by Mark Tufo
She smiled. “I’ll think of something.”
“And while you’re at it, you should start thinking about seeing if Max has a bowl to give her some water. And you should start thinking about names for the puppies, too.”
With that, she began looking around the room for much needed inspiration.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Because we needed to leave Trina, Cynthia and the dog without a name with Max, we were acutely aware that we were without Gem and the firepower she provided. We’d brought enough spare 9mm ammo with us that we felt satisfied we had enough, but I grabbed the first axe I found in a fire hose cabinet, and Hemp snatched another when we reached a second station.
If we ran into any uninfecteds, they would absolutely shit their pants. I imagined what we looked like. No sleep in a full day, sweating, dirty, bloody and bruised.
And brandishing submachine guns and axes.
I looked at Hemp. “Did you see the movie They Live?”
We stepped into the service elevator that ran down to the garage level. “No,” he said. “Who’s in it? Anyone I’d have heard of?”
“Not a chance,” I said. “But there’s a great line in it.”
Hemp swiped his card, hitting the G button. The car began to fall smoothly. “And what’s that?”
I smiled. “I came here to chew some bubble gum and kick some ass. And I’m all out of bubble gum.”
“You Americans are all a bunch of John Waynes, aren’t you?”
I shrugged and we both managed a good laugh.
When the doors slid open it was into wall of zombies.
There. I said it. Fucking zombies. I could use respectable terminology when I was dealing with Jamie, but right now, it was the first thing that came to mind.
Rapid decomposition of their skin had turned it pocked, wrinkled and flaky, and as they pushed against one another to access the oversized cargo elevator, the dead skin flew into the air like tiny winged gnats.
And they reeked.
“Get over! Over!” Hemp shouted, and I did. He swung his axe neck-height, and whacked the heads from the first two he hit, the axe blade embedding into a third’s neck, the black-red blood spraying every visible surface. A disgusting stench that smelled like mold and shit accompanied the horrid mist.
The moan-scream the things made seemed unlike the sounds they emitted when we were shooting them, perhaps because they were dying differently. I made a mental note to mention my observation to Hemp later as I swung in a broad sweep from right to left and at a downward angle, chopping diagonally through the head of another lab-coated freak whose teeth were exposed all the way back to the molars on the left side, and who had bitten his tongue off; it was now hanging by a couple of blue veins out of the side of his gaping pie hole.
Thankfully, he dropped and I didn’t have to stare at him for long. I’d only slammed into the collarbone of the next one, which drove him to his knees, a short round mechanic-looking man-monster with Phil on his embroidered name badge. I yanked the axe toward me and it sliced into his neck further then came free, but before I could pull it back for another swing, he was coming at me, jerking along on his knees.
Hemp had relinquished his axe and now swung the Daewoo submachine gun around. He took out the fat fucker coming at me first, then sprayed the door left to right and back, taking out six more of them. Shell casings rained down hot, peppering me and the zombies coming at us. As the front line of them fell we found five more right behind them, and now I had time to pull the H&K around to assist.
Good thing. Hemp’s MP5 clicked, out of ammo as I sent round after round into the next layer of hungry predators outside the elevator. The pile was building now, and if there were more out there, then neither Hemp nor I could see them from our positions on the floor.
But as Hemp slammed his clip back into the Daewoo, we did see something.
Something disturbing. The fat fucker was getting his nose chewed off.
By a head. A fucking head.
I looked at Hemp, and he followed my eyes back to the pile of zombies stacked in the elevator opening. As the doors attempted repeatedly to close, one side kept bumping the severed head of one of the undead creatures onto its face where it rolled until it hit the bump of the nose, then rolled back, again to be hit by the door, like a too-softly hit pinball falling back to the flippers.
And it gnashed, biting its tongue in half as we watched, a pus-blood-bile liquid running down its cheek as it did so. The eyes searched frantically for the food we knew it could still smell, and that food was us. And as we looked on in wonder and horror, the other severed head munched on the fat fucker’s nose relentlessly, and was making impressive progress.
