The neighborhood street was crammed with cars but Randall drove similar to Ronan's path, along the sidewalks and driveways, zipping past the street of parked cars. They were four across, parked in lanes and the narrow single lanes to and fro, all packed with cars trying to get out on that fateful day.
The foliage was thick and green now. The structured plots were given plenty of shade due to all the cramped high apartment buildings. Randall felt almost at peace as he drove through. The sun's beams flickered through the foliage. He came out to the opening of La Brea, a main avenue. The hot California sun shone brightly here. Luckily, his visor minimized the glare. He turned south to go down where Ronan must have led The Horde and cleared the way. It wasn't clear here, but he was sure it would be past Sunset.
It was surprisingly clear of zombies. There were just a few crawling gagging ones. He got to the wall of cars and trucks stacked up at the intersection on each side. There was something of an opening heading down La Brea to the Target shopping complex. It was a few blocks away, maybe a mile? He could see a lot of cars through the opening. It wasn't open by any means. Where was Ronan? Why didn't he clear it out? What happened to him?
Randall thought these things as he slowed to the barrier. He saw Howie in the Hummer drive up from another side street that was open. He drove up slowly from a block away, readying to turn down La Brea with him.
Obviously, something was not right. Randall waved for Howie to slow and stop.
Howie complied. "What now?"
"Don't look open?" Duanne pondered, sticking his head out the window to get a better look.
Zombies were dotted around, but were harmless. They were the slow, leftover ones. In their armor, these couldn't bite and could be swatted down easily.
Duanne had a motorcycle helm on, an extra one they got, souped up and fitted for his big head. He had flaps tied down to his neck gorget. Ronan's wife made these things similar to a knight's armor. Neck and shoulders were very important to protect. The homemade gorget was a piece of strong material with added armor pads that wrapped around the neck and hung down. It covered the neck, which was usually not covered by a helmet or any torso armor.
Duanne had one. Howie had one. Both looked like mercenary road warriors in scrap armor. They both looked effective. However, their eyes gave away that they were not.
Both stared unsure, giving glum apprehensive looks.
"We can always drive back?" Howie wondered aloud.
Randall stared through his reflective visor, wondering, pondering, looking down the street over the myriad of stacked cars, trucks and buses.
He then saw it, a distance off, a mound of flailing arms. Or was it? It disappeared just as he noticed it. Then he saw the relieving sight of Ronan racing on his motorcycle. Split seconds stretched as Randall saw Ronan racing back up, furiously and determined.
Now he saw the rise of a mound, like a mud slide racing against gravity, tumbling with a thousand limbs and demonic faces. He saw cars suddenly lift and flip, a truck skidding sideways and turning over, more cars ram into others and all of them crashing against buildings. Trees crackled and fell. Bus stops shattered and collapsed. It was coming. It was coming to them!
Ronan burst through, swerving under the wave as it came on like a giant lava beast.
Randall turned his bike in a sudden reaction. He only had moments. He scooted and wobbled the bike dangerously as he turned the throttle to get free. He accelerated the other way, the wrong way, the only way he could go in a flash.
"What the hell?" Howie lurched forward thinking he'd see better through his dirty cracked window and past the cross guard of reinforcements.
"He just took off!" Duanne noticed, watching as Randall raced the other way.
"I don't think..." Howie mumbled as he quickly shifted into reverse.
An earthquake suddenly rippled across the stacked up cars to their right. The wall of cars that were pushed up and out that created the opening they were at, on Sunset Boulevard, shook violently.
Then Ronan swerved through the opening of cars ahead of them. He did not look at them but raced through and beyond, up La Brea, past them.
"Oh shit!" Howie hit the reverse as the rumbling grew.
"What the hell?" Duanne choked.
The wall of cars suddenly burst and flew out at them. A vast mound of fleshy limbs and demonic gnashing faces poured out. Cars flipped and rolled as bodies careened across them, flailing and leaping onward.
