The building sat dark and hulking. Concrete walls rose at least thirty feet into the air. Near the entrance sat a pair of semi-trucks that were parked at an angle, providing a narrow point of entry to the store. The gaps between the truck beds and the ground had been filled in with corrugated metal.
There were other large buildings near the fortress, but they’d been abandoned, and some burned out. A nearby Home Depot’s doors had been smashed in and the contents dragged into the parking lot. The only thing I saw that was halfway interesting was a pickaxe. Great weapon… if you’re a pro wrestler and can wield that thing for more than half a minute.
An electronics’ store had also been looted and partially burned judging by the scorched exterior. Thankfully, none of those was our destination. Ours was somewhere wonderful.
In the space near the fortress, a message had been painted across one of the semi-trucks in bold black letters.
“No strangers. Well-armed and well-defended.”
I had to give them points for being direct. Which led me to question why they’d picked us up in the first place. The more I learned about our new companions, the more I grew concerned.
“Let me ask you a question, Douglas,” I said.
“Ask away.”
“Love your setup, pretty goddamn clever taking over a Costco. But that sign is making me nervous. If you don’t accept strangers, what are we doing here?”
“Like I said, you proved you’re good in a fight out there. You know how to handle yourself. We lost a few members yesterday when they ran into that patrol. Each was vetted and some were like brothers. But they all started where you are right now.”
“In the back of an Escalade like a fucking rock star?”
Diane snorted back a laugh.
“Wide-eyed and capable. In the early days we let some in--kids, mothers, the occasional straggler. But it began to get crowded, and as supplies diminished, we had to become more selective. Then we missed one of the infected, because someone got careless. That’s why we did the little once-over in your skivvies.”
“What happened?” Christy asked.
“It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you that much. Before we got mobilized and tracked them all down, we lost about twenty-five percent of our population. Cleanup was a bitch.”
“One thing we bring with us is Frosty. She’s pretty adept at sniffing out Zs,” I said.
“We certainly have enough dog food for her. We have enough dog food for a hundred canines. The problem is that they are noisy, so we’ve not kept many around.”
“Not Frosty. She earned her name for a reason,” I said. “And we’re a team. You want us, you get all of us.”
Douglas didn’t answer.
He maneuvered the Escalade through a series of cars left on flat tires. They provided a gauntlet in the way they funneled any traffic toward the store. I was no tactician, but after spending so much time with Joel Kelly I felt like I’d learned enough about fighting Zs to recognize something clever.
Not only would this stop humans, it would slow down Zs to a trickle—until the fucking shufflers showed up and started leaping. But even then, the roof would provide excellent overwatch.
“Anyway, you showed you can fight and fight well. That’s why I invited you to try out,” Douglas said.
“Try out? Jesus,” I moaned.
“Don’t worry too much. I’ll speak up for you,” Douglas said.
I wasn’t too happy about this new development. We’d gone from being invited to join new friends--friends who didn’t know shit about fighting Zs--to being bait, and now being forced to test to join a new group. I hated to ask, but did it anyway.
“What happens if we don’t pass the test?”
“Like I said earlier: we’ll send you on your way with some food and a handshake,” Douglas said. “But you have already passed, my friend. Welcome.”
Somehow I didn’t think that was the way we’d exit the building.
###
18:15 hours approximate
Location: Somewhere near Vista, CA
The murk of night was rapidly descending, but Douglas didn’t turn on the Escalade’s headlights. As we grew closer to the building, he slowed and maneuvered around a number of newly-dug potholes.
“Smart,” I observed.
“What’s that?” Douglas asked.
“The big holes. Makes for a difficult road to maneuver. Using cars or trucks would leave obstacles for a force to hide behind while mounting an assault.”
“Smart indeed. Not bad, for a Navy puke.”
“I’ve learned a lot in the last few months.”
“Fighting zombies?”
“And various other elements,” I replied.
The street leading to the Costco was littered with debris and more than a few bodies. If we ever rebuild civilization, one of the first things on the agenda would be cleaning up the dead. Where would they go?
According to my new friends, Bright Star was in command now, and they were interested in cleansing via nukes. First the world had been overrun by the dead, and now it was being sent back to the Stone Age in nuclear fashion.
Near the warehouse sat a huge motorcycle store. Windows had been shattered and the front door was gone.
“What do you think, Christy? Want to ride a motorcycle out of the zompoc?”
“I don’t know how to ride,” she said.
“That makes two of us, but how hard can it be? I actually rode on the back of one about fifteen years ago. I was just a kid, but it was exciting and terrifying,” I said.
“Exciting and terrifying is the perfect way to describe the new world,” Douglas interjected.
“Did you all remove the bikes from that place?”
“Some. A lot were already cleaned out. Most of the keys were gone. It took a lot of digging to turn up what we needed. Then it took a while to match them up. Pain in the ass when a horde of the infected are interested in flesh and you’re jabbing keys into ignitions hoping one or two will fit before you have to flee,” he said.
“When are riding lessons? I’d like to try being that mobile,” I said.
