by Dirk Patton
The only reason I’d even let myself go down the thought path of having a relationship with Rachel was I had convinced myself that I’d never see Katie again. I remembered the first time I’d laid eyes on her. She’d been a case office for the CIA and while working in Central America had run afoul of a local rebel commander. Fortuitously, I’d been there with my team to take the commander out of the equation and we’d wound up rescuing and extracting Katie.
It had pretty much been love at first sight for me. From the moment I looked into her eyes… well, you get the idea. Anyway, I’d had some down time coming after that mission and so had she. After a couple of days of intense CIA and Army Intelligence debriefing we were released for leave, and I’d convinced her that we should spend our time off together. Thinking back on it I hadn’t had to work very hard to talk her into it.
Both of us had had our fill of hot, humid jungles, and since it was summer we headed for a beach, ending up on the central Oregon coast. We spent 10 days exploring the beaches, small towns, eating seafood, drinking, making love and generally decompressing. We’d tried a From Here To Eternity moment in the surf but damn the North Pacific is cold, even in July. Leaving Oregon we drove south through California then headed east, stopping in Vegas where we got married in a small, private chapel by a guy wearing a powder blue leisure suit.
That was more years ago than I wanted to think about, and I didn’t regret a single moment. Sure, we had our ups and downs. Katie could be a moody bitch. I could be a rigid asshole. But we were good together. Mostly because she didn’t put up with any of my shit.
“She’s OK,” Rachel said from the dark backseat. “Nothing life threatening, but she’ll be hurting for a while.”
I had forgotten I’d asked about Martinez, completely lost in my reminiscing about Katie. My hands were aching and I realized I was squeezing the steering wheel as hard as I could. Taking a deep breath I relaxed my grip and forced those thoughts out of my head. The emotions were distracting me from the task at hand and if that happened I could wind up getting all of us killed, then there wouldn’t be anyone to rescue Katie.
Clearing my head, I checked the GPS. 91 miles to go. Maybe another 20 miles of Oklahoma City, then sparsely populated suburbs and open country as we drove north to the Indian Reservation where the casino was located. I’d feel a whole lot better once we got out of the city and away from the possibility of running into large numbers of infected, or desperate survivors.
Ahead I could see light as we approached an area of the city that still had power. There were a couple of vehicles moving, and I came to a stop. We might or might not draw unwanted attention from survivors if we drove through an area that still had a degree of normality to it, but there was still a dead infected female lying on the dash of the Suburban.
There was little doubt we’d draw a lot of attention with a corpse decorating our vehicle. The world felt like it was heading that way, but we still hadn’t reached the level of the apocalypse depicted in the Road Warrior. Bodies draped over the hood just might be a little over the top.
“Why are you stopping?” Rachel asked. I took a moment to explain before stepping out and dragging the dead woman off the SUV and letting her tumble to the pavement.
Back behind the wheel I got us moving north again, passing a sign welcoming us to Midwest City just a few yards before we entered the area where the lights were on. The street was a large boulevard, lined with businesses and mid-level motels. A big, glass fronted restaurant on our right was full of people, the parking lot jammed with mostly pickups, but also a large contingent of police cars. It looked like they were having a meeting as we slowly passed.
A tall, fat man dressed in jeans, sports jacket and a cowboy hat was standing on what looked like the salad bar and everyone was gathered around listening to what he had to say. A dozen heavily armed men stood watch in the parking lot, all of them turning to look at us. For some reason I wasn’t comfortable under their scrutiny and accelerated to open up some distance.
“Not liking the look of that,” I commented as we lost sight of the building.
“Why?” Rachel asked.
“It’s the middle of the night, and that didn’t look like a PTA meeting. That’s someone trying to whip the locals up into doing something.” I said, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror.
“Maybe they’re talking about setting up some defenses against the infected.” Martinez offered.
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re not too happy that there’s not enough vaccine to go around.” I said, tensing when I saw two sets of headlights bounce out of the parking lot and start following.
