Dead America The Third Week (Book 6): Dead America, Mississippi Caravan

by Slaton, Derek

  The non-injured man grabbed the wrench and rushed forward, swinging wildly. Buddy deflected the blow with his tire iron, catching his opponent in the forearm. The wrench hit the floor and he jabbed with the iron, hitting the man in the throat and dropping him.

  As the man struggled to breathe, gasping for air, Buddy stepped over his writhing form to approach his friend, who had drawn a knife.

  He cracked a smile at the pocket knife, a mere four-inch blade. “You’d better hit me in the jugular, or else all you’re going to do is piss me off,” he drawled.

  The man grunted and lunged towards him, and Buddy dodged the attempted strike easily. The man flailed wildly with the blade, movements predictable and easy to avoid. The man grunted in frustration, and stepped back before rushing forward, screaming.

  Buddy side-stepped him, swinging the iron as he went by, and cracked him on the back of the skull. His opponent dropped to one knee, woozy, and Buddy reared back to deliver a killing blow when the door swung open again.

  “He’s in here!” somebody yelled.

  Buddy grunted. “Shit,” he huffed, and darted down an aisle as a shot rang out. The woozy man dropped to the floor as his friends flooded into the store.

  Buddy rushed towards the back, hoping that there was a store room with a back exit. As he ran, footsteps thundered in multiple directions. He drew his handgun, deciding gunshots didn’t matter now that his cover was blown.

  As he came around the corner at the end of the aisle, another shot rang out, hitting the display just beside him, sending bits of plastic and flimsy metal flying through the air and into his tender flesh. The superficial wounds didn’t hurt, but definitely pissed him off.

  He blindly fired down the darkened aisle, not sure if he hit anything, but damn sure that it stopped whoever was firing at him from approaching this way. He ducked behind the back counter and could make out a door in the distance to his left.

  That better be it, or else my last stand is gonna be in a fucking hardware store! He hit the latch release on the door, and sunlight poured in, briefly blinding his pursuers. He looked both ways, seeing a long alley with no way to hide or escape. He shoved his arm back inside, firing off a few rounds to buy himself a moment to think.

  You ain’t fast enough to make it before they get here, he thought. You don’t have the bullets to take ‘em out, either. Footsteps approached his position. Looks like it’s time to bluff.

  Buddy pressed himself against the wall just beside the door, waiting with his handgun at the ready. He strained his ears, listening closely as footsteps approached, holding his breath in anticipation of executing this risky maneuver.

  He didn’t have to wait long for a rifle barrel to poke out the door into the alley. As soon as it was visible, he reached out and jerked it forward, avoiding a bullet as he lashed out with his gun, jamming it into the man's throat and aiming up into his head.

  “Why aren’t you smiling?” Buddy asked. “You should be happy that you finally found me.”

  Yelling erupted from behind him, various voices screaming for Buddy to drop his weapon. He stared down his hostage, a clean shaven man that looked to be in his thirties, and the man stared right back. His friends inside continued to holler and panic.

  “You wanna ask them to kindly shut the fuck up?” Buddy asked with a smirk. “I get the sense that my request wouldn’t be honored.”

  His hostage calmly rolled his eyes. “Settle down boys, I got this under control.”

  The rabble finally quieted down, so much so that Buddy could hear footsteps running out of the store.

  “I appreciate that,” he said, inclining his head.

  The hostage pursed his lips. “Well, I do try to be hospitable towards the guests in my town.”

  “Hospitable, huh?” Buddy’s eyes blazed. “Is that what you call what you did to my friends when we arrived?”

  The man shrugged, or at least as much as he was able in his predicament. “Don’t take it personal,” he drawled. “Simple fact is, you looked like you had stuff we could use, so we took it. But since we have your stuff now, I can be a little friendlier.” He grimaced as the barrel of the handgun pressed harder into the tender flesh of his throat. “I’d be careful now, you wouldn’t want to accidentally squeeze that trigger. Without me, they’ll tear you apart like a Rottweiler on a steak.”

