“Sounds good. All this quiet is creepy,” Claire said.
As I scanned the nearby wreckage for adversaries living or dead, I sensed some movement in my peripheral vision. Like an Old West gunfighter, I drew my gun and prepared for battle. Claire saw my gun emerge from the holster and took a battle stance herself. We were now ready to face any potential monsters.
A skinny, balding man emerged from behind a pile of wrecked cars. He had a rifle, but his hands were off the trigger. His signature camo jacket gave away his identity. It was Nervous Bob, the leader of Pine Grove subdivision.
“It's about damn time, Linder. Me and Floyd are freezing our collective asses off,” he said. Floyd followed Robert out from behind the wreckage. He was large man, bristling with many weapons. Twin pistols and various knives were poking out of several holsters on his person. Floyd had a shotgun as well. Looks like Pine Grove came prepared.
I put my gun away, and removed my glove for a handshake. Robert did the same, grasping my hand for a vigorous shake. The handshake had once again become the universal sign of trust.
“How are you, Bob? How's Pine Grove?” I said.
“It's home. Can't complain. You fenced-in bastards in Cannon Fields doing okay?”
“We're surviving. Got a few sick people.”
“I hear you.” Robert looked closer at my face. “When did you grow the beard?”
“Came in full a few weeks ago. Keeps my face warm. What do you think?” I said, turning to show him my profile.
“Not bad. Too bad it came in gray.” Robert turned to Claire. He looked her up and down and said, “I see you brought your muscle.” Claire's face turned a little crimson from embarrassment.
I laughed a bit despite her obvious discomfort. “Don't let her size fool you. The bat isn't just for looks,” I said. Claire just put her favorite weapon on her shoulder and shook her head. It was going to be a long ride home.
We gathered at the back of our vans to conduct business. Standard operating procedure was to open both vans, do a little shopping, strike a deal, then go home. Robert threw open the doors to his van as Floyd watched. Robert didn't have much. A few old tools, clothing, and some other odds and ends were stacked in the van. The pickings were slim.
“See anything you like?” Robert asked.
I glanced at Robert. He was a lot thinner than the last time I saw him. Floyd was skin and bones as well. “To tell you the truth Robert, there's not much here I need.”
A dark, faraway look crossed Robert's face. “I know. Got to admit, it's been a lousy winter.” He came in closer to speak in private. “Pine Grove is a little short on food. I was hoping you had some.”
“Maybe. You have any medicine? Antibiotics, or maybe anti-flu?”
Robert shook his head and snorted. “Used the last of it a month ago. I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Based on Robert's loss of weight and the lack of trade supplies in their van, I could sense that Pine Grove may be in dire straits. It happened to many communities out here when the end came. Ran out of food, and disappeared from the face of the earth.
“Come over to my van. Maybe I can help you anyway,” I said.
Robert stepped over to Monique's door and silently looked over what we had. “What is it with you Cannon Fielders and corn?”
“Three baskets. You can have the canned food, as well,” I said.
Robert shook his head. “I've got nothing to trade.”
“Just take it. You need it,” I said.
“Thanks,” Robert said. “I owe you.”
“You can pay me back by not starving to death.”
I watched Robert and Floyd unload the corn and canned goods from our van. Claire tapped me on the shoulder with the bat. “You're giving them our extra food without getting anything in trade. Michael's going to be pissed.”
“I know. Pine Grove might be in trouble. Wouldn't be right to watch them starve to death. Michael will just have to live with it,” I said. “We're all in this together, I guess. We have to look out for each other.”
Claire tilted her head and looked at me funny. “You know, I think you're mellowing in your old age.”
Our business concluded, we slammed the doors on our vans and prepared to leave. Robert got a strange look in his eye. “Thank you for the food. I don't know when we'll be able to meet again.”
“Don't mention it. If you guys need any help-,” I stopped in mid-sentence. A familiar scent filled my nostrils. It was the scent of death. Something awful had found us, and it was nearby.