“You’ll have to ask around, if you want to learn. I think Mateo knows how to drive one. We only use them from time to time. Problem is, you have to constantly be on the move. If a zombie manages to stumble into you, more than likely the bike’s going down.”
“Lot of things to think about out there these days when it comes to Zs,” I said.
I was more worried about the effects of the bomb. Back in engineering school we’d learned about nuclear power plants. Beyond that it was mostly down to a little bit of warfare training, but that didn’t exactly cover nukes, tactical or otherwise.
In fact, there was an old saying on the ship. If we were about to be hit we had a ten-second rule. That was how much time you had to stick your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye.
Douglas slowed as he pulled up to the Costco. He flashed his headlights in a complicated pattern. I counted, trying to get the pauses down, but lost track halfway in. So much for memorizing the pattern and busting in later. Save that shit for a James Bond wannabe.
The parking lot had also been cleaned of vehicles. It was long and imposing, and also filled with more manmade potholes. Not that they would prevent a tank or mounted assault, but it would do well enough if the place came under assault from a regular force.
An assault would be a risky business venture. The roof of the Costco offered an amazing line of fire. In the back of the big SUV, I didn’t have a line of sight to the top of the building, so I couldn’t tell how many people currently had their guns trained on us.
Even though the warehouse had provided great protection from human marauders, it didn’t help when a bunch of shamblers found the store. Stupid braindead jerks didn’t know they were walking into a firing zone.
The mini-horde were dressed in the remains of hospital gear, scrubs, lab jackets… one guy even sported a dangling stereoscope. Not my idea of prope
r medical care; more medical nightmare.
Behind them came what I assumed were their patients. When the group grew to at least thirty and headed for us, I didn’t panic. We were in a huge SUV, and would probably have covering fire from overhead.
Then something hit the roof of the vehicle and skittered away.
I dragged out my handgun and looked for a target.
Frosty snapped to attention and growled. Christy had already equipped her little snub-nosed revolver. She touched Frosty to quiet the dog down.
Night had arrived, and it was hazy outside the tinted windows. A shape flashed beside the car, and then was gone.
The captive shuffler in the back stopped struggling and went still.
“I can’t tell how many are out there, and that’s not good,” I said.
“We have plenty of guys in the building. As soon as they come out to help it won’t take us long to clean up this rabble.” Douglas sounded confident.
I didn’t echo his sentiment--and in fact feared the worst. I’d been in too many situations where a few Zs had turned into a few hundred and then the blood had flowed.
Besides, no one had made a move to support us. If this place was blown, I didn’t know what we were going to do. I’d be stuck with two strangers in a really nice car. Beyond that, I didn’t even know where we’d find a place to hide, not to mention escape any nuclear fallout that might head our way if the winds shifted.
Something else hit the back of the SUV. The unmistakable sound of hands scrambling for purchase made my blood pressure rise. You can only do this shit for so long before it gets on your last nerve, and mine had been spent days ago.
“They’re trying to get in,” I said.
“They’re beasts. Probably just incidental contact back there. We’re buttoned up,” Douglas said.
“I suspect Jackson is right. We have seen strange behavior from the ghouls for a few weeks now. Smart and fast, and they are getting bolder.” Diane echoed my thoughts.
A shuffler leapt for the front of the car and smashed his hand against the windshield. Then he hit it again. Green eyes seething with hate met mine and I shuddered.
I aimed my gun until his forehead was right between my sights, but I didn’t fire. If I did that I’d break the windshield, and probably make us all deaf for the next fifteen minutes. We might not even last that long.
Another shuffler crawled up the passenger side of the hood and hit the window with a rock. A fucking rock!
Glass splintered, and a spider web of lines stretched out from the impact point.
Douglas floored the SUV and it shot forward, shaking the shufflers off. I pressed my head to the glass and tried to get a handle on where the enemy were located. Joel had taught me to see a battlefield in my head: imagine enemy positioning and which directions they might fire from.
A shot sounded in the distance and one of the shufflers fell away. It rolled to the side, clutching its ribs, then staggered to its feet and dashed behind the SUV.
Several more mini-hordes closed in on us from other directions. They clawed their way over fences, but stumbled over potholes. One part of my brain assured me that it was no big deal. We were in a tank, so to speak, and we were mobile. But we had a problem: the potholes were excellent for holding back an assaulting force, but not so great if you were driving in a panic.
Another shuffler hit the top of the SUV even as the vehicle started to accelerate. The thing leaned over and smashed at the window with some kind of object. Once, twice, then Douglas stopped a third blow by slamming on his brakes. Thank the fuck Christ for physics, because the shuffler didn’t stand a chance against forward momentum suddenly being yanked out from under him.
I got my hand out, and barely avoided striking the front seat. Frosty was hurled across the floor and cried out. She sat up, shook her head, and looked at me like it was my fault.
The shuffler landed at least twenty feet away and rolled end over end until it came to a stop. Douglas floored the SUV again, intent on running over the bastard. The shuffler pushed itself to all fours, then leapt as our SUV was about to hit it.
The shuffler hit the windshield so hard the glass splintered and caved in on the driver's side. I didn’t see the shuffler fall away, but there was no way the uncanny thing survived that. He’d have a broken back at the least, if not a snapped neck.
