’t prudent to watch the fallen; they may only be incapacitated and still capable of screaming.

  Then Ian saw it—opportunity!—and his knees began to shake involuntarily at what lay before him.

  Chapter Nine

  Phoenix Arizona, May 2nd

  Ian could hear the infected around to the northwest as well as AC/DC blaring from the stadium, now overwhelming Shakira from the arena. Separate from that, but noticeable, were the howls and screams of infected that had collected where the Others had run when they broke off from the smiths in a feeble attempt to escape ahead of the rest of the group. They were separated from the infected by only a ninety-degree turn, yet he felt his luck was beginning to change.

  One side of the street, where the large parking ramp that serviced the convention center sat, appeared to be virtually vacant with only an occasional infected passing through. On the far end of the block, the horde was splitting off and moving along the north side of the center, leaving him and Jasper a clear shot to the dark, open space of the parking ramp.

  If he turned around, he would have an elevated view of the stadium. On the other side was a ramp that led to a walled-in, iron-gated area where trucks backed in, and he wanted to kick himself. He had seen these doors on the inside, and all he would’ve had to do was open a door, and he would be in a protected, enclosed loading area. Overhead doors lined the wall of the building, providing a wide-open area, where they could almost walk at leisure. The important thing was, however slim, they had an out and a reasonably protected space in which to operate.

  Now, if only they could come up with a small distraction just a block away to the north, and he and Jasper would have it made in the shade—except they wouldn’t, really. There was open ground, but there was also open line-of-sight, and there was no way a man and a dog could make it across that without being seen. In truth, they were lucky to have made it this far. They needed something more; the headlong dashes seemed to be getting him nowhere and wearing him out in the process.

  He scanned the lot in front of him, where only a few trucks still rested. A short box semi sat out toward the wall, while a UPS cube van was backed up against the closed overheads. Behind that was a booth built within the wall, where a guard or administer must have sat. Beyond the booth was a custom-painted Ford Econoline cube van that had a huge castle and the name Medieval Iron spelled out on the side. Ian smiled.

  “This couldn’t have gotten any better for us, Jasper. Heel up.”

  Ian stuck to the shadows as they made their way to the guardhouse, remembering what Mustafa said about the guards holding the keys to private vehicles so they could move them as bigger rigs came in. The door was open, and Ian saw the one peg that held a set of keys, and he grabbed them. It was a Ford key. Ian scanned the panel and saw the gate buttons, which were labeled, and had to physically restrain himself from making a rash decision.

  “No, make sure it starts first.” He ran to the Ford and opened the door, letting Jasper inside, who instantly took the shotgun position. Ian followed into the driver’s side and slid the key in the ignition and paused for just a second to see what he was looking at.

  It was a ten- to twelve-year-old truck and an E-450, so he would have the heft to get through a lot of flesh before breaking down. He took the headlights off auto even though it was still light out. There were enough shadows that a set of blazing headlights would call a lot of unwanted attention to them. It was an automatic, which would be quieter than him trying to grind his way through unfamiliar gears.

  He turned the key, ready to wince or crap his pants if there wasn’t a muffler or something, but the vehicle started so quietly and easily he had to look at the lights on the dash to see that it was running. He turned on his lamp and went into the back to check that the door was closed. Seeing the heavy construction of the box, he suddenly realized that the blacksmith must have fabricated it himself in order to hold the weight of the iron rods, flat bands, and sheet steel that he carried for his trade.

  None of this would help him or the dog, but it left a lot of exposed wire along the inside of the box. He followed them to the taillights and undid the wire clip that went into the lights, so nothing could follow his brake lights as they rolled. He checked, then popped up the overhead door on the truck, figuring Mustafa had left it unlatched in the dock area and slipped out.

  “Stay and guard the truck,” he said to Jasper before sneaking back to the guardhouse. There were three gate buttons labeled N, E, S which he figured meant north, east, and south, but they were not in the proper order. The east was where the north should be, followed by the south button and then the north, which left Ian wondering if he should trust the label or the arrangement. In the end he figured it didn’t matter much and all he needed was an open gate to escape the lot.

  He looked at Jasper, who was in the opened door of the back of the cube van, looking away from Ian. Ian looked beyond him and saw the group of infected that had his pooch worried. At least seven had rounded the building up on the sidewalk, as opposed to down on the streets with the majority.

  “Now or never,” Ian said and hit the button labeled N. A computer panel flashed… “Invalid ID, please re-enter code.”

  “Fuck,” Ian said and started opening drawers, hoping he could find something. He opened a lockable cabinet door that wasn’t locked and heard the slap of a lanyard. He pulled the keycard off the hook and swiped the card through a reader.

  The words stopped flashing, and the gate buttons lit up. His finger hovered over the N button, and he froze, thinking that he was making a mistake. Everything was so clean and professional in the booth, yet the letters on the buttons were written with a Sharpie.