Robert and Floyd smelled it as well. We flattened ourselves against the rear door of the van and waited. The smell was coming from the front of the vehicles. I peeked out from our hiding place and checked out the situation. Two young Red-Eyes were standing at the van's grill, sniffing the air. The cold was causing them some problems locating us. They hadn't found us yet, but it was only a matter of time.
“How many?” Robert whispered.
I held up two fingers. “At the front,” I answered.
“Let's get the hell out of here,” Robert said. “Every man for himself?” He stretched out his hand for a goodbye and good luck handshake.
“Yeah.” I grasped his hand and gave it a strong shake. “Good luck.”
“You, too. Get back to Cannon Fields safe.”
Robert and Floyd disappeared into their van. They had a pass-through to the seats up front. Monique was different. Our van had a solid wall between the cargo and the cab, and we would have to get in through the doors. I went back to the edge to keep tabs on our dead friends. They had moved to the driver's door. One was pressing its nose to the door handle to catch a scent. They were connecting the dots, and soon Claire and I would be in trouble. I pulled my gun, and turned to Claire. “Is your door locked?”
Claire thought for a second. “Yeah...I think so.”
“You come with me then. I'll shove you in through the driver's side. Okay?”
She nodded. “Take them out with the gun. I'll clean up any misses.”
We took a few deep breaths, then burst out of our hiding place ready for battle. The Red-Eyes, momentarily surprised by our sudden appearance, recovered and charged at me. The nearest one, a short blonde female, came at me hissing and growling like some kind of mutant wild animal.
I raised my gun and fired. The bullet caught her in the forehead, and she fell to the ground in mid-stride. Her companion flew at me in a rage with teeth bared and tongue hanging out in anticipation of a tasty meal. I aimed quickly and fired two shots. I got him in the shoulder and chest. Dark, black blood sprayed out behind him, and he stumbled The Red-Eye was hurt, but not dead. He immediately rolled over, and staggered to his feet.
Claire leapt into action. A swing from her trusty bat rang off the soft, decaying skull of the zombie. When he crumpled to the ground, Claire switched to overhead smashes to vanquish the undead monster at her feet. Menacing growls turned to whimpers as she rained blows on his head. After a few swings, the Red-Eye went silent. I stood in awe at the savagery of Claire's attack.
“Nice,” I said, admiring her work. “Let's go.” I grabbed Claire, and pushed her towards the front of the van. We had to hurry before more dead showed up.
Claire and I reached the driver's door. I opened it, and shoved her inside. After she settled into her seat, I holstered my gun and got the keys ready. As I prepared to hoist myself into the seat, the Pine Grove van roared to life and drove away, tires spinning on the slick asphalt of the supermarket lot. I sighed a little in relief. It was close but we were both going to get home safe.
Then, a crusty gray hand took hold of my neck.
I was thrown to the ground with great force. I managed to roll, and wound up in a half-crouching, half-sitting position on the ground. Drawing my gun, I raised my head to face whatever had taken me away from the van.
Blood and gore covered his tattered clothing. He walked with a slight limp, and his hands had bones showing. Long hair hung over his evil eye
s. He closed in, cutting off any escape routes. I froze in place thinking he couldn't see me. He emitted a low growl as he walked, moving his head from side to side trying to focus on me. The skin from the lower half of his face was removed, leaving only skull and rotting muscle. His black teeth were set in a permanent leering grin. Claire tapped frantically on the glass to point out another problem.
He had two dead friends with him.
They came from the parking lot trudging through the piles of dead cars. These Red-Eyes were in a little better shape, but Bone Face was the leader. He would feed first. The Red-Eyes often formed groups of collective intelligence to help them hunt their prey.
They had me trapped. Raising my gun, I fired in the direction of Bone Face as he advanced. One slug hit him square in the chest, the other tore through his neck. The ripped-up Red-Eye fell to the ground and began to crawl. His two companions picked up the pace, and charged toward me. I stood, and leveled my weapon at their heads. The battle was about to begin, and I hoped I could smoke both of them before I became zombie food in some God-forsaken parking lot.
