“And only a small number of zombies killed in the making.” BB couldn’t help but grin now, pleased they were back on track. Behind them a black line of oil appeared on the road; they had unknowingly sprung a leak.
As they reached the Denver Boulder Turnpike without further incident, their spirits had improved, they felt more alive. The latest little thrill ride had allowed them to slough off their misery, at least for the present.
“We have a problem, old buddy,” Tom announced. He leaned forward and tapped the oil pressure dial. “We must have broken something getting around that picnic back there.”
“Jeez, are we ever gonna get a break? So, we look for another vehicle.” BB asked, pissed off once more. “Let’s try for something a little snazzy for a change.”
“No, let’s try for something a little similar. We need the grunt of this beast.”
A little disappointed, but realising his wish wasn’t truly practical, BB looked carefully around, on and off their road, hoping to find a clutch of new military vehicles, with which to replace this dying leviathan.
It was not long before they found what they wanted. Seeing a sign for the Regal Colony Square Stadium, they turned off the turnpike. There was bound to be some sort of military build-up there. It was a pretty large shopping mall, with plenty of parking, perfect for a troop concentration. They drove slowly, saving the engine as much as possible. Fortunately, it was such a heavy duty motor, built to take almost any punishment, that it could last pretty well on nearly no oil at all. With care, they might not have to walk.
Turning into the drive of a local hotel, they were pleased to have been proven right. There were seven or eight army trucks similar to the one they were driving, lined up and ready to go, by the looks of them. Then they saw the problem. Milling around the trucks were thousands of the buggers.
“Oh, crap,” BB uttered, “if you’re a religious man, Tom, start praying. There’s no way this thing will get us any further.” Tom’s face had gone pale; they’d seen first-hand what these things had done to a full detachment of troops. The engine finally gave out, and he let it coast along silently, as close as it could get to their new ride. There was about twenty yards to the nearest truck. For such a small distance, it looked like a helluva long journey. Then he remembered.
“Aftershave.”
“What?” BB asked, thinking his friend and captain had gone bonkers. Well, he did have a few years on BB.
“Danny said something about how they had confused these creatures, by spraying themselves with aftershave. Let’s give it a go.”
“Do you have any? I haven’t,” BB replied, realising this was probably the first time in his life of travel when he didn’t have any. Bloody typical, as those Brits would say.
“I have some. I grabbed my toilet bag, it’s in the carry-all I took from the plane.”
“It’s in the back of the truck.” Looking behind him, BB found the same bolt-hole Rob had discovered in his, and climbed through; he was smaller and fitter than Tom, so it was only fair. Finding the carry-all bag, he unzipped it and found the aftershave quickly. There was also a spray-on deodorant which was bound to be equally effective. With these two odours emanating from their warm bodies, it was likely to repel most things, he thought, smiling with grim hope. Poking his head back into the cab, he passed one to Tom. Spraying themselves with as much as they could stand, they were now ready to face their challenge.
Stuffing a dozen or so clips from the ammo boxes into their bags, BB slung them and his rifle over his shoulder, and descended from the back of the truck, pistol at the ready, and walked down the far side, out of sight of the enemy. Tom joined him on the ground, leaving the door ajar to make no unnecessary noise. He grabbed his own bag.
“Well, here goes nothing,” BB said, walking slowly out front of the truck. No reaction so far, maybe this would work. Tom followed behind, rifle at the ready. They strolled as slowly and steadily as possible to the closest truck. Against all sense and reason, they mingled with the crowd, trying desperately to suppress the fear that was tearing at their nerve endings. Still no reaction. The stench was appalling; in spite of the extremely cold weather, these people really were rotting, their faces and bodies showing the ravage the condition had inflicted. Everything from loose jaws to severed limbs, wounds that would have had a normal person bed-ridden, was as nothing to these poor creatures. Arriving at their target truck, they walked down the passenger side, towards the cab.