As soon as I saw the headlights, I reacted. Stepping on the gas I cranked the wheel to the right and turned onto a side street. Foot to the floor I raced for the next intersection, braking at the last moment and screaming through a turn back to the south. Not the way I wanted to go, but if we did have pursuers and they didn’t know the way we went they’d start searching north, the direction we had been going.
The mirror was still empty and after a quarter mile I made a fast left and kept our speed up to open as much range between the meeting and us as I could. The power was still on in the area, the street well lit, and soon we began passing bodies lying on the pavement and the sidewalk.
“Infected?” Rachel asked.
“I sure as hell hope so,” I said, concentrating on my driving. I hadn’t seen or heard anything to make me think the Oklahoma City area had disintegrated far enough that people were killing each other in large numbers, but you never know what spark will ignite a wholesale slaughter.
Ahead the road curved to the north, and I was happy to see we’d be traveling in our intended direction once again. Slowing for the turn I jammed on the brakes when I spotted red and blue lights reflecting in a storefront window. Lots of lights, lots of police cars. Something was going on around the curve and not only wasn’t it any of my business, I had no desire to make it my business.
Reversing, I got us turned around and headed back the direction we had come from, looking for another road that headed north. Finding one, I made the turn. This road was much smaller, only two narrow lanes in each direction. Large commercial buildings lined each side, built right up to the sidewalks. We were driving through a concrete canyon and my tension ratcheted up several notches.
This was a perfect place for an ambush. The road was barely wider than the length of the Suburban. Turning around wouldn’t be a quick or easy process. We hadn’t come to an intersection yet, but I had already decided I was going to turn as soon as I could.
I’d been driving with only the headlights on low, not needing the brilliant light from the LED bar because of the light provided by the street lights, but thought it might be a good idea to see what was waiting for us beyond the reach of the Chevy’s lights. Turning on the high beams, then the light bar, I let off the gas when a couple of hundred yards ahead I saw three police cars blocking our path.
Their roof lights came on a moment after I lit them up. Shit!
“Hold on!” I shouted, cranking the wheel and attempting to send the ungainly SUV into a skid to get us turned around quickly.
It was a good idea, and in a car would have worked perfectly. But the physics of the lifted vehicle and its oversized off-road tires worked against me. The Suburban leaned precariously to the right as it started into a turn, our speed not great enough to fully overcome the traction afforded by the large footprint of the tires. I instantly recognized my error and stamped on the throttle, trying to break the rear tires free and let them slide around.
I only made things worse. The rear didn’t slide, just powered us into the turn. The sidewalk was directly ahead, a four-story cement wall right behind it, and we were about to crash into it head on. There wasn’t anything I could do other than ride out the maneuver I’d started and keep the wheel hard to the left.
It seemed to take forever but the front tires finally struck the curb, the nose of the SUV dipping momentarily like i
t was gathering itself to launch into the air. That change in the attitude of the suspension shifted weight to the front of the vehicle and finally the rear tires came free. As the front bounced up and over the curb onto the sidewalk, the back end whipped around, but farther and faster than I intended.
The passenger side of the Suburban slammed into the building, shattering all the windows on the right side of the vehicle. My foot had come off the gas when we hit the curb and now facing the right direction I floored it. We started moving, bounced back into the street, and I found myself facing three police cars speeding towards us with lights flashing.
35
I accelerated directly at the oncoming cops. We were boxed in, but I wasn’t about to give up. The Suburban was big and heavy and could dish out a lot of punishment against the lighter sedans the police were driving. The engine roared as we picked up speed and I steered for the narrow gap between two of the cruisers.
At first it didn’t seem as if they were going to blink in our impromptu game of chicken, but at the last moment they did, both vehicles swerving away from the looming grill of the big SUV. Both drivers had waited until the last moment to turn, and didn’t create an opening large enough for me to drive through cleanly. With a rending crunch of sheet metal and a hard jolt I blasted between them, seeing one of them go into an uncontrolled spin in my mirror.