And then a strange noise rose in the frosty air.
It sounded like a pissed off chainsaw. The high-pitched sound came from behind us in the busted-up supermarket building. Even the Red-Eyes raised their heads to take a listen. They retreated a little as the sound got closer. The sound was distracting them. They forgot about me, and looked for the source of the strange sound.
Claire threw open the door, and I hurried inside. As I settled into the driver's seat, a green blur flashed past the van and into the parking lot. It went flying down to the edge of the lot, and circled around to head back to our location.
“It's a motorcycle,” I said in disbelief.
The noisy two-wheeler rolled up to the front of our van and stopped. The rider was a middle-aged man with a leather jacket, jeans and black boots. He had long gray hair, and a mustache to match. It was one of those big bushy types that made him look like he was from the Old West, or fresh off a Civil War battlefield.
“Who's this guy?” Claire said.
I couldn't place the face. “No idea. I don't recognize him.”
The Red-Eyes were also shocked by his appearance. They regrouped to attack this new interloper, and crouched into attack mode. The strange man calmly pulled a sawed-off shotgun from a makeshift holster on the motorcycle and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. Two more pulls of the trigger did not produce any dead zombies. The Red-Eyes moved in to feed on the interloper.
The man on the motorcycle put his gun away, and twisted the throttle. The tiny engine on the bike wailed in protest. He kicked the small dirt bike into gear, and drove straight at the zombies At the last minute, he turned and began to do donuts around the confused dead.
They made a few halfhearted grabs at the little green bike, but retreated away from us and into the junked cars of the lot. Our new friend stopped in front of the van, threw me a quick salute, then gunned the bike and accelerated away to continue the zombie chase. The high-pitched wail of the engine faded away.
Claire and I looked at each other. “What the hell was that?”' Claire said.
I cranked Monique to life. The welcome throb of the powerful diesel engine filled the cab. “Don't know.” I slammed the gear level into drive, and put the pedal down. We fishtailed away from the supermarket. “I'm not waiting around to find out.”
Chapter 6: Stranger on a Motorcycle
“That was close,” Claire said, settling down in her seat. “Who was that guy?”
I gripped the steering wheel of the van until my knuckles turned white The adrenaline was just now fading from my body and my heartbeat was returning to normal. “Don't know. Never seen him before, but he has a shotgun so I'm getting the heck out of here.” People with shotguns usually weren't very friendly these days.
The van bounced and swayed as we skidded over the curb and sidewalk. I hung a sharp left on the main road, and headed for home. The large vehicle whipped around on the asphalt. Claire hung on for dear life. “Easy. Let's not flip over.”
“Right.” I eased my foot of the gas pedal. My fear and anxiety was passing. We put the supermarket behind us and were on the way home.
Or so I thought.
The pissed off chainsaw noise rose up at the passenger window. The motorcycle man was back. He came out of one of the parking lots and zoomed up to the van. He was so close we could pass him a cup of coffee through the window.
“John...we got a problem over here,” Claire said. She became engaged in a staring contest with motorcycle man as we drove along.
“I see it. It's a small bike. Maybe I can outrun it.” I slowly pressed the gas down. Monique's diesel power plant responded with an authoritative throb, and we began to pull away. We were ahead for a moment, but then Motorcycle Man twisted his wrist and caught up. Our van had the horsepower, but the road conditions were the great equalizer. Claire and I couldn't get away without smashing into something and killing ourselves. Motorcycle Man loomed up in Claire's window. He took one hand off the handlebars, and pointed at the side of the road.
“He wants us to pull over,” Claire said.
“The hell with that.” I prepared to end this once and for all, and turned the wheel towards Motorcycle Man to knock him into next week.
Before I could bump the motorcycle and run, our pursuer looked ahead. He gunned the throttle on the little dirt bike, and the engine screamed as he pulled away. His long hair flowed out behind him in the wind. I slowed down and watched as he zoomed ahead to an upcoming intersection. Standing in the middle of the crossed roads were two zombies blocking our path. Motorcycle Man intended to take them on and clear the road.
