He moved at a brisk pace, trying not to exert too much energy but not wanting to dawdle either. As he glanced behind him, he was glad to note that the still-moving dead were losing ground at a safe distance. He paused at the next side street, peering around the corner to see a dead end into a row of shops.
I’ve gotta be close to the main strip, now, he thought. That looks like the shop I ran through. He jogged to the next intersection, skidding to a stop at the sound of moaning from just around the corner. Great, now what?
He crept as silently as he could to the corner, pressing his back against the wall and peeking slightly around the brick. His gut dropped like a stone at the grisly barricade ahead. He stepped out to survey the scene.
There was a trio of cars parked bumper to bumper, each with several spiked posts coming out of it. At the end of a few of them were impaled zombies, apparently having walked into them, trapped and flailing and confused.
The spiked ghouls tried to turn towards him, moaning and thrashing, but were unable to move off of the posts holding them hostage.
Well, I’d like to think this is the worst thing I’m going to see today, he thought bitterly, but looked past the barricade to see two familiar dead bodies sprawled in the street. But that ship has already sailed.
He hopped over the cars and began walking towards his friends, glancing back briefly to make sure the trapped zombies were pushing themselves further into their trap. He drew the handgun, readying it in case of unwanted company.
This is a really stupid idea, Buddy, he chastised himself. You need to stay off the main road. He shook his head. But these boys deserve better than this. And nobody else is going to give it to them, except you. Plus, you may get to run into one of the assholes who did that to them, and their spirits might enjoy watching you whip their asses.
He walked closely against the north side buildings, trying to give himself just a tiny bit of cover. As he approached the main intersection his muscles tensed up, expecting a fight. The road was clear in both directions, but he focused intently on the stores across the street. The corner store, an appliance shop, had a swinging door that danced a bit with the breeze.
Might be wise to check that out, he thought, and gripped the gun tightly. He walked across the street, aiming directly at the store, and chanced a few quick glances at the other stores, though they appeared to be locked down.
When he reached the door, he gently pushed it open to minimize the sound. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, but he swept the store anyway, to allow his muscles to relax a little.
It was mostly large appliances with some yard maintenance items, refrigerators, stoves, lawnmowers, and the like. One of the center floor displays had a deep freezer straight out of the fifties. A big sign hanging above it boasted Where it all Began!
He took a moment to admire it, running his hand over the pasty blue freezer. That brings back some memories, he thought. Haven’t seen one of these since my cousin nearly froze to death after getting stuck in it playing hide and seek. He chuckled under his breath. To his credit, he did win that round.
Buddy shook his head, clearing his head and returning to reality. With the building cleared, he headed back outside. He moved slowly to his dead friends, who had been stripped down to their boxers, leaving only their dog tags behind. The truck was gone.
Where the hell did they take my rig? he wondered. Maybe they have a road that isn’t barricaded? If it isn’t at the hospital, this is going to be one hell of a long day.
He knelt down next to the bodies, swallowing hard at their young marred faces. Fucking savages, taking every single thing from these boys.
He reached over and popped off their dog tags, so he could at least return them to Captain Holt. He put them in his pocket and then patted each kid on the chest.
“Hope you boys find some peace,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to exact a little revenge in your honor.”
A car engine rumbled in the distance, and he leapt to his feet. Move man, move! He tore for the appliance store, ducking inside and hiding in the darkness. He peered through the sliver of space between the door and frame, keeping an eye on the barricade. Before long, a car pulled up, parking on the south side of the blockage.
Two men got out of the car, and they didn’t look like any of the original group that had shot his friends. Their mouths moved and he could hear chattering noise, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They hopped the barricade and headed over to the soldiers, pausing to give them a few kicks.
Buddy took a few ragged breaths, trying to calm his rage. Don’t be stupid, he told himself firmly. You come out now and they’re gonna have a great chance of taking you out with those hunting rifles. Plus, a gun battle will alert their friends. Two on one is bad enough, but ten on one is something you ain’t walking away from.
He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his racing hard, and then opened them again, watching the men head up the road towards him. As they grew closer, he could make out what they were saying.
“I bet you that trucker pissed himself while he ran away,” one of them said.
The other held up a fist. “Yeah, there’s no chance he’s still around.”
“Still a little concerning that we didn’t find Ricky and George,” the first guy said, hand on his rifle.
The second one waved his hand noncommittally. “Eh, you know them, they’re probably getting drunk at one of the houses.”
“I mean, they took out two military pussies,” his friend continued, “so I guess they’re entitled to it.”
As they cackled together, Buddy struggled with his emotions.
Calm down, it’s not worth getting into a firefight over, he repeated over and over. Their time will come.
The men wandered past the store, not even bothering to look inside.
“I wonder what made that coon cry more?” one of them asked through his mirth. “The gut shot or watching his boyfriend take a shot to the face?”
As they cackled, Buddy’s rage couldn’t be contained any longer. You know what? Fuck it and fuck them! He gripped the gun tightly. There’s about to be two less assholes to deal with.