BB gently tugged at the door, trying to suppress any mechanical clicks as it opened. With the door ajar, he looked across to see a zombie sitting in the driver’s seat, its white eyes staring straight at him. It gurgled something, perhaps an enquiry, perhaps a command. Slowly, he backed up and turned to Tom, using hand signals to indicate the problem. He put down his bag and rifle, every move a slow one, so as not to arouse unwanted attention. Having drawn his bayonet and held it pointing upwards, he was ready for anything, as the door was slowly opened from within.
Out of curiosity, the zombie had slid across the bench seat and was pushing at the handle. With lightning quick reflexes borne out of fear and revulsion, BB grabbed the creature by the lapel and pulled him quickly out of the cab. It flew over his head, and landed with a dull thud on the ground, a few feet away. He lunged with the bayonet, making sure the thing didn’t have time to cry out, and plunged the knife upwards from under its jaw, penetrating into the skull and brain. With a stunned look, the zombie ceased the struggle and lay still. Quickly he pulled the blade free and wiped it on the jacket of the dead creature. Keeping it in his hand, BB climbed in smartly and pulled Tom aboard along with the bags and rifles. Squeals and gurgling roars of indignation sounded outside the cab. The pounding of fists, hands and bodies against the truck intensified as BB started the engine. Thank Christ, he thought, as it started first time.
He put it into first gear and the truck leapt ahead. Dozens of Infected standing directly in front of them went under the wheels. The torque of the diesel engine would stop at nothing, and the vehicle roared away, slithering over the crushed bodies and scattering the rest before them. It was like driving on ice, but soon the deep tread had grabbed hold of the road, and they raced past their old truck and out of the hotel’s drive, onto the main street once more. Looking in the rear vision mirrors, they could see hundreds of the outraged creatures chasing them down the street, several of whom had managed to get a grip on the canvas cover, trying to make their way to the cab. A few were like overgrown spiders, as they used their super-human strength to climb across the cloth side walls. It looked easy to them, nightmarishly simple.
Tom took out his pistol, and executed the two that were on his side. When they were far enough from any further signs of non-life, they pulled over, and, guns held at the ready, both leapt out to confront any remaining hangers-on. With a screech, one jumped from the roof, Tom catching it mid-flight. It landed messily at their feet, missing a large portion of its head.
BB was certain there was another, more cunning as it had hidden itself from view. He dropped to one knee to look under the truck. There it was, clinging to the underside, staring at him. It hissed, making itself appear more terrifying. It didn’t need to try, BB’s stomach was churning, the realisation descending on him that these things had some animal cunning, and weren’t the dumb creatures he had assumed them to be. He took careful aim at its skull, determined not to miss and damage this vehicle as well. Firing, the head disappeared in a puff of pink spray, the corpse falling to the ground, harmless.
Together, with new-found respect for their adversary, they checked in the rear troop section, but found nothing. They took the opportunity to check the fuel and found this one, too, had been topped off. It had been a challenging way to refuel a truck. Before attracting further attention, they boarded once more and headed back to the turnpike, grateful to be on their way. BB hoped he never had to confront such a crowd again, as his luck wouldn’t, couldn’t, hold out forever.
Tom was getting
excited as they had just turned onto the Baseline Road, his road. Not long now, he thought. He could see the Chautauqua Park coming up on the left, and the pedestrian crossing.
“Oh, dear God,” he exclaimed, “what the hell’s happened?” The question was rhetorical, as the house no longer stood there; it had been burnt to the ground, along with several houses further on. Numb with dread at what he might find, Tom descended from the truck. BB climbed down, covering his dumb-struck friend, and together they walked to where the dwelling had once stood. Apart from the stone-work chimney stack and a small portion of the stairs, there was nothing left but charred wood and collapsed brick wall to show anything had been there at all.
Tom gingerly climbed into the mess, looking at the debris, trying to identify something that might offer a clue as to where his wife and family were now.
“This all burned down yesterday.” A voice spoke from behind, startling them. They swung around, guns at the ready. “Whoa,” the man said, ducking, “I ain’t the enemy.”