Howie looked back as best he could. The Hummer with all the added armor wasn't ideal for reversing. He couldn't see well as he tried driving in reverse. He swerved too much and turned to tight. The rear slammed against a wall of cars. Nothing tottered on them but the wall of cars almost looked like it would.
"Go! Go! Go!" Duanne screamed, looking across Howie at the slew of zombies pouring out and after Ronan. A wing or blob of them saw Howie frantically switching to drive and turning the wheel. They saw him through the Hummer's dirty windows and turned their wing of racing zombies toward him.
"Oh my God! Go Howie! Go!" Duanne yelled horse, seeming to jump out of the seat.
The zombies took a wide turn, the first rows seeing them and turning, while the back rows, one after the other, crashed through the intersection of blockaded cars and trucks. It was a mess of a turn, where many got crushed as only a handful made the chase. But it was that handful that would finally lead a gigantic blob of zombies their way.
It gave Howie a frantic moment to turn the wheel and drive away. He raced the Hummer around, gritting teeth. Zombies were upon the vehicle but he easily ignored them as they leapt up and were ripped off and run over. The Hummer could easily handle dozens, perhaps even a hundred -- but not The Horde.
He drove back, zipping and colliding haphazardly through the canyon of cars, toward the school.
Duanne stared behind, turning in the car, still confined by the seat and his armored gear. "Oh my God, oh my God! They're coming! It's huge!!!"
Howie looked at the rear view mirror as he raced forward. It only showed a thousand gnashing teeth. He jerked the steering wheel too erratic. Was it the Hummer or his nerves? He was unable to steady it as the Hummer careened against the cars and trucks all along the canyon of Sunset Boulevard.
"We can't lead them back home!" Duanne realized with a growling cry. "Oh my God! Oh my God!"
Howie drove to and fro, accelerating and glaring everywhere. He was gaining some space on the mass coming after him. "There!" he pointed. "Let's hide in there!"
He broke hard next to a store front.
Duanne slammed against the front as his armor absorbed most of the impact. He floundered unsure.
"Jump in! We'll hide there!" Howie yelled.
Duanne freaked. He opened the door and saw the cinder block storefront. The windows were partially broken, easy enough to leap in. He rushed through, hiding as best he could.
He heard him, but it didn't register till he looked up from the debris as Howie drove off. "I'll lead them away!!!" he heard him yell.
Duanne screamed, yelled after him but the Horde drowned him out.
35. Costs
The Hummer took off, and dust and dirt shot out. Zombies suddenly raced across the sun’s glaring brilliance. Duanne hid in the shadows of the rubble strewn store. He laid against an aisle on the floor, cowering as the shaking earth rumbled the cinder-block walls.
Was it all going to give? Zombies raced across the window, flashing the light of the sun and darkening the interior. He tightened his face, clenching it against the chin strap as dust from the floor inches away, clawed at him inside his micro helmet space, clawing to cough and give away his spot.
But the rumbling then booming noises of The Horde racing past him overwhelmed any noise he made. They were smashing everything as they passed the storefront. The cinder-blocks shuddered and expelled more industrial dust. The hanging fluorescent lights shook. Some fell and exploded softly into their snowflake disintegration.
Duanne scooted mor
e and more under -- anything. Zombies were thrown into the store. Duanne saw their feet or bodies crash in the aisles and roll, slamming into anything. In their crazed frenzy, they got up and leapt back into the wave of zombies racing by.
He lay there shivering and helpless, covered in debris and dust. He feared that the things that crashed around him and the booming noise of The Horde would collapse this cinder-block store on top of him. He tried scooting backwards but his fear and the haphazard debris stopped him.
He gritted his teeth as the screeching rumbling sound exploded ever louder building to a climactic moment. A huge bus suddenly slammed into the storefront blasting cinder-block chunks on top of him. The last of the glass shattered and the ceiling light tubes rained down. They twirled and puffed to nothing as they were mixed into the flurry of crashing debris. Wires and electrical fixtures swung wildly from the ceiling while cables twanged and whipped about.
