Zombie Rush 2

by Hansen, Joseph

  “What do you want, Web? Unless you come down here and surrender yourself, I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Surrender myself to what? Your bullet? You artfully displayed how you intend to deal with prisoners.”

  “No such thing as a prisoner anymore, Web. Your fate is destined to end with my bullet, so better sooner than later, I’d say. We can keep a lot of people from getting hurt that way,” she said as Skit scanned the buildings left and right, ready to dive or duck as needed.

  “Ha ha ha!” Web laughed loudly. “Now where’s the fun in that? You truly are a joy to behold, Rey. I will leave you alone for a bit, but one question before I go.”

  “What is that?” Lisa asked.

  “Claiming everything and everybody in the city as belonging to the city is more than a little communist, don’t you think?”

  “Have you ever read the rules of martial law, Web?”

  “Why no … no, I haven’t,” he said, pondering her question.

  “I’m just looking after their best interests, Web,” she said and then pulled out the radio and switched channels. “Benson, are you there?”

  “This is Krupp, Benson is … busy.”

  “All right, Ed. I want a twelve-guard rotation stationed at the radio station at all times from here on out.”

  “Already done. That was quite a show you put on out there today. It has already gone viral on satellite feeds everywhere. Who was the shooter on the roof?”

  “None other than our local serial killer, Doctor Skinner. Was I wrong?” she asked, defiantly yet truly curious as to what he thought.

  “Not in my opinion, but I’m in the minority most of the time.”

  “We’ll talk later. Out.”

  “Out.”

  ***

  “How the fuck is he hearing everything we say?” Lisa ranted once they were in the radio station.

  “I don’t know, but it’s creeping the hell out of me,” Skit replied. “He obviously heard our whole conversation last night.”

  Lisa walked over and sat down in her customary chair. Tasha smiled at her and indicated for her to put on the lapel mic so they could start at the next break. Sedgwick came over and sniffed around her bag for some food that he knew was in her pack, causing Lisa to reach down and grab it. Her lapel mic brushed against his collar, and Lisa pulled back with a start.

  “Feedback?” she whispered and brought Skit in for a closer conversation.

  “What?”

  “Feedback … like when a guitarist plays his instrument too close to a speaker, you get feedback. Pete Townsend made a fortune from it while playing with The Who.”

  “Okay, so what?”

  “I heard some when my mic brushed up against Sedge’s collar. Can they make a microphone that small?”

  “Not today but a couple of days ago they could.”

  “He’s bugged. Skit, your dog is bugged.”

  “My dog, I don’t have a dog. How could he have bugged him?”

  “Not a clue, but we have to find that microphone.”

  “We’ll just lose the collar.”

  “Maybe, but then again … maybe not. Let’s think about it for a bit.”

  ***

  “Kodiak, here are the keys to the Cadillac parked behind the club. Take Tam with you,” Solomon said, referring to the more-than-capable bouncer who had worked the club with her and Shelly when Dean and his group showed up. “Lester, pick someone and go get your cube van at your shop.”

  “I’ll take Sue; she’s small and I can lift her up to the window to get in since I lost all of my keys while running from fucking zombies,” Lester said, once again bitching about the keys he lost the day before.

  “Okay, the rest of you wait here or as close to here as you can. Charlie and I will go get my Dodge and meet you here before we head out to the new compound.” The people left behind didn’t worry; they knew that by staying still and quiet, they could go unnoticed, especially with being off the beaten path as they were.

  Dean and Charlie crouched in a hedgerow and looked out at the street in front of his old house where he left the Dodge after he found Charlie on the roof.

  “Where did they all come from?” Dean said under his breath. It looked like a block party where several blocks had come together. The exception being that there was no beer or lights, and after two days of death, the women weren’t their best dressed.

  “They all seem to be focused on the Jones’s house,” Charlie said.