I shot the one on the right, and Hemp shot the one on the left. We stood up and took a very close look at the barricade we would have to clear before we could either begin our work on the gas line or meet the others we would have to slaughter.
I took a deep breath, then turned and puked in the corner of the elevator car. I heaved up an entire can of half-digested chili.
Hemp looked away and tried to breathe through his mouth.
And then he puked, too. Right on the fat fucker. When he was done, we wiped our putrid mouths on our sleeves and started kicking the bodies aside as best we could, making sure none of them were without severe brain trauma. Then we climbed the stack of really dead zombies.
At the top of the mound, we found we were in the clear. All told there had been another eighteen of them.
I was really beginning to wonder how outnumbered the uninfecteds in this world were.
And then I thought of Gem and reached for my radio.
*****
“Flex, I can’t talk,” she said. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
My icy stare focused on nothing. I pressed the walkie transmit button almost hard enough to break the plastic.
“What’s wrong?” I asked in a desperate whisper, because it seemed she was trying to be quiet, and it was automatic.
There was a pause. “Hold on,” she said.
I did.
Then: “I had to move farther away from them before I felt comfortable talking. Listen, I think I’ve found Cynthia’s daughter, Taylor. And she’s alive. But Flex, I’ve never been so scared in my life. The things are fucking stockpiling bodies.”
I wanted to check the batteries in the walkie, because I didn’t want to hear what I thought I just did. “Gem. Are you in any danger now?”
“I’m not, or I don’t think so, anyway. Not right now. But Flex, they’re stacking dead bodies in the house. Like a meat locker.”
“Is it cold in the house?”
“I have no idea, but this house has a generator running, so the A/C might be on. Looks like it’s supplied from an underground tank or something, and they seem to know the difference.”
“How many are there?”
“I’ve only seen eight or nine moving around, but the bodies are piled two deep as far as I can see into the house, and I can’t figure out how they got so many. I mean, hasn’t this only been going on for a couple of days?”
I jammed my finger on the transmit button again. “Gem, you’d better be sure you’re safe. Secondly how the hell did you get close enough to see what you just described to me, and find the girl? That doesn’t sound safe at all.”
“Flex, I’ve got the binocs from your truck, so I scoped it out from a good distance away. If they’ve got a enhanced sense of smell, then it’s either not as good as the binocular power or the wind is with me, or both. Anyway, I need you and Hemp if we’re going to get this girl.”
“Where is she, Gem?”
There was a long hesitation. When her voice came back through the speaker, it was cracking and on the edge of tears. “She’s . . . Christ, she’s beneath another body just inside the door, Flex. She’s keeping her eyes squeezed shut, but once in a while, when one of them is behind her, she opens them. Fuck, Flex. I have to get her, but –”
“But you’ll wait. I’m com
ing. I’m going to leave Hemp here to work on this gas line. We have to get this going so we can keep the promise we made to Max and get the hell to my house where we can start to put together a plan for our future.”
“Okay,” she said. “But Flex, hurry. This kid’s going to be scarred for life, and I want – oh, shit.”
I felt like I was wasting time. I needed to be there with her now. “What, Gem? What?”
“The son-of-a-bitch is – holy crap – he’s dragging a body out of the next door neighbor’s house, toward this one. Can they have that much awareness?”
I didn’t know. I looked at Hemp and pressed the button so Gem could hear me. “Hemp, could these things know that preserving the bodies in a cool area would protect their food source? I mean, from what you’ve seen so far?”
Hemp shook his head. “I’ve not seen that kind of thought structure so far. The group movement, which looked coordinated, could have only been them all catching the whiff of a scent all at once. But self preservation? Food storage? Doesn’t sound likely.”
I held the button. “Did you hear that?”
She came back on. “I did, but unless this was some sort of Reverend Jim Jones, Guyana, Kool-Aid mass-suicide thing, then these people were captured and stacked by these freaks. And I’m only seeing a part of it. Now Hurry, Flex, or I’m going rogue.”
