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

by D. A. Roberts

  “Now THAT is a fucking short-cut,” said Sanders on the radio, excitedly. “Woo Hoo!”

  Spec-4 just looked at me and smiled, settling back into the front seat.

  “You ok?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. Has anyone ever told you that you’re insane?”

  “All the time,” I replied, with a big shit-eating-grin.

  “I can see why,” she said, laughing. “Where’d you learn to drive, in a Demolition Derby?”

  “Hey,” I said, grinning. “We made it through, didn’t we?”

  “You are SO lucky that there wasn’t a car under there,” she said.

  I couldn’t help myself. It popped into my head instantly. I couldn’t resist quoting one of my favorite movies, The Thirteenth Warrior.

  “Luck will sometimes save a man, if his courage holds.”

  “That’s deep,” she replied. “Did you make that up?”

  “Nope,” I replied. “It’s from the Thirteenth Warrior.”

  “Never heard of it,” she said.

  I feigned a pain in my chest.

  “What?” I asked, in mock surprise. “You’ve never heard of one of the greatest movies I ever saw. Next you’ll be telling me you didn’t like Conan.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I love him. I used to watch him every night after Leno.”

  I gave her the evil eye and she started laughing. I started to say something else, but movement caught my eye. I could see a crowd of zombies near the intersection with the SPD cruiser.

  “Oh shit,” I said. “We just came through here. Where the hell did they come from?”

  “I don’t know,” said Spec-4. “We’d better not go that way.”

  Instead of answering, I swerved left and took the first road I came to. It led into a residential area, and I hoped it was clear of zombies. Sanders stayed right behind me, as usual. Thankfully, it was clear of cars and zombies.

  “Whoa,” he said, on the radio. “Where the hell did all of those damned zombies come from?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Just stay behind me and hope for the best.”

  “Ok, but let’s try to avoid yard farming for a while,” he quipped.

  “Agreed,” I said. “I don’t want to see what’s behind any more fences unless we have to.”

  “You do realize this street goes to the National Guard Armory, don’t you?” asked Spec-4.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. Let’s hope it’s cleared out.”

  We continued on for a few blocks, only seeing the occasional zombie. When I bounced through a dip at an intersection, I heard a scrape followed by something crunching out the back of the Humvee.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked, craning my neck to see behind me.

  “Hey, Wylie,” said Southard. “Your Humvee just shit out a tricycle.”

  “So that’s what’s been scraping,” I replied.

  “Yeah, you’ve been dragging it since we destroyed that carport,” he said, chuckling.

  “Nice,” I whispered. “But, technically you destroyed the carport. I only took out the gate and the bikes.”

  “Up yours, brother,” he replied.

  Up ahead, I could see another intersection. Beyond that, was the compound that surrounded the National Guard Armory and the Reserve Center. What I didn’t see was a large numbers of zombies. The place looked deserted.

  “Do we keep going past the armory or risk trying Glenstone, again?” I asked Spec-4.

  “Glenstone’s gonna be clogged with cars,” she said. “I say we try the road past the armory.”

  “What about that crowd of zombies we saw the other day?”

  “Maybe the Blackhawk took them all out,” she said, hopefully.

  “Or maybe they all wandered off looking for something to eat.”

  “That’s a possibility, too.”

  “Ok,” I said. “Forward we go. Keep your fingers crossed.”

  I shot through the intersection and headed towards the armory. I didn’t think that I’d be coming anywhere near this place, again. About half way across, I saw movement to my right. I stole a quick glance and saw a large crowd of zombies, less than a block away. There had to be almost two hundred of them.

  “Holy Cow!” yelled Southard, through the speaker. “I’m glad you didn’t turn right.”

  “Me too,” I replied, blowing out a breath.

  We continued on up the hill, passed the remains of the two jogger zombies I ran over the last time. I continued accelerating as we climbed up the hill. As crested it, I could see the remains of close to a hundred zombies littering the ground. It was obviously the handiwork of the Viper 2-1’s mini-gun. Unfortunately, they hadn’t gotten them all. Milling around the corner was another hundred or so.

  “Oh shit!” said Spec-4.

  “Hang on!” I yelled, and turned sharply.

  I slid left and back onto the grounds of the armory. We shot back in the same gate that we’d used last time. I knew that there wasn’t another gate, but I could think of one way out. No one was going to like it, though. I accelerated hard and headed towards the back of the compound. I was heading straight towards the old Pythian Castle.