  Dean studied it for a time and had to admit that they were congregated in that area. Lester lived to the east of him and the Joneses lived to the east of Lester, so the plan to make it to the truck unseen was fantasy. “The Jones’s house … isn’t that where your buddy Jonah lived?”

  “Yeah, we used to play in their basement all the time.”

  “Basement? I didn’t know any of these had basements. I was told they were all slab on grade.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I do know that theirs is older than the rest of the others.”

  “That would explain it. We have to figure out a distraction,” Dean said.

  “Could we throw some rocks at a tree or something?”

  “Hmmm, that would probably work. Hell, we could just throw a bunch down the street. I think that would be enough to get their attention.”

  “What about the people in the basement?” Charlie asked.

  “We don’t know that there are people in the basement, but if they come out, we’ll try to help them, okay?”

  “Okay. Jonah and I aren’t really friends anymore, but I still don’t want to see him eaten by zombies.”

  “Nope, neither do I, son, neither do I. Hey, do you still have that flashlight with the laser eye?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “See if you can hit it on the glass block window down there, hidden halfway behind that bush. If we can get their attention, maybe they will see us and we can help them.”

  “Won’t the zombies see the beam?” Charlie asked as he dug the flashlight out of one of his pockets.

  “Yeah probably. But then again, if we are going to help people, we have to put our necks on the line from time to time.”

  Dean scanned the thirty or so undead that wandered the area. There was a path to his truck open at the moment, but he doubted they could get into it before they were swarmed. He removed the buckler sheath that covered the blade on Shaaka and made sure his feet were under him. He checked the area behind and to both sides so he would know where everything was before he whispered to Charlie, “Okay, do it now. Three times fast and follow it with three times slow.”

  Charlie turned the laser on and struggled to hit the window right away, gaining the attention of a few of the zombies, that didn’t know what to think of the non-edible moving dot. He landed on the glass block window and flashed it three times. He was halfway through the second long flash when they heard the first moan of a zombie who had discovered them.

  “We gotta move, Charlie.”

  “Dad, they’re in there.”

  “Okay …” He paused, wondering and watching the Z come closer, gaining the attention of several others. “We’ll try to draw as many off as we can once the truck is going. Okay, now move!” he said louder than he wanted to because of the effort it took to shove Shaaka’s blade up under the chin of the closest zombie.

  Dean Solomon became the fullback he had been in high school, except now he carried sixty more pounds and his quarterback was the most important person in his world. A claim that he wouldn’t have made a few days ago, but the kid showed grit and killed his share of zombies. He had earned his father’s respect and, dare he hope, maybe even gained friendship.

  His buckler collapsed Z’s as if they were nothing but strands of tall grass. He held the bound end of the spear up by the blade, swinging it like it was a long club, unwilling to get the blade stuck in a body or skull. His homemade weapon had become the difference between life and death, for not only him, but his entire f
amily tree.

  He could feel Charlie on his heels, trying not to trip over his dad’s feet as the truck came closer with each step they took. He felt, more than saw, Charlie raise his gun and almost panicked. Only about half of the zombies had noticed them as yet and a single shot before they reached the truck could not only doom them, but also leave them with their only gun empty.

  “Save it, Charlie, hold your fire,” he said over his shoulder as he swung his staff and slammed his buckler into the head of another, not killing any of them but pushing them out of the way. They were grateful that the runners never hung with the hordes or they would be in a pitched battle already.

  Dean spun so that his back slammed into the truck with a loud thump as Charlie went for the latch.

  “It’s locked!”

  “Fuck! In my coat pocket; get it,” Dean said, out of breath as he jabbed the blade in and out of eye sockets as quickly and smoothly as he could with his buckler arm caught between Charlie and the action. Charlie dug the key out and fired one of the barrels to clear two away from the door where he had to be.

  He got the door open and jumped in, closing it as he watched his old man fight off several more and was just seconds away from being swarmed. His shotgun blast had alerted the rest, who were making way toward them.