Four more police cars were parked at the intersection ahead, creating a roadblock. The cops were crouched behind their vehicles with weapons resting on hoods and trunks, aimed in our direction. Behind them were a couple of unmarked SUVs that I was sure were official vehicles of some sort.
Staying on the throttle I worked my rifle up with my left hand, struggling to get the muzzle through the window and aimed at the roadblock. I had absolutely no intention of stopping and dealing with the locals. My patience had expired and all I gave a shit about was getting to Katie. I was through with people getting in my way.
A moment before I got the rifle stabilized and ready to fire I saw a muzzle flash from the cordon of police. Almost instantly the wheel wrenched hard to the side. They had shot out the right front tire. OK, if they wanted to play that way.
Flooring the throttle I fought the wheel with my right hand and began firing the rifle with my left. I didn’t have a hope in hell of sending accurate fire downrange, but that wasn’t my intent. I just wanted to keep their heads down, which was exactly what I accomplished as my rounds punched into the sides of the police vehicles.
Fighting the vibrating wheel I steered for an opening between two of the parked cars, a few heartbeats later slamming into the sides of each and blasting them out of my way. Unfortunately the already damaged Suburban, riding on a flat tire that was shredding itself to pieces, didn’t survive the impact. The wheel was spun out of my grip a moment before the airbags deployed, then we ground to a halt with the back half of the vehicle wedged tightly between the two cruisers.
I popped the door open and leapt down, Dog on my heels, changed magazines and started sending covering fire in the direction of the cluster of cops. Still firing, I held the rifle with one hand and reached out for the rear door handle, jerking it open so Rachel and Martinez could get out. They were quickly at my side; all of us ducking as the police finally got organized and began returning fire.
“What the fuck do they want?” Martinez shouted when she paused to change magazines.
“Don’t care,” I shouted back. “They’re in my way.”
I fired another burst at our attackers then spared a glance at the closest SUV. It was a Ford Explorer; painted black with tinted windows and plain, steel wheels. Definitely police issue and I wanted it to replace the now defunct Suburban.
“I’m going for the Explorer,” I shouted to Rachel and Martinez, pointing the vehicle out to them. “I’ll swing around behind and pick you up. Keep giving me covering fire!”
I didn’t wait for them to acknowledge my instructions, just fired off several more bursts as I dashed across fifty feet of open asphalt. At the Explorer I came to a stop by slamming my back against the rear door on the driver’s side, startled when I realized Dog had come with me. Fortunately neither of us had any new holes in our bodies so I yanked the front door open and told him to get in.
It was running with the keys hanging in the ignition, facing away from the firefight. Throwing the transmission into gear I stomped on the gas and spun the wheel to pick up Rachel and Martinez. When I completed the turn I cursed and jammed on the brakes. Three men stood behind them, two of them pointing shotguns. The third held a large revolver that he pointed in my direction when I screeched to a stop a few feet away.
Anger washed over me like a breaking wave. Enough is enough. From a pocket on my vest I pulled out a fragmentation grenade, gripped it in my left hand and pulled the pin. If I let go of the spoon, which would trigger the fuse, someone would have a bad night. Kicking the door open I stepped out and drew my pistol, targeting the head of the man with the revolver as I walked around the nose of the Explorer. Dog stayed right with me, welded to my leg.
“Back the fuck off!” I said to him. “Look at my left hand. The pin is out. We can all die here tonight, or you can back the fuck off and we’re on our way.”
By the time I finished speaking I was standing within fifteen feet of the three men. The man with the revolver, presumably the man in charge, looked at me with wide eyes. The two with the shotguns exchanged nervous glances.
“I’m not fucking around,” I said. “We didn’t do a damn thing to you or anyone else. You jumped us. We’ve got more important things to do than play hide the salami with you idiots. For the last time, lower your goddamn weapons and back away.”