He stood up and pushed gently against the swinging door, gently resetting it into a closed position. He moved lightly about ten feet behind the oblivious laughing men, and aimed directly into the back of the left one’s head.
He pulled the trigger, and the man crumpled quickly. His friend was momentarily stunned, freezing and staring dumbly down at his partner’s exploded head just in time to get a round in the kneecap.
He screamed in agony and fell to the ground, his rifle clattering to the asphalt. “Why?” he shrieked. “What did you do?! Why?!”
“Because you killed my friends, you racist piece of shit,” Buddy snarled, and reached down to grab the guy’s hair, dragging him back into the shop.
He thrashed around, as much as he could with a blown-out knee. He wrenched his head to the side hard, taking out a chunk of his hair and releasing his face enough to smack into the doorframe from the kickback.
“You really are a fucking dumbass, you know that?” Buddy teased as his prisoner gurgled blood from his now-broken nose. He took a handful of his hair again, pulling him fully into the store.
He slammed him against a refrigerator and got right up in his face.
“If you think you’re having a bad day now,” Buddy drawled with a sneer, and drew his tire iron, holding it up right in front of his prisoner’s face. “You just wait until I introduce you to my old friend here.”
The bloodied man whimpered and cried, snot and tears filling his face, mixing with the blood. “Please, please,” he slurred, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
Buddy grinned cruelly. “Unfortunately for you,” he said, “I already know everything I want to know.” He tapped the iron onto the knee wound, causing his charge to scream in pain. “However, I promised my friends out there that I would exact some revenge for their deaths
. And while I don’t think you’re the one who pulled the trigger, your attitude towards them will be enough in a pinch.” He waved the tire iron in front of the wounded man’s face, intensifying his whimpering. “What to do…” he murmured thoughtfully. “What to do…”
“Please…” the man sobbed, “have mercy. I… I didn’t mean what I said.”
Buddy snarled. “Bull fucking shit you didn’t!” he yelled. “You were laughing and mocking! You meant every single bit of it!” He took a deep, ragged breath. “Now. The question is, what am I going to do with you? I could get some prison justice…” He wrapped his hand around the iron and thrust it back and forth in his fist a few times. “But I don’t want my tire iron to smell for the rest of the week.”
As the realization hit the man of what that meant, his eyes widened and he moaned, low in his throat.
“Of course, I could go old school on you and beat the everloving fuck out of you,” Buddy continued, conversationally. “Which, by the way, is how I ended up in jail in the first place. But I’m getting up there in age and I still have a lot to do today.” He tapped the iron on the man’s leg, making him jump.
He looked around, thinking, and then grinned widely when he set eyes on the big blue deep freezer.
“Or, I could go really old school,” he said with a chuckle. “Oh yeah, that’s the answer right there.”
The man was confused, wide-eyed, and terrified. “What… what are you going to do to me?”
“You ever play hide and seek?” Buddy asked.
His prisoner nodded jerkily, swallowing hard and then gagging on a mouthful of blood.
“Well, you’re about to play again,” Buddy continued, “only this time nobody is gonna know you’re hiding. On the plus side, you’re sure to win.” He grinned and grabbed the guy’s shirt collar, dragging him across the room.
He flung open the freezer, and appraised the spacious inside. “All right, up you go,” he grunted as he hefted the man’s limp body up and into the freezer.
He crumpled inside, curling up and sobbing at his fate. He stared up at his captor in terror.
“Hope you’re not afraid of the dark,” Buddy declared, and then slammed the lid down.
There was immediate ruckus as soon as he did so, the guy finally finding his fight and banging on the lid, screaming to be let out. It was so muffled that it wouldn’t even carry into the street.
Buddy locked it, checking to make sure that it was secure, and then whistled as he headed out of the store. As he walked towards the hospital, swinging his trusty tire iron by his side, he stopped and glanced back at the other dead guy on the sidewalk.
You know, if another patrol comes through they’re going to see this and be on alert, he thought. That could be bad for you. Plus… with the way that other guy is freaking out, he could use a friend.
He smirked and grabbed the corpse, dragging it inside the store. The banging and pleading continued, and he wrapped his hand around the lock release and opened the lid.
“Oh god thank you, thank you!” the man babbled, now completely covered in blood from head to toe from all of his thrashing.
Buddy smiled. “It’s my pleasure,” he said, putting a hand on his chest. “And I apologize, if I knew you needed your friend this much, I wouldn’t have left you without him.”
The man looked confused for a split second before his eyes widened in terror as his dead friend flopped over the edge and landed on him, crushing him down into the freezer.
“No, no, please!” he screamed around a mouthful of dead body.
“You two play nice,” Buddy called, and then slammed the freezer shut again, locking it tight. He turned away from the fifties appliance, and checked the ammo on his hunting rifle. He headed over to the fallen ones he’d collected, and popped out the ammunition, bringing his total rounds up to eight.
“Could be worse, I suppose,” he muttered to himself. “But how in the hell are you gonna storm a hospital with eight armed people inside? You’re a good shot, but being perfect is asking a lot, especially under fire. Not to mention they’re entrenched in their positions.”
