by James Gurley
At some point in the mountain’s history, someone had tried mining the canyon for gold. They had found nothing of value, but the disintegrating mining equipment still rested where they had abandoned it half a century earlier. Soaptree yuccas, agaves, and horned toads were the only living things presently residing there. Jake chose a rusted steel ore carrier lying on its side beside a short set of rails leading to a collapsed tunnel. He buried the pipe bomb beneath the carrier, leaving only the fuse exposed.
“How long does the fuse burn?”
Reed looked sheepish. “I didn’t test it, but I used black powder in a cloth wrapper coated with nitrocellulose for waterproofing. The book says it burns at thirty centimeters per sixty seconds. That’s two seconds per centimeter or about five seconds per inch.”
“About?” Jake replied. “Let’s be sure.” He snipped a small piece of fuse and held it up to a cigarette lighter. The one-inch piece of fuse burned for just over five seconds. “That’s forty seconds for an eight-inch fuse, thirty-five for this one. Let’s play it safe and call it half a minute.”
He scanned the terrain. An outcropping approximately a hundred feet away would provide shelter from the blast. He had never been a fast runner, but he thought he could cover the distance in fifteen seconds, leaving fifteen seconds to grab dirt and cover his head. Unless the damned thing blows up in my face. “You two cover behind those rocks. I’ll light the fuse and join you.”
Jessica looked at him aghast. “Let me do it. I can run faster than you.”
He didn’t doubt it, but he wasn’t about to let her make the attempt. “Maybe on a good day, but you’re injured. I’ll do it.”
To prevent further arguing, he shoved her toward the outcropping. She left, but not before searing him with an angry glare. Reed followed her. He waited until they both disappeared behind the rocks, and then lit the fuse. He ran as fast as he could, praying that he didn’t stumble. By the time he reached the outcropping, his heart was pounding. He hit the dirt and covered his head with his hands. Thirty seconds passed and still no explosion. He glanced at Reed questioningly just as the pipe bomb exploded. The noise was deafening. The ground shuddered beneath him. He covered his head again to protect it from flying gravel that settled over them in a cloud of dust.
The ore carrier now lay upside down fifteen feet away from the three-foot-deep hole marking its former position. A yucca plant five feet from the carrier lay in broken pieces scattered on the ground, its outer leaves still smoldering from the heat of the blast. The rusted steel carrier was split along one side, with splinters of steel embedded in the ground and in the nearby plants. Smoke and dust still filled the small canyon.
“It worked,” Reed yelled as he danced a jig, his rotund belly bouncing like tapioca pudding.
“Damned if it didn’t,” Jake admitted, removing his baseball cap to scratch his head. “You say you have two more?”
Reed stopped dancing and adjusted his glasses. “I have enough chemicals to make more.”
“Two should be enough with what I have in mind.”
“Just what is your plan?” Jessica asked.
He had been considering that. “We’ll gather a zombie army,” he said, smiling.
7
June 10, 2016 Oracle, AZ –
The night was dark with only a sliver of moon. Jake and Reed clung to the shadows as they approached the house. Jessica had parked a quarter of a mile away. Jake had left her the shotgun with orders for her to leave if she ran into trouble. He hoped she heeded his advice. They had watched seven of the marauders leave their lair in two groups with the truck accompanying one group, leaving two or three men at the house. Even though they rode motorcycles, they weren’t a biker gang; at least they wore no colors declaring their allegiance. They were just a group of men and a couple of boys in various dress riding motorcycles, probably stolen or salvaged.
He and Reed surreptitiously followed three men on bikes to a small house on the outskirts of town. A man with blond hair kicked in the front door. Once inside, the three ransacked the house in an orgy of wanton destruction, selecting a few items and carrying them to the yard, destroying everything else. The items they chose for their pile of loot were baffling – a lamp with no shade, several two-liter bottles of cola, an embroidered pillow from the Grand Canyon, and a television. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their plundering. Their frequent target practice on windows and other breakable crockery dismissed any fears Jake had of discovery. No one would notice their shots amid the random firing of the looters.