  “If I were you, I’d be more concerned with your own safety rather than mine,” Buddy warned.

  The man sighed. “Just trying to be friendly.”

  “Well cut it out, because that’s a bit disingenuous,” Buddy snarled. “Especially given how this day has gone so far.”

  “Okay, you don’t want me to be nice, I won’t be,” the man snapped. “Either put down the gun or my friends here are going to drag your scraggly-looking ass back to that hospital and try out every single piece of surgery equipment on you.”

  Buddy grinned, showing all of his teeth. “See, was that so hard?”

  “So what do you want?” the man asked.

  His captor stared him dead in the eye. “Just want to talk to Johnny Ray so I can get my truck back and get out of everybody’s hair.”

  “Oh, is that all?” the man replied, rolling his eyes. “You want me to tell you where my wife is, so you can fuck her, too?”

  “While I’m sure she’d appreciate getting some solid pipe for the first time in years,” Buddy quipped, “I am on a bit of a timetable, so I’ll have to politely decline.”

  The man sneered. “Timetable, huh?” he asked. “Guess you shouldn’t have bothered stopping in our humble little town here.”

  “Trust me, that was the first of many things I didn’t have scheduled today,” Buddy admitted.

  Footsteps echoed in the alley, but he refused to give up his ground.

  “Well look at that,” the man said, “you spent too much time chattering away and now you’re surrounded.”

  One of the approaching men cocked his gun. “Give me your gun and nobody gets hurt,” he demanded.

  Buddy carefully glanced back, making sure to keep most of his focus on his hostage in case he moved. The gunman had his rifle aimed right for his head, but was too far away to make a move on him.

  “You should listen to him,” the hostage said. “I’ve known him a long time, he’ll be gentle on you.”

  “You know, I met a woman at a bar once that told me she’d be gentle with me,” Buddy said conversationally. “I made the mistake of believing her. Twelve hours later I woke up three counties over chained to a cheap motel bed and missing my pants. Somehow I don’t think your friend here is going to treat me quite as well.”

  His hostage snickered. “Well, it’s either that, or he blows your head off.”

  “Yep, and there’s a fifty-fifty chance that I pull this trigger as I fall to the ground,” Buddy replied. “So it sounds like you’re a betting man.”

  His prisoner shrugged. “I am when the odds are in my favor,” he replied. “I may have a fifty-fifty chance, but you have considerably worse odds.”

  Buddy contemplated for a moment, knowing that he was right. It definitely didn’t do him much good to get his head blown off, even if he took out this asshole in the process.

  “I think you might be right there,” he admitted.

  The hostage smiled. “Finally, some sensible words coming from you.”

  “Lay down your gun!” the man behind them demanded.

  Buddy kept his weapon pressed hard against his hostage’s lower jaw. “Why don’t you come and take it?” he demanded. There was a long pause. “You gonna come get it, or should I go ahead and blow his head off?”

  The hostage stared at his friend and gave as much of a nod as he could in his position. The gunman kept aiming at Buddy as he approached, inching forward.

  As soon as the tip of the rifle was in reach, Buddy removed the gun from his hostage’s throat and held it out for the taking. As soon as the approaching man’s eyes flicked to his hand, he struck.

  Buddy
grabbed the barrel of the rifle, pulling it down and forward, causing his attacker to inadvertently squeeze the trigger. A shot rang out, which tore through the hostage’s shoulder, dropping him to the ground.

  The recoil knocked the shooter off-balance, giving Buddy a chance to aim and fire three quick shots into him. As this happened, the men on the inside of the store fired out the door, giving cover to the hostage who dragged himself along the ground with one arm across the threshold of the door.

  Buddy spun and grabbed his ankle, dragging him back outside. He dropped to one knee, grabbing the back of his collar and pulling him up, using him as a human meat shield as the three other gunmen rushed out into the alleyway. As they aimed, the hostage raised his one good arm to keep them from shooting.

