Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue

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Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue Page 16

by Stephen Drivick

“Looks big enough,” I said, moving my eyes along the wall. It snaked to the right and left of Main Street, disappearing into the haze on each side. The wall had been built right on top of a cross street. “How big do you think that wall might be?”

  “Big, and it may go for a mile or two,” Claire said.

  Looking at the wall through binoculars, it looked smooth and unclimbable. No doors or other openings were visible, either. The only way in was the main street in town, that lead up to a large gate. “Looks like the big front door is the way inside,” I said.

  “So what do we do? Drive up, and honk the horn?”

  “Maybe. Let's find out. If we act like a bunch of travelers, maybe they'll let us come inside.” I stowed my binoculars and reaching for the ignition key.

  “What if they recognize us?” Claire asked.

  “We'll have to take that chance. “I turned the key, and the truck started to grind to life. The starter motor churned, but the truck wouldn't fire. Two more futile attempts to start the pick-up had the same result.

  “Uh-oh,” Claire said

  “Looks like we walk from here,” I said.

  We packed up our stuff and hit the streets. Claire and I went from wall to wall, using the abandoned cars and trucks to hide our approach to the wall of the Fort. When were about a couple of hundred feet away, we stopped by an overturned bus.

  Claire peered through her binoculars at the front gate. “No guards. Don't see any up top either.”

  “Doesn't mean they're not watching. They may have patrols in the buildings on the street,” I said, gesturing to the brick stores, gas stations, and restaurants flanking the huge gate.

  “Yeah. Could be a hundred eyes on us right now,” Claire said. She put away her binoculars, and started to move to the next place to hide. Catching a scent of death on the wind, I put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. The Red-Eyes had come out.

  We crouched down as small as possible and went silent behind the crashed bus. Peeking around the front, I saw a young zombie walk into view. It was a female in a tattered bloodstained dress. It stepped among the debris on the ground, occasionally lifting its head to take a whiff of the air. The wind was moving toward me, so for now she couldn't smell anything. The monster growled to itself as it scavenged on the ground looking for something to eat. Once in a while, she would pick up a bone or two from the ground and gnaw away for a few minutes. My stomach turned as I realized one of her selections happened to be a jaw bone, probably from one of the unlucky townspeople. After chewing a few bones, sticks, and other debris, she ran off to seek a meal somewhere else.

  “Great...the zombies are out,” Claire said.

  The wind was going to shift, and then everything dead in town would know Claire and I were out in the open. “Right. We're going to get murdered out here. Let's move.”

  We hunkered down, and went car to car until we were right up to the wall. Claire and I ducked into the shell of a burned-out brick building, and stopped to plan our final approach to the Fort. The impressive-looking wall was built directly on the cross street to the main drag in town, right through an intersection. It looked like simple panels covered in metal and sunk into holes in the asphalt. The gate was flanked by a gas station on the right corner and a block of brick stores to the left.

  There was still no movement in the area. No guards, and no one had come out to greet us. They may be hiding as well, watching us come near to the metal wall. The expansive glass and many hiding places of the gas station to the right made it a good place for guards to watch the road. I pointed to the brick stores to the left. “Over there. We'll figure out what to do.”

  Claire and I came out of hiding and headed for the salvation of the brick structures. Like a two-man army unit, we ducked and weaved through the debris focused on the target. My breathing returned to normal as we entered the shadows of the buildings.

  A familiar growl came from the darkness.

  Claire and I froze,as a Red-Eye zombie slowly came out of the nearest building. It was a male with a torn-up face and a busted hand. Even injured, he was a formidable enemy. Worse, he was followed by a younger, smaller companion: a boy of about ten years old. They came out of their hiding place, and started to hunt us. Another sound came from behind. Moving and weaving through the garbage and debris was the young female from before. She had been joined by a dark-haired male in a discolored dress shirt. Claire and I were outnumbered in a bad position with four predators on our heels.