“Got it. Get back to the truck. We’ll do what we can for the girl when I get there and you’re less likely to die in the process. Promise me?”
“Okay, but hurry. Head out the same gate we came through and turn right on the first access road. You take that same road two miles, then cut your engine, roll in and just park on the corner when you get to Oregon Street. I’ll be watching for you.”
“Got it babe,” I said. “Ten minutes. I’ll radio if it’s going to be longer.”
I clicked off. “Hemp, let’s check out some of the beefier hard tops. I think I need protection that a ragtop Jeep’s not going to provide.”
*****
The Hummer 2 was perfect. Turns out the government still used them despite crazy gas prices, even while they preached hybrid technology to the masses. It had a full tank with six 5-gallon cans of extra gas anchored to a rack on the rear bumper.
Hemp had been running around the large garage investigating. The space was massive, and the walls that were not bay doors were loaded with racks of black pipe, PVC, flat steel, angle iron, and other fabrication materials. There were rolling tool chests jammed full of every kind of tool and corresponding cutting bit you could think of. Upon our first inspection of the stuff I knew he’d be in the Toys R Us of engineering.
He came back, winded. “Could get pretty crazy out there, Flex,” Hemp said. “If you can spare about fifteen minutes and pitch in, I think I can make this ride a tad safer and more of what you John Wayne types might call bad ass.”
I clicked on to Gem. “Babe, are you staying clear? How’s the girl?”
“I can’t see her from where I am now, Flex. Why?”
“I’ll leave in about fifteen minutes. You’ve got to wait. It’s an idea of Hemp’s for the truck I’m bringing.”
“Hurry, Flex. If you’re not here in twenty, I’m loading up and going in after her.”
I didn’t say anything. I looked at Hemp. “What’s the plan?”
Hemp used the striker to light the acetylene torch, then started heating four steel flat irons around one inch wide and fifteen inches long. When the steel glowed red, he started hammering on them. He had shrugged out of his Daewoo earlier, and now eyeballed the gun, hammering on the steel rods. He bent them the way he wanted them, and when he was done, all were identical. I was duly impressed.
“These mounts will bolt to the doors on both sides. You won’t have side windows, but nothing should be able to get close enough to you for you to need them,” he said as he drilled holes in the top of each u-shaped piece with the ultra sharp ¼” diamond-tipped bit. “They should rest nicely over the door panel when you roll down the windows.”
Wearing leather gloves, he spun open the bench vise and repositioned the pieces, then pulled the drill press down again and again, drilling more holes at the ends of all four pieces. Then he unclamped them again and dropped the hot steel into a bucket of water beside the bench. They splashed in with a quick hiss and sank to the bottom.
“Give them a couple of seconds to cool then roll down the windows on the Hummer and center them on the door panels on both the driver and passenger sides. I’m using the Daewoo because the barrel is thick and cylindrical and will mount well using a couple of beefy U-bolts. Take two of these big metal screws for each one to mount them. There’s a good driver drill right here.”
He handed me a big Makita.
“You did two too many,” I said.
“You don’t think we’re leaving your truck unprotected, do you? I’m doing it, I might as well whip out four of them. We’ve got enough of the K7s.”
I shook my head. “Hemp, you are amazing, man.” I grabbed the steel pieces out of the water and got the bolts and the driver bit I needed.
“When I screw through the door it’s going to break the glass,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. Let it shatter. Hurry, Gem’s waiting for you. I’ll finish the pivot pieces.”
The mounts attached perfectly in less than five minutes. The windows did shatter with a loud pop as the screw pressure drove the tempered glass past its limit.
By the time I’d mounted them to the Hummer, Hemp had completed four heavy-duty U-Bolt mounts. He had found oversized wing nuts for quick installation and removal of the weapon on the pivoting bracket. Pure genius.