“God, sorry,” Tom replied automatically, pointing his rifle away once more. He peered at the old man, certain he knew him. “I know you; you’re one of my neighbours, aren’t you. Chuck, isn’t it?” The man had soot on his face, making his features less recognisable. Added to that, previously they had only been on a nodding acquaintance.
“That’s right, and you’re Tom. I live two doors down. Well, I did.”
“You know my name,” Tom replied, curious.
“I knew your wife, Laurie. I would help her from time to time when you were away. I’m pleased to see you could get back from your trip. Where were you?”
“In England. I was supposed to pick up some diplomats from the US Embassy in the UK, but that never happened. I came back almost empty.” Tom wasn’t sure why he was telling the old man so much, it just seemed right.
“You’ve come a long way, then. Is he a pilot, too?” Chuck asked, indicating BB.
“Yeah, he’s BB; sorry, Brad Bukowski. We flew back together.”
“Hi Brad.” Chuck said.
“Call me BB, everyone does,” he replied, at ease in Chuck’s presence.
“Where’s my wife? My boys?” the captain asked, hopefully. Jake and Stevie, his sons, were still young, only nine and eleven. He prayed quietly they were with their mum, somewhere safe.
“I don’t rightly know. Last night, when the fire started, it spread quickly between the houses. We were all busy trying to save stuff from our own properties, when these creatures attacked, hundreds of them. I guess they were real people at one time, but just not by the time they got here. Then it was everyone for themselves. I got knocked out, so I don’t remember much. I fell down behind the hedge by my driveway, so they didn’t see me.” He fingered a lump on his forehead; the marks on his head clearly showed he had been assaulted, lending credibility to his story. “When I woke, it was all quiet, no-one was around. I’ve been looking for folks, anyone, but apart from a few dead bodies, some of them not lying down, the place is deserted. Then you came along.” The man fell silent, nothing more to say.
“What about your family? Do you have any around here?” Tom asked, trying to sound like he gave a damn. Without his family, his mind was rudderless, drifting. Chuck shook his head, ruefully.
“I have no-one, anywhere. I guess I’m what they call a free spirit; some of the meaner souls around here call me a loner.” He smiled at the paradox.
BB grabbed Tom by the arm, distracting him from the conversation. “It’s just occurred to me. Where’s the car, Laurie’s car? Shouldn’t it be parked in the driveway?”
Tom looked up, surprised he hadn’t thought of this simple fact. Glancing at the drive, he confirmed to himself it was empty. They must have driven off. Excitedly, he ran over to where it should have been; looking carefully, he could see no broken glass, indicating it had not been broken into or damaged. That was good news, the only conclusion he could come to was that it had been opened and started, using a key. And that meant that his wife and precious offspring were somewhere, hopefully safe. But where?
BB stood beside his captain, his friend.
“Where’s she most likely to go, do you think?”
“Well, Laurie’s parents are down south of San Francisco, in a little town called Pescadero. It’s too far to travel by car; I think she’ll most likely head for our cabin in the mountains. She’s probably there already, but I can’t call her, as one of the things we liked about it was the lack of phones, fixed or cell. So, that’s pretty much pooped all over my plans for now.”
“Why don’t you call Danny and the others, tell them how to get to the cabin, and then we’ll head off. They mightn’t get here until tomorrow, which means we’ll have lost a day.”
“I really do need to find my family,” Tom agreed, “alright, I’ll give them a call,” he replied, checking he still had a signal on his cell phone.
“We oughta get some supplies before we go as well. Is there a local store we could visit?” BB wanted to go prepared.
The old man had walked up to them while they were discussing their situation. He was used to being on the periphery of most people’s lives. It had been that way for some years now, ever since his wife, Eileen, passed away. Things were about to change, that much he knew. His knowledge and experience were in the ascendancy.
“So you’re gonna try and find your family, huh?” he interjected.
“Sorry, what?” Tom, deep in thought, hadn’t noticed him approach their huddle.