  Instead of panic, Charlie became the epitome of calm. He slid the key into the ignition and started the truck then he grabbed two more shells in his hand and opened the sliding window into the bed. He fired the remaining barrel at a zombie pressing in on his dad’s left side before opening the breech and replacing the rounds.

  “Dad! Crawl under the truck!”

  His dad instantly dropped from view. Charlie didn’t hesitate to fire one, then two, rounds of double aught into the heads of the Z’s, ignoring the ringing in his ears and pain in his shoulder as he dug out four more rounds. He reloaded and the door opened as his father climbed in.

  “Back!” Charlie shouted and Dean pressed himself into his seat as much as he could while Charlie fired across his chest into the face of a stumbler.

  Dean threw the truck into reverse and floored it, rolling over several of the undead. The truck was big and underpowered, but it was also heavy with a high ground clearance. Designed as a farm truck, it didn’t spin its wheels and it was nearly impossible for anything to stop it.

  They broke free of the main horde, and Dean blew his horn to pull them away from the house where they suspected people were hiding in the basement. He swerved when he could or went over them, knowing that at that speed, the 80s-era truck wouldn’t be too damaged from the impacts. Nor would the zombies—unless, of course, he managed to get a head under a wheel.

  A couple of blocks later, he cruised at a casual pace because the roads in that part of town were clear of zombies. He glanced at Charlie and was surprised by what he saw on his son’s face. It was a look he had never seen from him, or anyone before, and he didn’t know how to react.

  “What’s wrong, Charlie? Are you bit?”

  “No, I’m not bit.”

  “What is it then?” Dean asked.

  Charlie hesitated for a long time before answering. “I hated you.”

  He paused, again letting that sentence ring through the air of the truck.

  “I fucking hated you just two days ago and dreaded ever seeing you again. Then the world falls apart and you become … this. Where the fuck were you all those years? Why did you treat me like shit for so long?”

  “I don’t know,” Dean replied.

  Charlie wanted to say more but didn’t know what, so he sat there, caught between rage and awe. Several minutes passed before Dean spoke.

  “I was out kissing ass, Charlie. Anybody and everybody’s ass I could kiss to get an extra buck. Your mom wanted a house on a private cul-de-sac, so I picked up more hours and got it for her. Then she wanted a Mini Cooper so I got it for her, and all I had to pay was an extra week away from home every quarter. She then wanted you in special courses because you’re so smart and gifted, but I wouldn’t know that because I was never home. She never considered getting a job so that I could back off a bit. Instead, I drove illegally on the side for cash from farmers and other truckers, but she didn’t care. I know she said she wanted me home more, but she didn’t. If she did, she would have done something to help; instead, she got a boyfriend. Why not? She could get everything in a divorce because I was never there to claim it.”

  Dean paused as he wondered how much he should tell his fourteen-year-old son.

  “I knew it. I couldn’t do anything about it until I got home that day and caught her, but I knew she was fucking other people. You knew it too, but you wouldn’t say anything to me about it.”

  Charlie nodded his head and looked at the floor in shame, having to face his own guilt where his father was concerned.

  “I know you hated me, Charlie. I could see it on your face, and I resented you for it. She didn’t hate me; I was her ticket to do whatever she wanted. I was a slave and I hated everything and anybody who made me into that slave. I couldn’t help it. I hated being on the road all the time, but then suddenly, I liked it. It got me away from her and her bullshit and you and your hatred. I hope that you can forgive me for that, Charlie.”

  There was a long moment of silence between the two. Not uncomfortable, more a silence created to allow all of the information to sink in.

  “The world has a way of stripping a man of all that he feels matters. Your integrity can get stripped from you multiple times on any given day, your faith questioned by the questionable. The one thing they can’t take from you is your pride. You could hold on to that in almost any circumstance … until you get home. Home to a wife who tolerates you. Home to the corner of one closet where you can keep your clothes. And home to a son who doesn’t care if you lived or died,” Dean said, not wanting to put that heavy of a burden on his son, but if they were taking the time to be honest, then honesty is what he was going to give.