  “All right, I’m done fucking around with you chucklenuts!” Buddy bellowed, eyes blazing. Take me to Johnny Ray now, or I’m going to blow his head clean off and then start shooting at dick level until you take me out. So while you may not give a flying fuck about him, I’m gonna assume you care a great deal about your beans and franks!”

  There was a tense moment of silence, and the men all shared confused looks, before deferring to the hostage.

  “He sighed, still holding his arm out. “Go tell my brother to meet us in the parking lot,” he said weakly.

  One of the men looked to Buddy as if for permission, and he nodded to let him know he wouldn’t shoot him in the back upon retreat. He turned around and took off running towards the hospital.

  “Brother, huh?” Buddy asked. “Guess that explains why your boys didn’t light me up as soon as I had my gun on you. Ole Johnny Ray must actually care for your well-being.”

  His hostage chuckled, hissing at the pain in his shoulder. “Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far,” he admitted. “More like the men here don’t want to find out what would happen if they let me die and had to tell him about it.”

  “I’ll buy that,” Buddy replied, and stood up, pulling his prisoner by the collar to his feet. “You two, start walking,” he demanded, motioning to the two remaining gunmen.

  “So, what’s your name?” the hostage asked as they strolled along behind the duo towards the hospital.

  Buddy rolled his eyes. “Do you really give a shit about that?” he asked.

  “Nah, just making conversation,” the man replied. “Been stuck with the same people for three straight weeks now. Never hurts to know new people, even if they have a gun in your back.”

  His captor clucked his tongue. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “You can call me Buddy.”

  “I’m Jody,” the hostage replied. “Buddy, huh? Parents give you that name, or did you earn it as a nickname and it just sorta stuck around?”

  Buddy fisted his shirt a little tighter as they reached the end of the alley. “Nickname,” he replied. “My father was a narcissistic prick of a human being, so he gave me his name when I was born. Got tired of being called Junior by everybody, and it was downright exhausting to have my father constantly telling me I wasn’t living up to his name. So I said fuck his name and his expectations and started going by Buddy.”

  Jody shook his head, and then grimaced at his shoulder. “Still, of all the names to pick, you went with Buddy?”

  “I was a sophomore in high school, so not exactly the prime time to be making lifelong decisions,” his captor admitted. “But my favorite teacher knew I hated being referred to as Junior, so he made it a point in class to call me Buddy. Resonated with me, so I ran with it.”

  Jody chuckled. “That is a surprisingly wholesome story to hear, especially given all the death going on of late.”

  “Well, figured you got shot and have to explain to your brother why half your crew is dead, so might as well throw you a bone,” Buddy replied, as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Makes me feel better in case I have to put a bullet in the back of your head.

  Jody gulped.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The quartet walked across the hospital parking lot, approaching the front door. As they grew closer, the gunman from the ally walked out with a tall, mullet-wearing redneck in ripped jeans and a Molly Hatchet t-shirt. Buddy assumed this was Johnny Ray, who looked like he was in his mid-forties, though the years hadn’t treated him well by the looks of his ragged face.

  “What in the holy hell do you want, motherfucker?!” the redneck roared. “You’re doing a great job of fucking up my high, and I don’t have too many more of those to get!”

  Buddy smirked. “Running out of supplies, are you?”

  “Goddamn right I am!” Johnny Ray cried. “Good quality shit is hard to come by in the apocalypse.”

  Buddy raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll be quick and to the point so you can get back to it,” he replied. “Just give me my truck and I’ll be on my merry way.”

  “Fuck you, motherfucker,” Johnny Ray snapped, pointing a thick finger at him. “That is my truck now. Everything that’s in there is all mine and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

  “Well, you say that,” Buddy replied, and pressed the barrel of his handgun against the back of Jody’s head.

  The wounded man held out his hands, palms out. “Johnny Ray,” he rasped, “now might be a good time to start negotiating.”

  “Fuck off, Jody,” his brother snapped. “If you and your dumbass friends could aim a rifle he’d be dead and we’d be gettin’ fucked up right now.”

