Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga)

by D. A. Roberts

  “Then we tape it,’ said Sanders.

  “Fine,” said Spec-4, sighing, “then we’ll tape it.”

  “Ok,” I said. “You two get started on that. Southard and I will start working on the front door. Bowman and Shane can start bringing out supplies.”

  “We’re on it,” said Shane, grinning.

  “Sure, make us be the pack mules,” said Bowman, grinning.

  “Well, I didn’t want to give you something beyond your skills,” I said, returning the grin.

  He just flipped me off and headed for the back door.

  “Don’t worry, Bowman,” I called after him. “I still love you.”

  I turned to walk away and got hit in the back of the head with a roll of duct tape. I turned back in time to see Bowman and Shane running for the back door. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was good to see that someone still had a sense of humor in all of this. Then Southard and I headed up to the front of the bus and started poking around.

  “Heard from your family, Chuck?” I asked him, not looking directly at him.

  “They made it to the evac-center, yesterday morning,” he said, distractedly. “They’re safe. Last I heard they were waiting on a flight to a safe zone in Texas. Fort Hood, I think.”

  “That’s good. Planning on heading there, yourself?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve got their Evac number. When the time comes, I’ll go to the evac-center and give it to them. Once we make it to the safe zone, I can find them with the number.”

  “You didn’t hear, did you? We lost contact with the Springfield evac-center, last night.”

  “No shit?” he said, surprised. “That ain’t good.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’m sure that Melodi and the girls got out on an evac-flight. Maybe the center just lost power, or maybe the National Guard pulled them all out.”

  “Or maybe we’re all that’s left,” said Southard, a dark look on his face.

  “Even if we are, it changes nothing. We rescue everyone that we can, and hold as long as possible. If we have to, we’ll pack everyone up into every vehicle we can beg, borrow or steal and convoy our asses to Ft. Hood.”

  “That’d be a hell of a sight,” said Southard, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, but we’ll do it before we stay here and die waiting for the National Guard.”

  “Amen to that, brother. I’d rather take my chances on the road than wait on a rescue that ain’t coming.”

  By the time Spec-4 and Sanders had finished with the back door, Southard and I had finished the front. We’d gone old school low tech for our solution. We simply nailed together a piece of plywood to a 2x4 frame that allowed us to drop it down against the closed doors. It covered the windows and effectively locked the doors shut. We were as ready as we were ever going to be, with the equipment we had on hand.

  Shane and Bowman were starting to bring out loads of supplies for us. We loaded a couple of boxes of MRE’s and a few cases of water. Then we grabbed ammo and weapons. I insisted that we take extra weapons, in case we had to arm the people that we rescued. My philosophy was the more armed officers we had to defend ourselves with, the better our chances of making it back became. I was surprised when Larry the EMT came walking out towards us, carrying his red bag.

  “You’re not leaving without me, area you?” he asked.

  “Are you sure that you want to go?”

  “No, not really,” he replied, a little unsure of himself. “But you guys might need me before it’s over.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” said Southard.

  “You’re in,” I said, smiling.

  “Wylie,” said EMT. “You look like shit. Did you go a few rounds with Mike Tyson, last night or something?”

  “Nope, but I did lose a fight with a set of stairs when we took back Bravo.”

  “You look pretty rough, dude,” replied EMT.

  “I’ll live,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not the first time.”

  I turned to Southard and smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, Chuckles,” I said, smiling. “Do you still have that bag of chew?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he replied, digging a can of the pouches out of his cargo pocket and tossing it to me.

  I snagged it out of the air with my right hand and immediately started opening it with my thumbnail.

  “I thought you said that Karen would kill you if you started chewing again?” said Southard.

  “I did,” I replied, stuffing two pouches into my lower lip. “It’s the end of the world. I think I’ve earned a chew. Besides, if you tell her, I’ll shoot you.”

  Southard just laughed and went back to loading gear into the bus.

  “You know that stuff is bad for you, right?” asked EMT.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “But I think cancer is the least of my problems, right now.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We all loaded up into the big gray bus and sealed the doors. All told, there were seven of us going. It was me, Southard, Spec-4, EMT, Sanders, Shane and Bowman. Sanders volunteered to drive, since he’d driven big trucks before. The biggest thing I’d ever driven was a deuce and a half, back in the Army. This was a full-sized school bus, converted for transporting inmates to the Department of Corrections, or D.O.C. for short.