But that bus, a huge giant corner of a city bus that had just slammed into the storefront, blocked most of The Horde as it passed. Duane couldn’t believe it. He saw the flickering of shadows through the shaded store and felt the rumble of a crazed marathon just beyond. He realized the constant flickering of blurred images at his eye level on the floor were The Horde's feet running by.
He coughed dust inside his helm and his heart skipped a beat. It tightened in his chest. He realized he held his breath so tight he was choking himself. He remembered his training and began to breathe. At first, it was dusty and musty, but he accepted it, told his brain to accept it. He began to breathe and be more alert. Through the nostrils, through the nostrils he screamed in his head!
His arms throbbed a bit, but not bad. He realized a cinder-block was pressing against them. The impact would have broken bones or ruptured flesh, or at least shredded his muscular arms, but they did not. That woman's armor worked. It spread the point of impact all across the padding, the hard plastic padding she sewed along his compression shirt. It held.
By God, though his arms still hurt and were throbbing, they would survive to work another day. He carefully lifted with much resistance, finding the right angle of least resistance to scoot out from under the rubble. Limb by limb, carefully feeling sensation return to each of his limbs, he focused on reviving himself. He sensed all the throbbing and none of it screamed to him of broken limbs, smashed flesh, or torn ligaments. It was just a dull peaceful throb of warning.
"Thank you God, thank you God," he quietly huffed. "Sorry, like Ronan says, I blaspheme your name. Forgive me, forgive me." He chuckled a little. He certainly prayed, but didn't think much about rudimentary rules, Old Testa' stuff like blasphemy or stoning or whatever. He had a quaint dusty smile as he thought of Ronan. What century did that guy belong in?
He felt a sensation of sudden peace, quiet or fortitude. The Horde had passed. He looked up. He sensed zombies still, but they were fewer, limping along. He still had to remain quiet and be even more cautious. Everything around him was precarious rubble and it was pretty dark.
He looked around. Was he in some sort of laundromat or hair salon? He crept about carefully, trying to discern which cinder-block rubble was steady enough for him to traverse. He wanted to get to the back of the store and escape that way, back to the school. He somewhat knew the way.
Howie, he realized, thought -- that man laid down his life for him, for everyone. He was still with The Horde. Duanne knew Howie. He really was good at heart. This proved it. That guy was pure blooded American, old school.
Duanne thought about when he met him on the set in Miami, when they did all kinds of boat chases. Howie was the boat guy, as all joked. He was the consummate Margaritaville, in his Hawaiian shirts and super handy low key job titles. Duanne just fell in love with the guy and hired him to be his go-to guy. They'd become friends over the years. And here he was, with him in the end. And Howie went out to save him, to save them all. Howie was a great guy.
"Take him home God," Duanne prayed. He didn't know why he said it, but felt good saying it, quietly, peacefully.
Duanne had family he wanted to get back to. When that harrowing emotional roller-coaster happened in the first week, he got his wife, kids, and millions of dollars to a shipyard, a yacht and off to a rich guy's island. He planned to join them. That was the goal. He hadn't told these folks yet, hearing how impossible it was to get out. He thought making his way to Marina Del Rey where the boats were might do it.
Howie would be the one to drive the boat. Duanne had no idea how to, at least not that far. That was their plan. Howie's son, however distant they were, was also a boat guy down in the Bayou somewhere. Maybe he survived too. Maybe there was a chain of islands and nations in the Caribbean that made it, repelled any zombie invasion.
It was their secret plan but seeing how Ronan and this crew had no way of moving around, they didn't see getting to the Marina as hopeful. Well, it didn’t seem possible till Charlotte suggested opening up the roadways using The Horde.
Could Howie do it? Could he make it? Duanne cringed suddenly, in emotional fear, trying not to cry out and alert the migrating zombies, limping and growling along just beyond the smashed up bus.
He manuevered carefully, using all fours, to get through the dark store.
"Okay, remember big D, remember, remember your training," Duanne spoke softly to himself as he breathed in through the nostrils and gently exhaled out the mouth. "Remember, remember, move slowly, keep your face hidden, scent, smell, smell."