“Will you guys take me with ya? I think you’ll find I can be of use to you.”
“Well, we don’t really have any real solid plans at the moment, but you’re welcome to come with us, if that’s what you want,” Tom replied, his current mental state making him suspicious of freely offered assistance, but his common courtesy leading him to be reluctant to leave the old man to fend for himself.
“When you get to my age, you’ve already learnt that plans are mostly pointless, something or someone always gets in the way. I’ll be happy just to help out, you’ll find I’m pretty useful when it comes to survival,” the old man replied, beaming with pleasure. “So, what’s your intentions? Head up into the mountains?”
“I have a cabin a couple of hours from here,” Tom replied, “I’m pretty sure that my wife will have gone there, there aren’t many other options, and I’m sure she would want me to find her as soon as possible.”
“What sort of provisions are there at your cabin?” the old man asked.
“Not much. I never expected all this,” Tom admitted. Chuck chuckled, self-satisfied.
“Well, you’ve made a great start with that truck. It’ll get you anywhere, as long as you have fuel.”
“The tank’s full, we’ve only done a dozen or so miles since we, ah, acquired it,” he replied, feeling embarrassed for the first time at the thought of how he had obtained it; it was, technically, theft.
“Ownership is always an arguable point,” Chuck proffered. “I think a famous man once said it had something to do with possession. Anyhow, I think its previous owners won’t be in a hurry to get it back any time soon.” His face now more serious, he gestured for them to follow him to his house.
Following behind him, they walked up his front steps and entered what used to be the entrance hall. There was little more left of his house than Tom’s. The two pilots looked at each other dubiously, wondering what he could possibly want of them. Hands within easy reach of their pistols, they arrived at what had been the kitchen. Kicking at some blackened debris, Chuck smiled when he heard the clank of a metal-linked chain. He bent down and picked it up; it was still slightly warm to the touch. It was attached to a larger ring, which in turn was attached to the floor. “Give me a hand, boys,” he said as he started to pull. BB rushed over, and together they lifted what transpired to be a heavy, metal lid, revealing steps leading into darkness.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tom exclaimed, as it dawned on him what he was being shown. Chuck p
ulled out a small torch and stepped into the hole. BB and Tom followed, descending carefully into the darkness. Arriving at the bottom, Tom turned on his own torch, and between the two small light sources, they revealed a well-organised basement, completely untouched by the fire that had raged above their heads. Most of the room was taken up by shelves groaning under the load of tinned foods and supplements. What was equally impressive was the wall of weaponry. Underneath it was a large cupboard, which, when Chuck opened it, revealed ammunition boxes, lead bars and equipment for the making of new bullets. Cylinders of gunpowder could also be seen. BB’s eyes were wide with pleasure; this was his kind of candy store.
“Good God,” he exclaimed, in hushed, reverent tones. “It’s an Aladdin’s cave!”
“Thank you, young man,” Chuck responded; he was especially pleased that his long term investment was going to have been worthwhile after all. “You may not have been expecting our current crisis, but I sure as hell have. I served when I was younger. I’ve been through ’Nam, Lebanon, and a few other unsavoury engagements during the Cold War, and I can tell you that it’s better to be prepared. I ain’t one of them doomsday preppers, I sure as hell ain’t got deep enough pockets for that. My plan has always been that when the shit hits the fan, I’d get some supplies together, get into the mountains, quick as I can. Doesn’t matter how ‘ready’ you are, a serious event is always gonna be a surprise. And it sure as hell was for me. I feel embarrassed to tell you, but some bastard nicked my car last night, he cold-cocked me as I was gettin’ in it. Maybe it saved my life, maybe not. At least I still have this,” he finished, indicating the room.
Chuck wasn’t being especially trusting of his semi-new acquaintances; he wore loose clothing that hid two guns, with which he’d practiced quick draws for years. He knew he could take these two out before they took a breath, if they decided to cross him. He did need their help to get into the mountains, and he was being genuine when he’d offered to help, he wasn’t a loner by choice.
The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle Page 25