He looked around the shop for something, anything he could use. As he scanned all of the stoves and fridges, he focused on a high-end lawn mower. He walked over and glanced at one of the sales tags, flipping it over for more information. He read it, and then moved on to the next one until he found what he was looking for.
The last one in the row boasted Push button start, reinforced carbon steel blade, self-propelled.
Buddy grinned. “There it is.”
He pulled the lawnmower off of the display and rolled it around, making sure there were no obstructions on the wheels. He stepped into the back room, searching for some fuel. There was a small gas can in the corner, and he shook it, hearing some sloshing. As he walked back to the main showroom, he grabbed a roll of duct tape from a table.
“This may be the weakest idea in the history of ideas,” he admitted to himself as he gassed up the lawnmower. “But fuck if it ain’t the only one you got.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Buddy knelt down by his lawnmower across from the hospital, the front edge of the parking lot just across the street, with another four hundred yards or so to the front entrance. He pulled out his hunting rifle and looked through the scope, surveying the front of the building. There was no movement, no signs of life, or undead.
Maybe that boy in the house was lying to me, he wondered. If he was, he certainly paid for it. He continued to scan the building, eventually honing in on the Emergency Room entrance, where he found his truck. Well, what do you know, he was telling the truth after all. Still, he shot at me and killed my friends, so fuck ‘em.
Buddy took out the tape and wrapped it several times around the self-propelled handlebar. He jiggled it several times to make sure it was secure. Then he sat back on his haunches for a moment, staring at it.
You might as well go ahead and hit start, he thought, sighing to himself. Staring at it ain’t gonna make it a better idea.
Buddy shook his head and hit the starter. The lawnmower roared to life and immediately tried to jerk out of his hand. He lifted it and aimed it at the front of the hospital, letting it go before running across the side street to get a better vantage point.
The little machine buzzed across the street, bouncing a bit when it hit the entrance to the parking lot. It took a solid minute for it to get close enough to draw some attention. Two men stepped outside as the lawnmower reached twenty yards from the front door.
Buddy watched through his scope, assuming they were arguing over who should go handle it. Eventually one of them gave in, and walked over while the other looked around to see if he could find out who sent it.
Buddy waited patiently for the guy to get away from the door before striking. As soon as the enemy flipped off the lawnmower, Buddy squeezed the trigger, the bullet hitting him dead in the chest and dropping him immediately. He quickly moved to aim at the guy at the door, who was frantically looking around.
After a moment he ran towards his fallen friend, and Buddy followed him with his scope. You pulled this shit on my friends, he thought bitterly. Time to return the favor.
He waited until the man stopped moving, and then fired. His aim was a little off, hitting him the shoulder, but sending him to the ground to join his friend. As he screamed in pain, six men poured out of the hospital to help. They all burst out through the door, one after the other.
Buddy took aim, just in time to see one of them pointing in his direction. Move, move, move! He didn’t fire, opting to immediately retreat. Just as he dove away from the side of the building, it exploded with gunfire.
Should have thought this through more, he chided himself. Where are you going, Buddy? He darted down the street, despite the people pursuing him. Neighborhood? No, they’ll flank you, he thought frantically. Side street? Same fucking problem.
As a hardware store came into view ahead, he shook his head and picked up the pace. F
uck it, I’ll make it work. He smashed the glass door with the butt of his rifle and ducked inside, leaving the door open. He hoped they’d decided to split up when they ran after him.
He moved swiftly through the aisles, looking for something he could use. He grabbed a medium sized metal wrench, and swung it a couple of times to get used to the feel.
Just shoot the motherfuckers as they come in, he thought to himself. No, dammit man, think, he argued. One shot and you’re burned. Hand to hand, get you a hostage, and get the hell outta dodge.
He was three aisles away from the door when it opened. He held his breath, hoping that there wouldn’t be the full set of footsteps. His muscles relaxed a touch when he was pretty sure it was only two people entering.
They moved in the same direction, towards the end of his aisle. He moved towards the noise quietly, cocking his arm back, ready to strike with the wrench. He was ten feet away when a barrel of a hunting rifle peeked around the end of the aisle.
Buddy rushed forward, the noise prompting the gunman to leap around the corner. He knew he wasn’t going to make it without getting shot, so he threw the wrench as hard as he could while still running. It flew through the air, hitting the man in the chest.
The impact caused him to stumble back, pulling the trigger in shock. The sound reverberated deafeningly in the small space, the bullet tearing through the aisle display. The enemy behind the fallen man shoved forward to raise his own gun, but Buddy beat him to the punch, grabbing his barrel and shoving it down while slamming his shoulder into the man’s chest.
The weapon hit the floor, and Buddy grabbed his opponent and swung him around, throwing him into his partner like they were in a wrestling ring. The impact sent them both sprawling to the floor, and as they were getting back up, he dove forward with the tire iron.
He landed a blow on one of their shoulders, and kicked away the closest rifle to keep it away from reaching hands. One of them swung with his non-injured arm, catching Buddy in the side of the head. It glanced off, but still stung, driving him back a few steps.
Dead America The Third Week (Book 6): Dead America, Mississippi Caravan Page 4