He sniffed himself. He smelled like a body odorous big guy human. He could almost understand the delight in zombies to attack based on that scrumptious pungent meaty smell.
"Okay, remember, remember, smell," he spoke softly. He lifted his visor in the dark store. Suddenly, it wasn't so dark. It was definitely in shadow but he could see better, for now. The aisles had tons of products that were strewn and piled all over the debris on the floor. He grabbed a shampoo bottle and with the shaking grip of his padded gloves, he opened it.
The shampoo expelled suddenly. It was his grip. He didn't realize. He didn't care. He just fluttered the whole bottle on him as it squirted its slimy goo. He wiped the sticky crap all over him. It was probably too much. He didn't care. He wiped it all over, especially under his arms.
"Okay, okay, remember your training." Awkwardly he stumbled to the back. As he stumbled, a few items fell making noises. He heard the sudden rise of zombie grumblings. He knew they were aware of him now.
He froze and waited till they subsided. Then he slowly opened the back door. It rotated out with a squeaking stutter as the bright sun shown in. It was the back parking lot of the stores, a narrow confining lot.
There, splattered and broken were several zombies, off shoots of The Horde and unable to return.
He peered at them, standing still with the door open.
A zombie limped toward him, trying to discern and desiring to bark out an alarm. But it could not find the trigger it was looking for. It limped close and eerily scowled right in front of him. It could not sense what it wanted as it somewhat sniffed and somewhat looked with dead eyes and dead senses.
Duanne stared, realizing his visor was still up and he was squinting. He suddenly pulled out his blade, swung the face off the zombie, and closed his visor.
Several more mangled zombies turned in their own way, with broken spines or legs or arms. They saw the other zombie drop lifeless and a doorway with a shape there. They were unsure as one with a broken arm stumbled forward.
A large shadowy mass stumbled toward them and it suddenly moved.
Duanne beheaded the next, then the next, and the third as they each tried to go from a scowl to a loud deep-throated bark. But he killed, instantly, correctly, by cutting their heads off or severing their skulls. He remembered the training, the quick efficient swings.
He stood above the dead-dead. He shook a little, at first nervous, but then confident. He had done it and had more to do. God damn it worked! That Ronan! Oh sorry God... no blaspheming! Oh jeeze...
I'm turning into Ronan!
He remembered this small parking lot had two dumpsters that they took out for their blockade, just up the street. He only needed to make it there, roll over the cars, stay low, and make it back to the safety of the school. He was going to make it back to the safety of his home.
His home? It was bittersweet. He was alive, he was safe, and he was confident knowing how to survive. But what of his wife, his love? Were his son and daughters, were they alive? In this hell hole of a world, oh God, were they alive? He took a deep breathe and had to stop thinking about it. Stay alive, just stay alive.
He knew now, without Howie, he would never make it back to his family. He would never make it that far away across the continent, across the many oceans. Only Howie could sail or motorboat them to the Panama Canal, if the canals even worked.
This was his family now. This was his home.
He would miss them so much. He cried as quietly as his swarming emotions would let him.
36. Randall
Randall had turned the other way. He had to in that split second moment. Ronan was racing toward the opening between the wall of cars with The Horde rearing behind him.
Randall scooted then took off to the east, away from the school and safety. He had to react quickly and throttled hard to get clear.
He had led a horde eastward on Sunset before. There were smashed up openings. Sunset Boulevard had a descent opening from the various hordes passing through. He got some distance quickly, racing through the wide canyon of cars.
The only zombies in the immediate area were scattered. They were the limping and crawling ones, the slow ones. He didn't like this plan. He then remembered that Howie and he hadn’t followed the plan. They should have waited.
Ronan must have had to change direction and open it up by coming back. Perhaps he went so far and met The Horde down by the Target shopping center. That made sense as Randall drove on, zipping in and out of canyon like openings. He knew to get far ahead, clear of The Horde or any off shoot wings, and then circle back. He favored driving up the slopes, up towards the hillsides, because that way would allow him to coast back with minimal engine throttles.
Knight of the Dead (Book 4): Realm Page 22