  “Wylie! What are you doing?!” yelled Spec-4.

  “Hang on!” I yelled.

  My radio crackled to life. It was Southard yelling at me.

  “You crazy son of a….”

  I didn’t hear the rest, but I’m pretty sure I knew what it was. I hit the chain link fence at almost fifty miles an hour. For just a second, I didn’t think we were going through. With a terrible shriek of tearing metal, we shot through dragging about fifty feet of chain link fence with us. It wrapped around the half dozen zombies that had been gripping it on the other side and shredded them like they were in a blender.

  With a shudder and a bounce, we cleared the fence and shook free of the length of chain link. Southard bounced through behind us, merely driving over it. He’d escaped the worst of the damage and followed me through the hole. I shot through the parking lot and skidded to the right, down the driveway. I slid in the gravel and fishtailed a few times before straightening out. This brought me right out to the street, and I headed left.

  Up ahead and on my left hand side, was another one of Springfield’s three bible colleges. I can’t ever keep them straight. I had expected more zombies to come pouring out of the school, but it looked mostly clear. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks for that one. I could see Glenstone was just as blocked here as it had been by the hardware store, maybe even a little worse. I knew it was only going to be worse the farther south we went.

  I started going through my mental map of Springfield, trying to find a way through without driving down Glenstone. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Without any other side streets going south, I was going to have to improvise. Unfortunately, that meant more yard farming. That wasn’t going to be a popular decision.

  I looked to my right and found an empty driveway. I slowed down just enough to make the turn and slid in the gravel. I ignored Southard’s ranting on the radio, preferring to concentrate on getting us through this in as close to one piece as possible. Fortunately, the back yard wasn’t fenced. At least it wasn’t fenced on this side of the yard. I sped between a shed and the back of the house and slid into the backyard.

  If zombies could be surprised, this one would have shit his pants. It didn’t see me until I blasted through the sheets that were hanging from the clothesline. I saw it for a brief second, and then it was bouncing away over the roof of the Humvee. The sheet flew off in time for me to see another privacy fence less than ten yards away. It was too late to try and stop or swerve, so I hit it at about a 45 degree angle.

  Wood exploded as I crashed through the fence and into another yard. This one was thankfully devoid of landscaping. There were two redneck looking zombies with severe damage to their arms and legs. They were trying to
corner what looked like a large brindle pit bull. It was probably the only time in my life I have ever rooted for a pit bull. I swerved to my left slightly and clipped the two zombies, then continued on towards the front of the yard.

  I saw the dog running like crazy, out through the hole we’d made. Southard narrowly avoided running it over, but stayed right on my heels. I had a choice of either aiming for a large double gate or another section of solid fence. Having learned my lesson about gates corresponding to carports, I opted for the solid fence. It was a decision that probably saved our lives.

  I smashed through the section of fence and emerged next to the house. I could see what had been beyond the gate. It was a huge pick-up truck with a brush guard on the front bumper. If I had hit that at the speed we were going, it would probably have killed both of us. Southard kept up with us as I bounced out of the yard and into a street. I turned hard to the right and headed south.

  My goal was to make it to Fremont Street. I knew it cut across the expressway and would take us out where we needed to be. From there, I had several options to choose from. Either way, it would bring us out pretty close to Kubichek and Sullivan. That still didn’t get us to a gas station but we didn’t have to stop, just yet. We had time, but Kubichek, Sullivan and that SPD officer might not.

  “Get on the gun,” I said to Spec-4. “When we get back to Fremont, we’re going to be close enough to spit on that crowd of zombies by the armory.”

  “On it,” she said.

  Once more, she was back into the turret like a shot. The girl was getting a lot of practice, but I’m sure she was getting tired of going in and out of the turret like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Hey,” I said. “Sorry you have to keep doing that.”

  “Not a problem,” she said. “I don’t mind, so long as there’s a reason. You haven’t steered us wrong, yet.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling.

  Spec-4 popped the hatch and slid back behind the SAW. Behind us, I could see Sanders following suit. That was good. When we reached Fremont, it would get ugly really fast and I mean ugly with a capital UGH. I didn’t slow down as we approached the intersection. I knew if there was a crowd waiting for us, our best chance lay in speed. If they bogged us down, that many zombies would swarm us.