  “Come on, Doc,” said Sanders, as he got ready to start the bus.

  “Doc?” I asked, curiously.

  “Short for D.O.C.,” he replied. “I always nick-name my vehicles.”

  “Doc, it is,” I replied. “You know the inmates call this bus the Gray Goose.”

  “Yeah, I ain’t driving no freakin’ goose. I’m calling her Doc.”

  With that, the big engine fired right up and began to rumble. Sanders flashed me a big grin and worked the gears with the clutch in, getting a feel for the pattern. Once he was satisfied, he nodded at me and shoved it into first gear. I was already feeling a bit of a head rush from the chew. It’d been a long time since I had a dip and I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed it. I snagged an empty water bottle and spit into it before grabbing my radio.

  “700, we are ready to depart,” I said into the radio.

  “Clear,” came the reply. “Be advised that there are a dozen zombies approaching outside the gate.”

  “Copy that,” I said.

  Then I opened the folding front door and stepped out with Southard, Spec-4, Shane and Bowman, right behind me. We all readied our weapons and took up firing positions at the front of the bus.

  “700, open the gate,” I said, into my mic.

  With that, the gate swung inward. As soon as the first zombie came into view, I squeezed the trigger and its head erupted into a fountain of crimson gore. Other shots rang out as soon as other zombies came into view. A total of twelve shots rang out, two from each of us. Twelve zombies fell dead, again. Only this time was permanent.

  I was the last one back on the bus and Sanders shut the door, right behind me. He was already rolling as I dropped the improvised lock into place. He had to push a little economy car out of the way as we exited the parking lot, but it didn’t weigh enough to slow us down. It slid to the side and up into the grass before it was shoved far enough out of the way to no longer be a problem. Once it was clear, Sanders released the clutch and we rumbled off towards the street.

  I looked back in time to see the gate shut as we turned right out of the driveway. We had to turn left instead of right at the intersection since the street to the west of us was too blocked for the big bus to navigate. I’d only just gotten through in the Humvee by hopping up on the curb, and even then it had been a tight fit. There was no way we were getting though there without doing massive damage to the bus.

  Sanders took the first right and we had to slow down for an overturned dairy truck. As we picked our way past the Springfield Police Headquarters, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything left in their armory. It might even be worth the trip to check it out. I didn’t have time to
ponder that for long, when a large group of zombies charged at us as we approached the intersection near the Expressway. Several of them wore SPD blue. We could hear them banging on the sides of the bus as we lumbered through the intersection.

  One overzealous zombie managed to get in front of the bus, and promptly disappeared beneath the wheels with a wet crunch. I felt the back wheels bounce and slide as they passed over it. You could even hear the crunch followed by a wet squishing sound.

  “Oooo,” said Sanders, grinning. “That was a juicy one.”

  Knocking aside a red sports car, we finally cleared the intersection and made it to the other side of what I think is Jefferson Avenue. Sanders dropped a gear and accelerated down the hill, towards the east end of Founder’s Park and an old Historic Office Building. Several zombies that had been trying to climb onto the hood went bouncing away, as the others began to fall behind. We were passing an old renovated warehouse that had been turned into upscale loft housing.

  “Looks like we’re in a nicer neighborhood,” said Bowman. “The zombies are all wearing designer clothes.”

  I stole a quick glance behind us and saw them still pursuing us, even though we were rapidly pulling away from them. They were relentless. They would chase us until something else caught their attention or they completely lost us. Gods help us if we’d been on foot. There’s no way to outrun something that doesn’t get tired and never gives up.

  “We’re heading for West Sunshine,” I said to Sanders.

  “No problem, as long as I can find us a clear path. That’ll be the real trick.”

  We passed a group of zombies that were busily tearing apart what looked like a large dog. It really made me cringe. I hoped that Karen and the boys had the dogs with them on the boat. I knew that they’d taken the dogs, but I hadn’t asked if they were on the boat. Our dogs were like family to us.

  As we grew closer to the square, we had to slow down because there were more cars blocking the road. We had to detour east just because the road we were on was completely blocked. We slid between two pick-ups and I heard the scraping of metal as we tore the front bumper off of a pick-up. It was a painful sounding shriek that ended with the bumper clanging away onto the sidewalk as we powered our way through.

  “Cal,” I said. “Let’s not do that again, alright?”

  “Yeah, that was a little too close.”