  He heard sniffling from the other side of the dark truck cab, and he knew that he may have struck too hard. But Charlie had grown a lot in the last two days and was able to compose himself enough to speak.

  “I cared … for a while, anyway. But you always made me feel so small and weak. I’m not weak. I would go to school after you humiliated me and intentionally pick a fight with someone bigger than me. I lost a lot, but it somehow made me feel better.”

  Dean laughed, much to Charlie’s surprise. “I guess like father like son fits here. I used to do the exact same thing with my stepdad. Until I kicked his ass, that is.”

  “So I gotta kick your ass?” Charlie said with a smile.

  “If we live long enough, then I’ll be happy to have you kick my ass.” Dean ruffed Charlie’s hair and they both smiled.

  “In a way, it’s better now,” Charlie said.

  “Some things are better now, I agree; just not enough to want the change, though. Hey, I’m sorry for being such an asshole. I’ll try to do better.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Charlie replied.

  “Oh oh, we got company,” Dean said as he looked into the rearview mirror.

  Charlie turned to see three people in a race with five runners, and it looked like the runners were going to win.

  “It looks like Jonah’s dad!”

  “How many shells do you have left?”

  “Eight, including the two that are in the gun.”

  “So do we run and save ourselves, or start kicking some zombie ass?” Dean asked his son.

  When Charlie immediately opened the door and stepped outside, Dean smiled and said, “Attaboy.”

  They peeled out the doors like Starsky and Hutch, feeling pride and strength in the bond they were forming. As a team, they moved past the living runners who never even slowed down.

  “Get in the back of the truck!” Dean shouted as Jonah stopped beside Charlie to catch his breath. Dean uncapped Shaaka and slammed the diamond-cut top of the thick wooden buckler down on the lead zombie’s h
ead, causing it to collapse limply at his feet. Dean was in full adrenaline rush and never doubted for a second that he had cracked the skull, killing it in one swing. Jonah stared, wide-eyed, at the goo oozing from the broken skull until a single barrel blast from Charlie’s sawed-off shotgun jerked him back to reality.

  Dean had just shoved Shaaka’s point through the eye socket of the next zombie when he heard both truck doors slam shut.

  Charlie never wavered as he lined up his next shot on the closer of two remaining Z’s, suspecting what was happening but not believing it.

  Dean wanted to break away and stop the inevitable but knew that would leave Charlie with one slug and two zombies to fight. He just didn’t have the physical weight yet, so Dean lunged, feeling his foot slip in the grey matter from the crushed skull at his feet, which brought his point down and into the chest of the last zombie. A killing blow to the living but barely a deterrent to the dead.

  Dean slammed the heavy buckler into the head repeatedly until the neck snapped and the zombie fell to the side, its neck broken, body paralyzed.

  The three of them stood together watching the truck speed off, the taillights getting smaller in the distance.

  Dean turned to Jonah. “I’m guessing those weren’t your parents.”

  Jonah shrugged. “Nope, never seen ’em before.”

  Moaning from the approaching horde of stumblers started to overwhelm all other sounds, with the exception of Dean’s favorite word.

  “Fuck!”

  Chapter Nine

  What It Is

  “Ladies and gentlemen, once again we have Lieutenant Lisa Reynolds,” Tasha said and sat back in her chair, motioning for Lisa to start speaking. Lisa could tell as soon as she walked into the room that something was different between her and Tasha, but she didn’t know what. Her stance or posture seemed to be a little more guarded and there was a definite chill emitting from her suddenly cold irises.

  “Hello again. I allowed some videos to be published that display what it is like out in the city right now. I didn’t try to hide it because it is what it is, and I need to be honest with all of you as to what lengths I will go to ensure our survival. The days of jaywalking tickets and probation violations are over. There are no jails. There are no judges or courts … no prison or Walmart. It is all gone and we are what remain.