  Would a union electrician wire the security station in such a haphazard way as to not have buttons line up properly? And if it was a programmer instead of an electrician, would they? No, these types of facilities were state-of-the-art, and if Steve Jobs taught the world anything, it was the value of having things organized and neat… even if you can’t see it.

  He repositioned over the far right-hand button and pressed it.

  The north gate started to open, drawing the infected out towards it. There was a switch labeled LOCK, which he assumed took the gate off a timer or a sensor and kept it open indefinitely.

  The way was clear, and he ran to the cube van then hopped inside, slowly pulling down the door. He thought about latching it, but that would cut him off from an escape hatch if they needed it, so he blocked the tracks with scrap steel before he moved into the driver’s seat with Jasper again taking shotgun. He slid the security cage between the cab and back closed, knowing all the loose steel back there could cause more damage than an infected during a quick stop, and readied himself to go.

  Infected were starting to gather at the recently opened gate, but as soon as it stopped they lost interest, so he waited hoping the way would clear naturally. He reached into his pack between the seats and pulled out some ene
rgy bars and an opened a bottle of water. He slowly poured water into his cupped hand, letting Jasper drink his fill, before taking his own drink. They ate the bars and waited. Twenty minutes, a half hour… the truck still running quietly, becoming a part of the landscape and blending into the music from down the street.

  After what seemed like an hour but was probably only forty minutes, the street had cleared considerably, and Ian wondered exactly how many infected were now gathered in and around the stadium. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was right in front of him.

  He slipped the van into gear and slowly rolled out to the opened gate. The van rolled so slowly that only a few of the infected took notice by staring at the moving vehicle. There were no people in view, so there weren’t any triggers to inspire the shriek. Instead, they stopped and watched, as if there was something buried deep within their gray matter that knew what this thing was.

  In the distance, they could hear the frustrated howls from infected as they searched for food while moving toward the still blaring music, but the frenzied howls held off… at first.

  Something triggered within the infected seemingly all at once. They screamed and rushed toward the cube van, so Ian hit it—not the loud, screeching-tire sort of hit it but more the with-purpose hit it, keeping to a speed where he could serve away from most of them and have time to react before he got caught en masse.

  He hit a woman head-on and was amazed at how much he felt the blow to the vehicle. He realized that though the van was large, it was by no means equipped to deal with many head-on collisions like the railroad truck Ian was used to.

  Ian swerved around a mass of forty, who suddenly shifted all their focus and speed on one target—them. The infected hit the side of the cube van like a tsunami, causing it to skip-hop three times to the side before defeating the force of impact. He turned into the mass to prevent a roll and turned hard left to create a little fishtail to throw them back.

  It worked, but it also threw him off track and straight into three more infected, spearheaded by a four-hundred-pound giant wearing a Suns jersey that would have been a tent for anyone else. It was like hitting a brick wall, sending Jasper into the dash then to the floor.

  Jasper yelped then whined as he held himself low on the floorboards with his legs splayed to maximize his balance. The van rocked manically side-to-side as it navigated the massive body it crushed. Ian was grateful for the extra weight of steel in the back or they might have lost the battle and been overwhelmed by cellulite. He couldn’t remember what sex or body type the other two with the giant were because he was so focused on that mass of meat, which he hit with such force that it practically exploded on impact.

  Then they were past it and the truck was still rolling, though there was a hell of a shimmy coming out of the front end. He kept swerving and took another left to find the street clearing out and more open space between the hulking bodies. Singles in full sprint slammed into the side of the van, causing a slight shift side-to-side, but nothing like the initial swarm.

  The van bounced then a chunk of meat slapped onto the road, and the shimmy went away, reminding Ian of how rough his vehicles run when their springs get packed with snow in the winter, and it takes a major thaw to smooth them out.

  Ah, the carefree days of my youth.

  Ian took turns alternating left and right for multiple blocks until he was sure the mass that had been chasing him was left behind, and he relaxed for a few minutes to gather himself. He took a left by the state university, onto a wide boulevard that was a glut of infected. None of them were moving. A pile of bodies stretched across the road in some places five feet high. Not like it was set up to be a barricade, but because that was where they fell as they approached a well-armed group.

  He wondered for a moment if this carnage was left by his group in their haste to get back to Scottsdale, but it couldn’t have been; they didn’t have that kind of lead with them, and these bodies had been there for a while. Many of the bodies had wounds made by large-caliber weapons, telling Ian that a ma deuce or a SAW or two had been employed.

  He turned into an alley that extended into almost three blocks of clear driving, other than the occasional trash container, which he let the bumper push out of the way. On the third block, the alley came to a T, where several backyards shared a wide area to move vehicles around. He saw a couple derelict vehicles, only one of which was on blocks, and an incredibly large boat. A boat that belonged on the ocean or even the great lakes, but it was here sitting on a triple-axle trailer and looking brand new in the middle of Phoenix.