  Without a word, we broke off in a run towards the metal wall of the Fort. It was our only chance. The male with his young companion bolted out of the brick storefront, and were chasing us at full speed. The blonde female and her dead friend joined the chase, lagging behind a bit.

  I ran with my gun drawn, prepared to shoot my way out of the situation. To my surprise, I was able to pass Claire as we ran. Usually, her younger legs allowed Claire to sprint ahead of me and my old, tired body. Her ankle was holding her back.

  The zombies were catching up. Soon they would have their hard-earned meal.

  “Go...go! I'll catch up,” she said, between gulps of air. Her injury was causing her to tire as well.

  I grabbed her hand, and pulled her ahead of me. “No way,” I said.

  As Claire ran away toward potential salvation inside the Fort, I ducked behind a brown pick-up and stood my ground. The male with the busted hand was my first target. A bullet found his neck, and he fell to the ground whimpering. At the same moment, the zombie boy leaped at my neck, using the bed of the truck as a springboard. I put a bullet in his brain, and sidestepped his lifeless body as it fell to the ground. A light spray of blood washed over me as I ducked away. I took a moment to carefully wipe the gore away from my face, turned, and started running again. I caught poor, injured Claire as we crossed into the shadow of the great wall.

  Then, the zombies chasing us weren't our only problem.

  A rifle shot came from the gas station and above our heads. I looked up, and saw a man in a winter parka aiming a rifle in our direction. Claire and I dived to the ground as he fired. It turned out that we were not his target. He was shooting at the blonde zombie behind us. As I watched from my crouched position, he fired again and caught her in the shoulder. The zombie stumbled a bit, but recovered and continued the chase for her meal. Her dark-haired male partner was close behind. I stood and took aim with my gun in anticipation of a close-quarters fight.

  A second shot from the rooftop sniper found its mark. The bullet hit her in the middle of her head and peeled back her scalp like an orange. Her stringy blonde hair and most of her brain matter came out and splattered all over the pavement. She fell to the ground a mere ten feet away or so, a horrible screech dying in her throat.

  Her male companion paused to look over the situation. This was his undoing, as another shot from our savior on the gas station roof went right through his forehead. It resulted in a bright pink explosion where his head had been. He didn't even have a chance to emit a dying screech.

  Shading my eyes against the sun, I tried to get a look at our sniper. The rifle was down, and he was waving frantically at Claire and I to get inside the Fort. I helped Claire to her feet, and we hurried right up to the wall. Claire took a seat on the ground, and rubbed her lame ankle. “Damn leg,” she muttered.

  I knelt down beside her and checked the bandage wrapped around her foot. It was slightly loose from the run. “It's okay. We're safe here for now,” I said.

  But I was wrong. It was far from safe. Something came out of the shadows to kill me.

  It fell right on top of me like a spider. The Red-Eye grabbed on, and attempted to bite. I managed to twist, avoid his snapping, black teeth, and shove him up against the wall of the Fort. He was all torn up and barely able to stand. My gun was out of action. Letting go of the red-eyed monster in my grip to take a shot would enable the zombie to bite me. We struggled in a battle to the death along the wall, causing the metal to flex. The thunderous noise of bending metal, and the
growls of the monster in my hands resounded in my ears as we struggled. A low moan came from the zombie's ruined lips as it tried to wrap its hands around my throat.

  I moved him off to the side just as Claire's bat whistled past my ear. I felt the wind as it went past, missing my head. The sweet part of the bat hit the Red-Eye square in the face. It caved in, crushing his nose and upper jaw into a meaty paste. After a few more of its death gurgles, I threw the lifeless shell to the ground.

  “Thanks,” I said. I flicked a bit of brain off one of my gloves.

  “You okay? It didn't bite you, did it?” Claire said. She gripped her bat, and looked ready to bash my skull in if I started to change.

  “Put the bat down, Claire. It didn't bite me,” I said.

  She lowered her weapon. “Good. Don't think I have it in me to put you down.”