If Reed was squeamish about murdering someone, he didn’t show it. His disgust with the trio was visible on his grim face. He may have known some of the victims. Jake had no close friends, but he imagined revenge was on Reed’s mind. While the men were inside the house, he and Reed took up positions on each side of the small yard with a commanding view of the front door. He signaled for Reed to wait until all three were outside before opening fire. They had to kill them quickly. A long, drawn out gun battle would work in the gang’s favor.
Finally, all three men emerged at the same time, passing around a bottle of booze and admiring their pile of loot. The blond kicked the lamp from atop a box of canned goods and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot.
“What the hell did you get this for?” he growled.
“A reading lamp,” a boy that couldn’t have been over sixteen replied. He puffed out his chest in a failed attempt to appear threatening.
The fair-haired one laughed and poked a finger in the kid’s chest, throwing him off balance. “You can’t read. And you don’t need a reading lamp to jerk off to your tit magazines.”
Jake shot the kid in the head before he could respond. Drunk or not, the other two rallied quickly, cowering behind their pile of stolen loot, shifting positions to search for their attacker. If he had been alone, they would have probably killed him, but Reed was on the other side of the yard. Jake took out the group’s blond leader with two quick shots. The third man, a pot-bellied young Mexican wearing a pair of dark blue suit pants, a dirty white tee shirt, and a vest that matched the pants, made a run for the desert, dodging and weaving to avoid being shot. Jake put a bullet into his back when he ran between two saguaro cacti at the edge of the yard. He fell headfirst into the dirt and skidded to a halt.
“Help me drag these two into the brush,” he yelled to Reed.
Reed stared down at the kid’s corpse for a moment. His face was pale and he looked as if he were about to throw up.
“Get over it,” Jake growled.
Reed nodded and grabbed one of the kid’s arms. They hid the bodies out of sight of the road. The Mexican was already hidden by a row of cacti. Jake disabled the three bikes by removing the spark plugs and puncturing the gas tanks with his knife. Then they waited for the truck. A short while later, its squeaking springs warned them of its approach. It roared up the long driveway, followed by a pair of motorcycles. Jake planted the bomb in the pile of stolen goods, lit a cigarette, and jammed the fuse into the cigarette halfway to the filter.
“That should give us two or three minutes,” he said to Reed. He pointed to the dead Mexican in the suit pants and vest. “I’ve got a use for this one. Help me.”
Dragging the Mexican’s body behind them, they retreated a safe distance to a low rise where they could observe the action. The truck pulled up in a cloud of dust. A tall thin man got out on the passenger side. He wore a straw Stetson over his long, stringy, reddish-brown hair and a leather vest over a white t-shirt. The driver remained in the vehicle. The cowboy tugged on his goatee, as he eyed the pathetic pile of stolen loot, and then shook his head.
“Where the hell are Whitey, Slant, and the kid?” he yelled at his companions on the two bikes, as they pulled up and stopped beside the truck.
One of the bikers shrugged. “I dunno, Levi.”
The cowboy, Levi, stuck his head in the door of the house and yelled, “Hey! You assholes get out here. We’re leaving.”
After a few moments, he stepped inside the door, which saved his life. The pipe bomb exploded, lighting up the night sky and shattering the front windows of the house and the truck. The two bikers died instantly, as a fury of metal shrapnel and debris pelted their bodies. Flaming wreckage landed on the truck, setting it on fire. The driver screamed as he fell out of the truck’s door, beating frantically at his flaming clothing. He rolled on the ground, but ignited a pool of gasoline draining from the bikes Jake had punctured. He exploded in a ball of fire. His screams lasted only a few seconds.
The cowboy peered around the edge of the door to see what the commotion was. He quickly surmised what had happened and remained just inside the doorway. Jake tried to center him in his scope, but the flames and smoke made it difficult to see. He took a chance and fired anyway. The bullet struck the doorframe, splintering the wood beside the cowboy’s head. He dived for the ground, rolled, and came up running for the corner of the house. For a brief moment, as he glanced back, the flaming wreckage illuminated his face. Jake saw no fear, only a visage of pure hatred. He fired again, shattering one of the windows behind the cowboy’s head.