  Buddy cocked his head. “Be that as it may, my current offer still stands,” he said calmly. “Give me my truck, and you can go back to smoking whatever it is that you’re smoking.”

  The redneck pulled out a handgun and pointed it at him.

  “Johnny Ray,” Jody pleaded, “let’s hear this man out before you go shooting.”

  “Nah, I’m done,” Buddy replied with an over dramatic sigh. “Everybody knows what the deal is. Give me what I want, or there will be blood to clean up.”

  The redneck shrugged. “Well hell, when you put it that way, I might as well take care of you right now,” he declared. “And if Jody don’t make it, it just means more of the good shit for the rest of us.” He chuckled as he cocked the hammer on his gun.

  “At least for an hour or two,” Buddy replied with a little shrug.

  Johnny Ray narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck you talking about?”

  “Your boys here did kill two high-ranking military members,” Buddy reminded him. “Or, didn’t you know that?”

  “Yeah, so?” the redneck demanded.

  Buddy shrugged again. “Well, their friends are on the way to exact some revenge.”

  “Bullshit,” Johnny Ray drawled, dragging out the word. “You ain’t got no radio on you.”

  The truck driver cocked his head. “Very true,” he admitted. “However, one of the houses I was hiding out in down south of here sure did have one. Funny thing about small rural towns in this country, they seem to have an overabundance of people who serve in the military. Which means there’s a whole lot of prepared people.”

  From the fear flicking across the redneck’s face, Buddy could tell his ruse was working. He wasn’t sure if the man had family members in the military, or if he was just so high that the bullshit story made sense. Regardless, he was innately relieved that his bluff was working, and made sure not to show it.

  “Well, in that case, it looks like we just need to pack up and head on out,” Johnny Ray finally said. “We ain’t givin’ up that truck that easily. Which still leaves you up shit’s creek, boy.”

  Buddy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you found the trackers, huh?”

  “The what?” the redneck demanded.

  Buddy laughed. “You hijacked a high-priority military transport. Did you not think there were going to be tracking devices on there? If it goes off the designated path, they'll be sending in airstrikes to take it out.”

  Johnny Ray paled. “Airstrikes?”

  “Hell yeah, airstrikes!” Buddy replied. “They can’t risk that falling into the
wrong hands.”

  The redneck’s gun arm began to shake. “Well, where are they?” he demanded. “How many are there?”

  “Fuck if I know, man,” Buddy replied with a shrug. “I’m just the driver. You think they tell me anything?”

  Johnny Ray's eyes darted around in a panic. “Well what can we do?”

  “You can get me my truck, and I’ll be on my way,” Buddy replied. “When I get out of town, I’ll make the call and let them know I’m good to go.”

  The redneck began to pace back and forth, waving his gun around. He muttered to himself, hemming and hawing.

  “Tick tock, man,” Buddy prompted, tired of waiting.

  “Okay, okay!” Johnny Ray snarled, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Go get his truck!”

  The gunman beside him faltered. “But-”

  “Just go get his goddamn truck!” the redneck yelled.

  The gunman ran off towards the truck as Johnny Ray shoved his gun back into the waistband of his pants and motioned for the others to put their weapons down. “All right man,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You can take your truck and get out. Just call off the military and let my brother go.”

  “I’ll do both once I get to the city limits,” Buddy replied.

  The redneck growled. “No, you let him go now.”

  “Can’t do that,” Buddy said, shaking his head. “You’re just gonna have to take my word for it.”

  Johnny Ray began pacing again, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “It’s all right bro,” Jody said gently, “Buddy will take good care of me.” His calm voice seemed to put the redneck at ease, and he stopped pacing. The truck rolled up beside them in the parking lot.

  “There you go man, there you go,” Johnny Ray said, waving maniacally at the vehicle. “Get on outta here before the military blows us all up!”

  Buddy nodded his head towards the building. “Y’all go lock yourselves in the hospital, and do it quick,” he said firmly. “And leave your weapons out here, just in case someone wants to get cute and fire off a shot.”