  It was an unspoken rule that if one of us got bitten, the other would prevent us from joining the undead hordes. I don't know if I had it in me to do it either. The thought of putting a bullet in Claire's pretty face made me sick. “Well...let's not find that out today. We got to get the hell inside before something else tries to eat us.”

  Claire and I stood around for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. The rifle shots from the gas station roof continued, but I knew our friendly neighborhood sniper wouldn't be able to keep the Red-Eyes at bay for long.

  I reached up, and touched the smooth, metal gate. No knobs, ropes, or handles were on the outside. I pushed one of the massive doors, but it didn't move an inch. “I don't know. Should I just knock?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Claire said. She took her bat and started rapping on the wall. I joined her with my fist. We banged on the door for a few seconds, paused to listen for anyone inside, then started pounding again.

  A small, rectangular door slid open at about my eye level. Claire and I stood back for a second, expecting a shotgun or two to come out. Only an eye appeared in the opening. “Stop with the knocking. What do you want?” said a mysterious voice from the inside.

  “I'm John, and this is Claire,” I said.

  “You're the one making all the goddamn noise,” said the gatekeeper. “How do I know you guys aren't infected?”

  “Because neither of us are zombies right now, and we're not bitten. Look...Claire and I are just two travelers from the road. We could use some food and water. She has a bum ankle, and could use a rest,” I answered. I took a quick glance to see how the sniper was doing with the town's zombies. Some were getting past his shots, and looking for a way to the gate.

  They would be on top of us in a few minutes. We had to get inside.

  I entertained thoughts of shoving the business end of my gun into the rectangular opening and forcing them to open up. Deciding that wasn't a good idea, I put my gun away and approached the gate.

  “Claire and I mean no harm. We're just two tired travelers who need a break. I promise you we're not going to start any trouble.” I looked over my shoulder. Some of the neighborhood Red-Eyes got around the sniper fire, and were getting ready to attack. I got real close to the opening to make one last appeal. “I leave it up to you. Make it quick though. You either have to let us in, or we have to start running like hell.”

  The opening in the door slammed shut. I turned around, and took Claire's hand. “I guess we run like hell.”

  Before we could take off, there was a great sound of metal scraping on the ground. The huge doors of the Fort opened, and a small man of about fifty in a jacket two sizes to big waved us inside. Claire and I quickly stepped into the entrance before he could change his mind. He shut and locked the massive gates.

  He eyed us both up and down as we circled each other. “I'm Larry. Are you bitten? Neither of you are infected, are you?” Larry's hand rested on a sizable revolver on his belt. He was packing serious heat.

  “No bites,” I said. We moved our sleeves back to show our sweaty arms, and showed Larry our necks to confirm our uninfected status.

  Larry looked very closely at both of us. “You look all right. Can't be too careful these days,” he said.

  “No. You certainly can't be too careful.” I took off my glove, and extended my hand for a quick handshake. “Thanks for opening the gate.”

  Larry looked at my hand like he'd forgotten what a handshake looked like. After a few moments, he took my hand, and we shook. “It's nothing. We're kind of an open society here. Anybody can come inside. Just got to keep out the infected ones. Come on.” Larry waved us inside.

  We followed him into a much different world than what was outside. The streets of the enclosed fort were free of debris and dead vehicles. The stores and buildings on Main Street still had their windows, but some were protected with sheets of old plywood. Even with the sun setting and the cold of night approaching, people still roamed the streets. Some walked along the sidewalk and road alone or in small groups. Metal drums with crackling fires inside were arranged in a neat line on the sidewalk, and groups of Fort residents crowded around them, warming their hands. Nothing much seemed to be happening, but it was a dry place to stay out of the way of the Red-Eyes.

  Claire and I started to walk down the street. “You can keep your weapons. There's food and water, and maybe a bed down the street. Don't cause any trouble,” Larry called after us.

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said. Larry turned away to return to his post.