“Damn! I missed him. Let’s go. The others will come soon.”
The explosion had been the signal for Jessica to return to pick them up. They dragged the dead man’s body behind them to the road. Reed was huffing and puffing by the time the jeep appeared out of the darkness. He fell into the back seat and produced an inhaler from his pocket, taking a deep puff and wheezing. Jake tossed the corpse in beside Reed and climbed in the passenger seat.
“We managed to kill six of them. One survived, but he’s on foot. The others in the house must know something’s wrong by now.” He smiled at Jessica. “Are our troops ready?”
She nodded. “They should be here any minute.”
Before setting up their ambush, they had driven slowly around San Manuel dragging a pig he had slaughtered behind the jeep. He hated killing one of his animals for any purpose other than food, but the need was great. The smell of fresh blood coaxed the starving zombies from their neighborhoods. The trail of blood led straight into Oracle. Jake wondered what the thugs in the house would do when confronted by a small army of zombies, especially after hearing an explosion and seeing a large bonfire lighting up the horizon.
Right on time, the forefront of the zombie horde appeared out of the darkness, Runners leading the pack with dozens of Shamblers close on their heels. Jake flashed the headlights of the jeep to encourage them. The guard on the balcony saw the flashing lights, and then caught sight of the zombies approaching. He raced away to warn the others. As soon as he disappeared, Jessica gunned the jeep and headed straight for the house. When they were directly in front of it, Jake lit the fuse of the remaining bomb and hurled it at the front door. As they sped away, the explosion blew the door off its hinges and collapsed part of the front wall, crushing two of the three bikes parked against it. Now, the zombies would have no trouble gaining entrance through the gaping hole. To assure he had their attention, he had Jessica back up the jeep. He rolled the dead man’s corpse out of the jeep. It landed in the rubble of the front door. Drawn by the sound of the explosion and by the smell of death, the zombies converged on the house. Jake’s Law # 8 – Use the tools you’ve got.
“It’s time to get out of here,” he said to his companions.
They drove away slowly, enticing the zombies closer to the house. He smiled when the creatures stormed through the shattered front door. Shots came from inside the house. The gunfire lasted only a couple of minutes, followed by a loud piercing scream.
“They should have remembered Jake’s Law #9 – Always have an exit strategy.”
One man still lived, the cowboy called Levi, but he was on foot, facing zombies revitalized by a meal of fresh meat. Like vultures drawn by the stench of death, they would quickly find the other dead men and feast on them as well. Unless he was a complete fool, the cowboy would flee the area. Jake doubted he was a fool, but also doubted they had heard the last of the cowboy.
“My bombs worked,” Reed said with a broad smile.
“God help us if we have to murder everyone we meet,” Jessica said as she stared at the carnage through the rear view mirror.
“I didn’t murder two people I met,” Jake reminded her. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Jessica didn’t reply. Instead, she concentrated on driving.
8
June 10, 2016 Oracle, AZ –
Levi waited until he was certain the unknown shooters were gone before venturing near the house. The inferno from the burning truck and pile of looted goods had died down, but a cloud of acrid smoke from burning rubber tires and insulation hung in the air, along with the smell of scorched human flesh. All five bikes were trashed, either incinerated or twisted beyond repair by the explosion. Whoever ambushed them had been thorough. He stared at the burned bodies of his three companions and cursed. They never knew what hit them. He found Whitey and the kid’s body in the brush nearby. He couldn’t find Slant.
“Someone’s going to pay for this,” he vowed, as he removed his Stetson and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He stared toward the crash house where the rest of his companions waited, wondering why they hadn’t come to investigate. “Stupid-ass dopers,” he cursed. “Can’t they hear an explosion?”
He walked back through the desert to avoid the road. Before he reached the house, another explosion ripped through the night. He instantly knew it was the crash house.
“Son of a bitch,” he snarled. Anger welled up in him at his unknown attackers.