“You’re from the base,” revolver man said. “We need the vaccine or we’re going to turn into one of the infected. Give us the vaccine. That’s all we want.”
“Do I look like someone who’s carrying vaccine around with him?” I snorted. “Now I’m getting seriously pissed off. Back off. Now!”
My pistol was steady on his head, my focus on him, but I made sure I had my body shielded from the other cops by the Explorer. I was starting to get worried about a sharp shooter. No one could sneak up on me with Dog standing there, but a scoped rifle from a hundred yards away could cause a problem. The man didn’t look like he was going to give, and I was out of time.
Without any wind up or warning I flicked the grenade overhanded through the air. As soon as it left my hand a spring pushed the spoon off to go clattering across the pavement and the clock started. My throw was good, the grenade arcing high and sailing over the men’s heads.
Everyone’s attention was on the green, baseball sized object, every pair of eyes except mine tracking its path. At the apex of the throw I pulled the trigger and shot revolver man in the head, his body instantly crumpling to the ground at the same time the grenade landed on the pavement a couple of feet farther on.
“Down!” I shouted to Martinez and Rachel as I started firing at the two men wielding the shotguns.
My first shot blew out the throat of one of them, taking him out of the fight. The second was more interested in escaping, scrambling across the asphalt to get as far away from the grenade as he could before it detonated. Four bullets hit him in rapid succession, the first three to his body, the fourth taking off the back of his head.
I had just finished saying “four Mississippi” in my head when he went down and I dropped to the ground and pulled Dog with me as flat as I could. A fraction of a second before we hit the pavement the grenade detonated, deafening me. I didn’t feel any fragments of the casing strike me and Dog was back on his feet almost before the concussion from the blast had passed over us, so I knew he was probably OK.
Sparing a glance at Rachel and Martinez I wasn’t overly concerned when neither were moving. Both were flat on their stomachs, hugging the pavement. Whipping my body up into a one knee shooting stance I raised my rifle and started looking for targets.
The cops were just poking th
eir heads up, a couple of them lifting weapons to re-start the fire fight. I sent a few rounds into the cars they were sheltering behind, causing them to duck for safety, then pulled another grenade out of my vest. Pin out, I let the spoon fly, counted to two and side armed it along the ground in their direction.
It skittered across the asphalt, slowing as it disappeared under one of the cruisers. A second later it went off, shaking the vehicle on its suspension before rupturing and touching off the fuel tank. The explosion and resulting fireball was intense, the heat from the flames threatening to blister my exposed skin.
“Let’s move!” I shouted at the girls and leapt to my feet.
Sending more covering fire in the direction of the cops, I dashed to the Explorer and jumped behind the wheel after dog scrambled into the front passenger seat. A moment later the back door was flung open and Rachel threw herself into the vehicle, Martinez right behind her. I floored the throttle before she was all the way inside, screeching away from the roadblock. No bullets chased us, or if they did they didn’t find their target before we were out of range.
“Everyone OK?” I asked as I drove.
“Good,” Martinez said, Rachel answering the same a moment later.
I lowered our speed a little and reached over to pet Dog. More than affection, I wanted to check him for wounds. After running my hand across his head, body and legs I checked it in the dim lights of the dashboard for blood. Other than grimy from combat, my hand was clean.
Letting out a slow breath, I controlled the shakes that were hitting me as adrenaline bled out of my system. We were incredibly lucky to have survived the battle without any injuries. We most likely wouldn’t have survived contact with well trained military troops, but street cops in mid-sized cities aren’t prepared to deal with what I’d unleashed on them.
“If I haven’t said it, sir, remind me not to piss you off.” Martinez said from the dark back seat.
I could hear the smirk in her voice. Several smart comments sprang to mind, but I wasn’t in the mood for witty banter and stayed quiet as I drove, eyes constantly scanning ahead of us for threats. After a few minutes Rachel broke the heavy silence in the vehicle.