  Claire and I took the scenic route, walking down the center of Main Street taking in the sights. The Fort looked a little barren. There were no crops, or any evidence of farming anywhere I could see. Most of the stores and old brick buildings were intact, but empty. The residents shuffled along the sidewalk or road with no apparent destination. Others sat in benches or on the curbs, talking in small groups. Once in a while, someone would appear in a window of one of the buildings, gazing out with a blank stare. As the newest people in town, we drew some stares but no confrontation. I would say about half the Fort's occupants had some sort of weapon on their belt or draped on their shoulder.

  Claire and I stopped at one of the fires burning in a drum to warm our hands and take a quick breather. We took off our gloves, and rubbed our hands over the flames. The fire had been started with lighter fluid or diesel fuel. The fiery drum, the ground, and even the air itself had an oily feel about them. Claire and I looked in all directions, looking for anyone who looked familiar and to make sure no one came up behind us. I caught the eye of a middle-aged woman walking on the sidewalk. She narrowed her eyes at me, but didn't raise any alarm. No one seemed too concerned to have two armed strangers in their midst. The woman shook her head, and walked away.

  “Not exactly a garden spot,” Claire said. “Looks a little depressed.”

  “No evidence of food production. Looks like they're still living off the land. Maybe they have crews out looking for supplies as well as cars,” I said. I looked around, scanning various groups as they waked around us. “See anyone who looks like Lyle?”

  Claire took a quick look around. “No. Maybe they're holding him somewhere else.”

  I put my gloves back on and resumed my walk down the street. Claire followed. “We need information,” I said. Down the street a few hundred feet was a sign with a arrow that said “Bar.” It was pointing at a quaint small-town style brick building. “There,” I said, showing Claire the sign. “We'll ask a few people in there. The regulars in the neighborhood bar always know what's going on in town, right?”

  “Looks kind of rough,” Claire said. She was referring to the various armed gentlemen hanging around the front door. They were already staring at us as we walked up.

  “It'll be okay.” I said. As we got closer, the men around the door looked bigger and scarier. They all had rifles on their shoulders, and handguns and large knives on their belts. Some began to stand and face us as we got to the front door. I adjusted my holster to put my gun in plain sight. I turned to Claire, and whispered, “Just in case...make sure they can see your bat.”

  “Right.” She to
ok the bat, and rested it on her shoulder as we walked.

  Claire and I passed through the silent crowd to the front door of the bar. It served as a gathering place for the locals to gossip, cut up, and get their drink on. I reached out and took hold of the knob, with about a dozen pairs of eyes looking at me. A rough, bearded man with very dark eyes stood and blocked my way. Claire stepped up, bat ready. Things looked to be getting serious.

  Our eyes met. He looked to be sizing me up, gauging whether or not I was a threat. I returned his creepy stare, trying to look mean and wondering if a gunfight was about to start.

  “Just wanted to give you a heads up,” the bearded stranger said in a voice that sounded like he had swallowed a cup of gravel. “Keep an eye on your girl in there. Some of our people can be rude to the ladies.” He stepped back, and made way into the bar.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Much obliged.” I stepped into the dark bar, dragging Claire along with me.

  It took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bar. When I could finally see, several round lunchroom tables were in the middle of the room, full of men and women drinking some sort of dark liquid. A small make-shift bar had been set up against another wall. An older man was serving drinks to patrons sitting on mismatched wooden stools. Every so often, a waitress in a skimpy shirt and extra-tight blue jean shorts would take a more dangerous-looking dark liquid to the customers at the round tables. Music was playing from an ancient jukebox. The whole place smelled of diesel fuel, sweat, wood flooring, cheap homemade alcohol, and cooking meat.

  It was a nice little post-apocalyptic bar and grill.

  Claire and I stepped across the floor and made for one of the empty tables at the back of the room. It would be a good place to sit down, rest, interview a few locals, and plan our next move. As we walked, our shoes made noise on the old, beat-up wooden plank floor. Several of the residents of the bar stopped drinking and stared at us as we tried to look inconspicuous. The conversation, which at one time had been loud and boisterous, went silent. Claire and I stopped in the center of the room, the main attraction at the moment.

 

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