  So when I reached the intersection, I let off the gas and screeched hard to the left. Rubber squealed in protest as I made the corner. I barely had time to glance to my right, and I’m glad I didn’t get a better look. What I saw was bad enough. The crowd was much bigger than I had originally estimated. They were less than ten yards to our right as we made the corner.

  Spec-4 opened fire, aiming low on purpose. Her plan wasn’t to try and kill a few, but to maim as many as possible with shots at leg and torso level.

  “Aim for the legs,” I heard her snap on the radio.

  Instead of answering, Sanders just opened fire. I swung wide and to the far right side of the road as Southard slid around the corner and took the left lane. Sanders and Spec-4 spun their turrets around until they were facing directly behind us, then they started strafing fire into the legs of the crowd. It seemed to be working. With row after row of zombies falling, the ones behind them tripped and fell on top of them. That did a lot to take the pressure off of us. They were still going to chase us, but it gave us a heck of a head start. We’d be long gone before they made it to Chestnut. Southard gave me a grin and a big thumbs-up, then slowed down to get back behind me.

  “Cease fire,” I called over the radio.

  Instantly, the automatic weapons chatter ceased.

  “Reloading!” yelled Spec-4, grabbing another box of ammo.

  She was burning through it pretty fast. We only had about four boxes left of the belted 5.56mm. We were going to have to pick our battles from here on out. She quickly reloaded the SAW as Southard pulled in behind me. I kept going, heading for the intersection at Chestnut. I crossed my fingers, hoping there would be an opening I could squeeze through.

  The Gods must have been listening, because my prayers were answered. There was a clear shot across. I could cross without coming close to another vehicle. That was good, because I’d been putting my Humvee through hell. It was bound to catch up with me, sooner or later. I hoped that it was later. Preferably, much later. I need this vehicle. Once we cleared Chestnut, we continued south. I made a mental note as we passed a parking lot full of propane trucks.

  “Those will come in handy,” I said. “We might steal a few of those to keep the jail’s generator going.”

  “Good call,” said Spec-4. “Can you drive one?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I can give it a try.”

  We were approaching the next intersection, when I saw the fires. Just beyond the intersection to the south of us were burning buildings and cars in the road. I knew that there was a building near there that used to be a television station. It looked like it had gone up in flames. The entire area was burning.

  “Well, that way is out,” I said.

  “You think?” asked Spec-4.

  Without hesitation, I turned left onto the first road heading east. It was mostly clear, with only scattered zombies. It was a run-down industrial area and didn’t have much in the way of people, even on a busy day. I kept the speedometer at about 45 mph, and stayed to the center of the road. I didn’t want to get caught by any surprises that might pop up. As we got closer to an overpass, I started looking for my turn. I wanted to take the last road on the right, before the overpass.

  I found the road I was looking for, but didn’t notice the name. The street was partially blocked, but there was enough room that I could get through. I slid between a flatbed pick-up and a PT Cruiser, and immediately crunched over a zombie in a business skirt. She must have been pretty, in life. I didn’t have time to ponder it for long, because she disappeared beneath the wheels.

  “Whoa,” said Southard, on the radio. “Nice hit.”

  Suddenly, I didn’t feel like making jokes. That one had seemed too lifelike for me to feel good about plowing her over. I tried not to think about the lives that were destroyed when each and every one of those zombies was created. It was enough to drive you nuts. I didn’t have the luxury of time for reflection. I had officers to rescue, and we were getting close to our first pick-up. The intersection ahead was blocked. I could go straight across, but not left or right. Unfortunately, directly across the street was the back wall of a motel.

  “Wylie,” said Spec-4. “Don’t do it. We can’t crash through a building.”

  “Hang on,” I said.

  Spec-4 grabbed the door frame and braced herself as I shot across the street. Just as we reached the curb, I spun the wheels to the right. We hopped the curb and onto a grassy strip that ran behind the motel. I drove through the grass and slid left into the motel parking lot. Southard was right behind me, and I could see him flipping me off in the mirror.

  I shot into the parking lot at about 30 mph and narrowly missed an overturned RV. I screeched around it, and slammed into a knot of zombies. There were about six of them and I scattered them like match-sticks. Southard swerved left and took out the two that I’d missed, while I continued south towards the road. It was still packed with cars, and impassible. I started slowing down as we approached the end of the parking lot.

  “You’re never going to make it through all those cars,” said Spec-4.