“I’ll mount this one on the passenger side further out on the barrel, since you’ll be the only one in the vehicle initially. You’ll need to be able to fire the weapon from the driver’s seat. These bolts are hardened steel, and will handle the kick without damaging the pivot or mount.”
Hemp checked his watch. “You’ve got four more minutes to get out of here.” He finished mounting the gun and tightened the wing nuts with a t-handled wrench that he handed to me afterward. “Try it out. Get in. You’ll have to mount the other K7 when you get back to your truck. Do that first, okay? Before you go in.”
I nodded and got inside the Hummer. Sitting comfortably in the driver’s seat, I could hold my hand out and grip the weapon. When the clip was empty, it would easily tilt up, allowing me to eject the clip and put in a new one.
“Bitchen,” I said. “Fuckin’ bitchen.”
“We’ll do your Suburban when you get back. Now go. I’ll get started on the gas line.”
I handed him my H&K and the extra clips. He dropped his Daewoo clips onto the passenger seat.
“Thanks, Hemp. We were lucky to run into you in that police station.”
He nodded and smiled. “Go get ‘em, cowboy.”
I left with a minute and a half to spare.
Gem’s directions were easy and perfect. When I drove up I parked and cut the engine. Gem was at my window in seconds.
“Sweet ride, babe. You were faster than I thought,” she said, touching the bracket on the door panel.
“Hemp’s quick. Gem, I can’t even tell you how good he is. Check it out.” I leaned back so she could see the submachine gun mounted on the opposite door.
“Wow,” she said. “Nice. Now let’s go.”
“Grab me another K7 real fast. I promised Hemp I’d do this first. It’ll attach in less than a minute and you said I’m early.”
She nodded and retrieved the gun. I rested it on the bracket, dropped the U-bolt down on top and slid the lower bracket on to it. Once the wing nuts were tight I tested the pivot and mount. It was perfect for either my left or right hand, depending on what the situation called for.
“Ready?” she asked.
I wasn’t. I’d have rather stayed right there with my double machine gun-protected Hummer, but I nodded anyway. “Let’s go get that little girl,” I said.
With sp
are clips for the Uzi and the other MP5 I’d gotten out of the truck – mainly because I’d grown to like that gun quite a bit – we tested the wind for directional change as any golfer would. We tossed grass in the air.
We would approach the house from downwind just to be safe, and lucky for us that meant from the front of the house where the captives were being held.
For a moment I almost ran to check on Jamie on the trailer, but then immediately remembered that Gem had wisely unhooked the trailer from the hitch ball and left it in the parking lot back at the CDC. I’d seen it in my rear view mirror as I pulled out, and it appeared to be intact and secure.
Gem and I crouched down and stayed under cover. By the time we were devising a plan, we realized that many of the people in that house were still alive. Some were feigning sleep or death, we couldn’t be sure. The old ‘close your eyes and they can’t see you’ trick. The only problem with that was the zombies could clearly smell fresh meat, so your little jig would be up sooner than later.
“They’re stocking them up, Flex. Like a fucking food bank. I’ve only seen the front rooms. I have no idea who, what, how many – none of it – from the beginning of the hallway to the back of the house.”
I knew that we could take a good number out at low risk with our high-powered weapons, but when the clip emptied, there was that damned pesky delay where you had to eject and reload. That was an opportunity for them, and the more there were, the more likely you could be taken by surprise. And more than once it had seemed these things knew when you were more vulnerable. Or perhaps when you were less threatening.
“Okay, my plan sucks, but I don’t have a better one right now. I say we start out at the house next door, see if any of these things are over there. That way we’re not surprised if this turns out to be a house filled with zombies. If not, we go back to the storage house, do our best to stay downwind, and we kill any motherfucker that gets in our way.”
“You’re calling them zombies, Flexy.”
“I know, and it’s the only word that works. Now listen. We make sure we’ve killed every one of them in the near vicinity, then we start getting the live uninfecteds out of there. Starting with Taylor.”