Peeking through the brush alongside the road, he saw a horde of zombies pouring through the shattered front door of the house. Then he noticed the jeep parked down the road, the people inside watching the zombie attack. If he had his rifle, he could have killed them all, but he had only his pistol, and shooting would only have drawn the zombies to him. Something familiar glinting on one of the men’s chest caught his attention. He watched the jeep leave, swearing he would find them and kill them. He didn’t give a shit about the others, even Ax. They were trash, disposable, people he had picked up around the city, but the people in the jeep had inconvenienced him, had tried to kill him, and that was unforgivable.
Three stints in prison had taught him you had to defend yourself against all comers, redneck, white, Black, or Latino. If anyone thought you were weak, you’d wind up as their bitch or dead. After slashing one skinhead redneck ear to ear with a shiv, they had learned to leave him alone. Even the ADC guards didn’t fuck with him, and that was just the way he liked it. He had been looking at another five years when the shit hit the fan, and the world rolled over in its stinking grave. As the cons died and came back to life around him, the guards finally opened the cells and let the prisoners fend for themselves inside the walls. It had been touch and go for awhile, but he had been one of the lucky ones, him and Ax. Now Ax’s luck had run out.
His time in the slammer had taught him one more thing – how to smell a cop. The trap smelled like a police raid. The badge on one of the men’s chest just sealed the deal. A cop. He spit the word out like it was acid on his tongue. He hated cops more than he hated zombies.
He stayed hidden and watched the house until morning. Finally, their grisly meal finished, the zombies left the house. He didn’t much want to see what was left of Spence, Tall Dave, and Ax, but he needed his M16 and more ammo. The front door and part of the wall was blown inward by the explosion. Tall Dave had died instantly. That saved him from knowing he was being eaten. Most of his face and upper torso was stripped of flesh. Blood soaked his red beard. Only his long legs still buried in the rubble had been spared. Curiously, Slant’s body was lying outside the front door. He had been with Whitey and the kid. What was he doing here? Had he run at the first sign of trouble? When Levi noticed the bullet holes in what was left of Slant’s back, he smiled. The people in the jeep had shot Slant and dragged him to the house to use as bait for the zombies. Clearly the cop n
o longer took his official law enforcement duties seriously – no arrest, no trial, just an execution.
He found Ax in the kitchen, his usual habitat. He had never been the brightest bulb in the lamp. The fool former accountant had tried to barricade himself inside the small kitchen pantry, barely large enough to accommodate his rotund body. His remains lay in a bloody heap on the floor amid cans of food and opened bags of rice and meal. The compulsive eater had been eaten. He had escaped prison with Ax and had hung around with him for over a year. Seeing his friend’s corpse should have elicited some emotion other than relief that it was someone else lying there and not him. It had been a hard year. Emotions were for the weak.
It took him a while to find Spence’s body. The former bar bouncer had managed to take a few zombies with him. They lay in a small pile at the bottom of the staircase and along the stairs he had chosen to defend. He found what was left of Spence in a hall bathroom, lying in a pool of blood. He had saved his last bullet for himself. The neat hole in his head spoke to his desire of not being eaten alive. He had been eaten nonetheless. Zombies weren’t finicky about their food. Fresh dead meat was as good as live meat.
Levi found his M16 untouched in the master bedroom. He grabbed several boxes of ammo, some canned goods, and a couple of bottles of water, and threw it all into a backpack. It wasn’t safe around Oracle, but he would be back. Soon. He had unfinished business with the cop.
With a little work, he managed to repair one of the Harleys. He smiled when the bike cranked on the first try. As he rode off down American Boulevard, headed back to Tucson, he glanced east. A large cloud of dust clung to the horizon like a low-lying cloudbank. His new enemy was somewhere in that direction, in the mountains. He would find them and pay them back. But first, he had to round up a few more allies from Tucson. It wouldn’t be difficult. There were hundreds of people who thought like him; people who had little in life and saw the end of the world as an opportunity to take what they wanted and maybe spread a little payback along the way. Right now what he wanted was to place some distance between him and the zombies. Then, he would be back with a vengeance.