  As we reached the next intersection, Sanders started to turn right at this little old chapel. It was across the intersection from us and on the left side of the road. Suddenly, he hit the brakes hard and stalled the engine. There, about a block ahead of us was a crowd of easily a few hundred zombies. They were milling around next to a Stop ‘n’ Rob. I figured that they had to be from the college. I was amazed that we hadn’t run into them yesterday. Spec-4 and I had only been a couple of blocks from here when we found the Sheriff.

  “Aw, shit,’ said Sanders, trying to restart the bus.

  It wasn’t cooperating. He waited a few seconds and tried again, but nothing happened. Then the crowd of zombies noticed us, and a few Shriekers in the crowd took up the chorus. Instantly, the entire mob seemed to come alive and turn our direction. They turned and advanced on us like a single entity, or a swarm of bees.

  It failed to start again and I was getting a little nervous. They were coming fast, now. We didn’t have long before they would swarm over us like ants. If that happened, we’d be trapped and completely unable to move. Then it would be just a matter of time until they got us. We wouldn’t be able to holdout inside the bus for long.

  “Cal,” I said. “Now would be a good time, dude.”

  “I’m working on it,” he replied. “Come on, baby!”

  It coughed, it groaned, it shuddered, and then it caught. In a cloud of black smoke, the big engine rumbled back to life. Sanders quickly shoved it into gear and turned the wheels hard to the left. Then with a lurch, we were continuing east towards National. The massive crowd of zombies followed us, but we were slowly gaining ground. There were just enough cars in the way to keep us from going more than about 30 miles per hour. But the important part was that we were ahead of them, at least for the moment.

  “Which way on National?” asked Sanders.

  “South, if we can. We’re still pretty far north of Sunshine, then it’s a long way west of us.”

  “Got it,” said Sanders, grinning at me.

  Only he could grin at a time like this.

  “We should be able to get through,” said Southard. “National has four lanes, plus a turn lane.”

  “Won’t there be even more zombies near the campus?” asked Spec-4.

  “Probably,” I said. “Just keep your eyes peeled for escape routes.”

  “Got it, Sheriff” said Sanders, still grinning.

  “You’re enjoying this, you sick bastard,” said Southard, shaking his head.

  “Sure,” he replied. “I get to drive as fast as I want, hit cars and run over pedestrians. It’s like a live action version of Grand Theft Auto.”

  “GTA: Zombie City,” I said. “No thanks. I’ll stick to First Person Shooter games.”

  “Newsflash, Wylie,” said Southard. “You’re IN an FPS, right now.”

  “True enough. Does anyone know the cheat code for invincibility and unlimited ammo?” I asked, smiling.

  Everyone had a good chuckle at that. About that time, Sanders made it to National and took a hard right. It felt like the bus was going to go up on two wheels. We slid around the corner, brakes and tires screaming in protest. Thankfully, there was enough room for us to make the corner without slamming into a bunch of abandoned cars.

  “Easy there, Mario,” I said. “Drive safe, arrive alive.”

  “Hey,” he said, chuckling. “No cop, no stop.”

  Before we completed the turn, Sanders smashed a little hatch-back car and knocked it spinning out of our path. The old bus shook and shuddered, but kept right on going apparently no worse for wear.

  “That’s my baby,” said Sanders, patting the wheel.

  “Do you two need a private moment?” asked Spec-4.

  “Better not,” chimed in Southard. “He’d probably break the bus, and we still need it.”

  “Oh, you’re funny,” replied Sanders, smiling.

  “Yeah, but looks aren’t everything,” I added, grinning.

  National had cars abandoned sporadically all down the road in front of us, but the center lane was mostly clear. Sanders swerved into the turn lane and mashed the accelerator to the floor, accelerating hard. We shot past a burger joint and an art supply place on the right. We were uncomfortably close to the college campus, but we didn’t have much choice in the matter. Our only other choices were residential streets, and they were notoriously narrow.

  A zombie in an old Army Field Jacket and a Jamaican hat shambled out into our path. Sanders’ foot never left the gas. The zombie appeared to be an African-American male in his mid to late forties before he got zombified. We slammed into him with bone crunching force. In fact, we hit him so hard it completely knocked him out of his boots. I could see them on the road behind us, rolling along.

  “Son of a bitch,” yelled Southard. “You knocked that one clean out of his shoes.”

  “I think the feet are still in them,’ said EMT, looking a little green around the gills.