Claire's nose was pressed against the windshield. “What is he going to do? His gun didn't work.”
I stopped the van just short of the intersection to watch the show. “He's nuts.”
The stranger drove straight towards the zombies in the intersection. They crouched as he approached, ready to give chase. It looked like a suicide run as he got closer. For a moment, I thought he was going to run the undead in the intersection over and grind them up with the knobby tires of his bike.
“Turn, you idiot,” I said, under my breath.
Just before man, motorcycle, and Red-Eye zombie were mashed up in some bizarre and horrible accident, the stranger made a sweeping turn into the intersection behind the zombies. The Red-Eyes twisted around to face him, but as he passed, they retreated and ran away. Our new friend began to herd them away from the road and into hiding.
“It's the noise. The zombies don't like the noise of the dirt bike. It confuses them,” Claire said.
“Son of a bitch. He cleared the road.” I put the van back in gear and hurried through the intersection. Our helper on the dirt bike came back to the road, and led the way.
And that's how it went. Like an escort for an aircraft carrier, the green bike with the strange man in the seat led Claire and I down the road. When a zombie popped up, he would ride over and lead it away from us. We went along like that for several miles. The stranger would disappear on his zombie missions, then catch back up when the undead went back into hiding and were no longer a threat. Once in a while, he would give us a wave.
Claire started waving back. “Don't encourage him. We still don't know who he is,” I said.
“Just being nice. Maybe he's not too bad.”
As we got closer to home, abandoned cars and trucks started to clog the road again. Motorcycle Man slowed a little, and weaved in and out of the wrecks. A few times, he avoided a nasty accident by only a few feet. Claire and I winced every time he had a near miss.
“How are we going to explain this guy to our people?” I said. “We can't let him inside.”
Claire took her eyes off the motorcycle going back and forth in front of us. “Maybe he's okay. He did help us.”
We made the turn off the state route for home. Our friend turned right with us, leading the way. I
wasn't a fan of leading him right to the front gate. Cannon Fields doesn't have a good track record with strangers. Most of them just cause trouble. I had no idea why he was helping us. Usually, it was every man for himself out in the big, bad world outside the gates. Maybe our helper on the small motorcycle would move on, and leave us alone. We didn't need his help anymore. I pushed our van a little faster. We needed to slip inside, and leave this stranger behind.
Two Red-Eyes stumbled from the weeds, and into the center of the road ahead of us. On cue, our guide gunned the throttle and took off to scare them away. He bounced over the curb, hit the shoulder of the road, and gave chase. Like the other zombies, Motorcycle man's plan worked perfectly. The annoying wail of the bike confused the predators, and they scattered as he approached.
I slowed a bit while our guide did his work. “Neat trick with the noisy motorcycle. We'll have to remember it the next time something jumps us.”
“Yeah. Almost looks like he planned it that way,” Claire said.
The dirt bike bounced and dipped on the rough surface of the shoulder. Motorcycle Man stood up in the saddle of the machine and waved at us. I couldn't help myself, and waved back. Claire joined me. Maybe she was right. He may not be a bad guy after all. I began to wonder if we could trust him as he steered the bike towards the road for the final stretch home.
And that's when his luck ran out.
It must have been something in the center of the road, a piece of junk from one of the cars or maybe a bit of broken concrete. Whatever it was, as he crossed out of the shoulder and back on to the road, he hit something, and bike and rider were sent flying. I jammed on the brakes, sending the van into a little slide as he flew past us in the road.
Our mystery helper stayed with the bike for a while, but gravity won the fight. After the first roll, bike and man separated and went in different directions. Claire and I watched in stunned silence as he rolled several times and slammed into a small sedan at the edge of the road. The bike, throttle stuck wide open, danced and bucked for a few more feet. It smashed into another car near its rider. Plastic and other motorcycle debris flew everywhere. The road went silent.
Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue Page 5