Frosty snarled and got to her feet. Her lips pulled back from her teeth and she looked like she wanted to jump out of the window and attack. I put my hand on her neck to try and calm her.
Douglas got his hands up and nearly kissed the glass. He had to slam on his brakes again, because the view of the dark world outside was gone. He reached up, grabbed a section of the windshield and pushed. I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned over the console to help.
Another shuffler hit us from the front. He scrabbled at the truck and then raised a rock and bashed at the window near me hard enough to shatter it.
A hand reached for me.
“Diane, help me steer and keep an eye on the holes. If we hit one, we’ll be stuck.”
Diane leaned over and took the wheel with one hand. Douglas pressed the gas to the floor and then slammed on the brakes. Diane tried to keep us steady, but she had to drive in the dark, and with a shattered windshield.
The shuffler got his hand on my shirt and pulled.
Frosty was having none of that. She growled and then lashed out, head darting forward to grab the shuffler’s wrist. She shook her head, separating several of the shuffler's digits in the process. It fell back, howling. I lifted my Springfield, leaned out the window, and shot at the shuffler.
Didn’t hit shit, of course; shooting from inside a moving vehicle only works in the movies. In real life you might as well be trying to hit a bottle cap at a hundred feet.
I fired again and scored a shot on the shuffler’s arm.
Frosty darted at the window but I got my hand around her neck and pulled her back. Our dog was a sweetheart most of the time, but when the shuffler attacked, she went into “I’m going to shred your ass” mode.
“Just drive, it’s only a hundred feet away!” I urged Douglas.
He sat up and peered out of the slit between the window and the canopy, then stomped on the gas. Diane tried to keep us steady. The Escalade was no slouch. It rocketed forward, then promptly hit one of the manmade potholes they were supposed to be avoiding. The Escalade’s front end struck something hard, but she was tough and managed to roll out of the rut.
The rear wheels found the hole and we bounced again, but not without some ferocious noises of metal and plastic grinding on concrete. The SUV came out of the hole and we slid to a halt at a right angle to the building. The engine died, so Douglas slammed it into park.
“Fuck a duck, think I busted something,” Douglas said.
This thing should have been able to take it, I didn’t say out loud. What in the hell had we hit?
“I believe we have two flat tires,” Diane said as the Escalade lurched to the side.
Sure enough, the sound of hissing air made the hairs on my arm stand at attention.
“Fuck it, this boat has power to spare. Just drive on the flats,” I said.
Douglas cranked on the engine a few times and it finally turned over, with an unholy racket. We’d hit something with the underbelly, maybe hard enough to knock a belt off or cause worse damage. He slid the SUV into reverse and then punched the gas. The floating wagon backed out of the hole, ran over something else, and then slid around in a half circle. Christy was thrown into me and Frosty dropped to the floor with another yelp.
A shuffler reached for me, so I beat back its hands.
“Hold on!” Douglas yelled.
The Escalade didn’t exactly lurch forward; it surged a few feet, but steam shot out from under the hood.
“Go, just go,” I yelled. “She’ll hold out."
Frosty barked to add to the chorus.
But we’d wasted a lot of time, and the hordes of Zs were closing in on
us.
Hundreds of them lurched, some moving faster than others. Milky white eyes shone through the murk of night like they sought us out.
Gunshots sounded from the direction of the entrance to the Costco: a few at first, and then dozens more joined the fray.
The horde on the left side of the SUV fell under withering fire.
I risked sticking my neck out the window, and got a look at men and women dressed in black opening up with handguns, hunting rifles, and a few assault rifles.
A group bearing shotguns broke away from their comrades and moved in on one of the hordes to the right of us. They opened fire as they advanced, spraying the crowd with buckshot.
Douglas tried to punch the gas again, but it only bought us a few feet.
“Shit. We’re going to have to abandon the rig and run for it,” Douglas said.
“We need the cargo,” Diane said, looking at him with wide eyes.
“That’s not the only goddamn problem. There are so many of them, and your friends are likely to take us for Zs if we run for the building.”
Douglas cranked the car again and this time it started. He accelerated, but we didn’t move very far, and the sound from under the hood told me we’d done serious damage. Unless they had a shop around here, this thing was dead. This being the zombie apocalypse and all, it would be easier to just go out and get a new rig.
“We don’t have a choice. We’ll be overrun in minutes,” Diane said.
“Jackson, in the back is a large green seabag. Open it and grab weapons,” Douglas said.
He drew his sidearm and rolled down a window. The first shambler was almost on us, so Douglas leaned out, arm straight, and shot the man in the face. Guy had been ambulatory, but not by much. His left leg had been eaten almost to the bone, and most of his right arm hung by bloody sinew.
I got up on my knees and leaned over the back of the seat. Several bags were back there, including our own. The biggest was the tarp covering the shuffler. It twitched up and down as the creature flopped around. I grabbed the bag Douglas had mentioned and pulled it toward me, but the fucker was heavy.
The shuffler moaned through the gag they’d secured around his mouth and fought at his bonds.
Reavers (Z-Risen Series Book 4) Page 6