  What such a rig was doing in downtown Phoenix, Ian didn’t know but was able to figure it out when he saw a newer truck whose back window displayed Baja California stickers. This was some business man’s wet dream of a fishing rig.

  He pulled over behind the truck, taking advantage of the coverage provided by low palms that lined the driveway. He made sure the doors were locked then closed his eyes and worked up a nice little fantasy about what it would be to own a rig like this and have enough money and time to use it all the time. He would travel every river and coastline if he could, but such was not his lot in life.

  He slid open the security cage to the back so he and Jasper could get some rest on the stacks of quilted moving blankets that were back there. The alley was quiet, and the street light stayed on like many of the others in Phoenix due to the still-operational reactor that supplied most of the city.

  This brought another point to mind. What about all those nuclear reactors throughout the country and the fuel refineries left unattended? There could be hundreds or thousands of places in this modern world that, when left unattended, could destroy a lot of real estate.

  What am I going to do? Every action I take seems to be near impossible, and we get nowhere. The Koreans, and whoever, are still going to attack, and even though I have the list of what could be all the supply stations, I can do nothing. One station here, one there, and still I am going to be nothing more than an annoyance, if even that.

  He pulled Jasper in close as he chewed on an energy bar.

  “I am going to have to start bringing dog food with me, aren’t I,” he whispered, and Jasper leaned into his attention. The sun set, and Ian checked his headset to make sure he would hear any transmission.

  It was a couple hours before they were rudely jostled awake by the cube van being rocked back and forth after something heavy impacted the side. They listened, and there were sounds, but it wasn’t the sounds of infected. There was some kind of fight going on outside—like a fight between rival gangs.

  Ian got to his knees and looked out the window as his hands started combining partial magazines for his 1911. He came up with two, which was only sixteen rounds. He had several magazines for an M4, but his took a crap, so he was down to his 1911, an alloy pike, and a matching tomahawk.

  He fought with Jasper a little to get a better view out the window and saw a gang of five. He tried to see behind them through the rearview side mirror but couldn’t get the right angle. He could see one gun in the group, and it looked like a Chinese SKS, which was basically a piece of crap but could still kill readily enough. The others had opted for melee weapons, consisting mainly of baseball bats and crowbars. Some had tried to put spikes or razor wire on the bats but didn’t realized that dimmed the tool’s effectiveness. Bats are blunt-force instruments, solid wood or aluminum against a skull is how it is going to work best. You can’t pound a nail through it or a screw without pre-drilling it first. Then you lose the integrity of the wood. However, by looking at the crew out there, Ian doubted any of them had an IQ of over a hundred.

  One teenager lay on the ground, holding his arm as if he had just been walloped with a bat. He looked up at the gang to show a face so covered in grime that Ian couldn’t tell how old he was or what race until he saw the curly hair cut tight to his head.

  “Come on, Wrecker… she’s just a kid,” the boy on the ground said.

  “Don’t call me that, ki
d. I am the Zombie Killer now.”

  “Oh man, you’re delusional… they’re not even zombies, man,” the kid protested, eliciting a few stomps from the one who called himself the Zombie Killer.

  The boy on the ground screamed in pain and held his leg like it was damaged, but Ian knew better. The kid was probably used to getting beat down, and he allowed his leg enough freedom to move with the stomping foot so it wouldn’t cause much damage. Or at least not as much as he was making it out to have.

  “She who?” Ian whispered into Jasper’s ear as he wondered what female was too young. And too young for what? This was none of his business, and he knew it, but it wasn’t in his nature to try to sleep as someone was getting the shit beat out of them just outside his bedroom, even if his bedroom was a stolen truck.

  “Where is she, Ty? You know we’re going to get her, so why don’t you just tell us?” another voice said in a forced street accent, instantly identifying the speaker as a wannabe gang banger. Ian could tell just by his tone that he walked with an exaggerated limp because he thought it looked tough and said stupid shit like bae and aight and my shorty. He was probably some suburban snot who got kicked out of his nice home for smarting off to his old man, and after a couple nights turning blow jobs for some drunk in an alley, decided to join a gang and do their dirty work. He knew that he was making a lot of assumptions, but they were assumptions based upon the stupid shit he had seen before, and to be honest, he was sick of it.

  Ian scanned the scene again and then beyond, looking for the woman but couldn’t spot her.

  “She’s safe. It’s not gonna do any good to beat on me. I’m not going to tell you where she is.” The one called Ty looked up and readied himself for another blow.

  “Aight, she be here somewhere, just look around,” the wannabe said, and the group did start to look around, except for the self-professed “zombie killer,” who started to kick the kid on the ground some more.