Checking the last few rooms, Dean opened a door with a heavy metal music poster on it. He expected to find the room of a teenager. He didn’t expect the undead teenager to still be in the room.
The dead thing stood there in the middle of the room, turned sideways and unable to see the door. Dean was carrying the Cold Steel Recon Scout that Jack had found in the jon-boat in Hannibal. He slowly withdrew it from its sheath, ready to stab the zombie in the temple from behind, when Gordy whispered “Wait” from behind him.
“Look at it,” he said softly, “it can’t hear us, that’s why it’s just standing there.”
Gordy pointed out the large headphones on the zombie’s head covering its ears, a small MP3 player dangling from the wire hanging down at its side. Though the music player was dead, the large headphones prevented the zombie from hearing them.
“Yeah, but what if it turns around and sees us?”
“I know, we still have to kill it, but maybe this tells us that they have no sense of smell. They can’t smell us; they hunt and feed by sight and sound.”
Dean nodded, understanding what his father was saying. “Good stuff, Dad, lesson learned. Can I kill it now, so we can move on?”
The zombie teen never moved as Dean stepped up behind it and punched the blade through its temple.
Back outside they breached the next house, finding two dead bodies, but no zombies to harass them. Once again they cleared the house, piling everything they found by the door, ready to be picked up and loaded into one of the vehicles.
They went like this from house to house, sometimes finding zombies inside, sometimes dead bodies, and occasionally nothing at all.
Following the plan they had created, they stayed on the north side of Highway V, intending to go as far Business Highway 61, which bisected the small town north to south. They would clear everything they could on the east side of 61 before moving to the far side of the highway.
Once they finished off one square block they would bring a vehicle up, load everything they had found and move on to the next. The noise of the vehicles would often bring out a few zombies from where they had been lurking, but Mike took care of these easily from a distance with the suppressed rifle.
They filled the beds of both trucks, and had begun to pack things into the trunk of the De Soto when Gordy declared that they should be heading back to Camp.
About halfway back to the turnoff for Highway T, which led to N then to Highway 79 and home, Mike, who was riding with Rick in the first truck, said, “Cows!”
Rick looked at him curiously, “What?”
“Look, over there, cows! Stop the truck.”
Rick stopped, not bothering to pull over to the side.
The other two vehicles pulled up close and Gordy leaned out the window, asking what was wrong.
Mike just pointed in the direction of a large field, where several cattle could be seen.
Gordy and Dean joined the other two men, and they stood there staring out at the grazing cattle.
“I didn’t see those on the way here, did anyone else?” Gordy asked.
“I know I didn’t,” Rick said.
Neither had Mike or Dean.
“You think someone let them out here? I can’t see how they could have survived that winter without care and shelter.”
“I would think someone has to be taking care of them,” Dean offered.
“We need to see if we can find that person, and soon, before someone else sees those animals and decides to take them.”
“You’re right, there, Gordy,” Rick said. “Maybe we could convince them to join our merry little band.”
“We can’t do it today, but in the next couple of days we need to shorten our trip to New London and see if we can’t find the owner of those cows. If they won’t join us then maybe we can work out some sort of trade for milk or meat.”
They returned home that evening to happy people, both for their return home as well as the food they had brought back.
The men went back out early the next morning, making the ten mile drive to New London without incident. They did not spot the cows as they drove by.
The men began where they left off the previous day. Since they were not wasting time on anything but food and medications, with a quick search of the homes for guns and ammunition, they were able to come to the end of the first section of their search before noon.
They stood near their vehicles at the end of a long dead end street, looking at a mobile home park.
“Guys, I have to say I really don’t want to go through these,” Mike told the others.
“Aww, come on Mike, why not? You afraid of a little ‘Zombie Trailer Park’ action?” Gordy asked in a mock movie-intro voice.
“It sounds like a bad cliché.”
“Let’s do this street quickly. Shouldn’t take us long to clean all of these out, and we can move over to the other side of V and get a good way into that before we go home. Unless you wanted to look for the cattle owner today, Gordy.”
“I’m thinking we make that a priority tomorrow, Rick.”
“Ok, good deal, let’s get on with this. I don’t like standing out here in the open.”
The first three trailers were empty of humans or zombies, and yielded little in the way of food. The fourth trailer had a good stock of food, as well as a few bottles of medicine for Jan to add to the dispensary.
Dean tapped at the door of the fifth trailer, and heard a moan from behind the door. “Hot house, or uh, trailer.” Just as they began to open the door more dead voices began to moan, slowly increasing in volume until it was a din that drowned out any other sound..
All four men backed away from the trailer as it began to rock on its loose footing, the cinder blocks the home rested on cracking as whatever was inside tried to get out.
“What the hell, how many are in there?” Mike asked.
“That is a really good question, and one I’m not willing to answer,” Dean replied, his voice tight with nervous anticipation.
The men turned, heading back to the trucks, when Gordy’s feet slid out from under him in the loose gravel of the little drive next to the trailer. He fell hard, slamming into the small car sitting there, the barrel of his FN P90 smashing a window.
Moans erupted from the trailer they were backing away from, far louder than before. Windows smashed, bodies tumbling out, they could even see the door bulging from the weight being forced against it from the inside.
Dean reached down to help his father up, and they made it to their vehicles just as the first zombies began to stand up after falling out of the windows.
“Holy crap! Why the hell were they all in there!”
“Hell if we know, Dad. Are you hurt, your knees or ankles messed up?”
“No, I’m fine, but…damn! That makes no sense, a trailer full of zombies…”
“Maybe they got together for some beer and a few hands of cards.”
“Fuck you, Mike,” Gordy said, but laughed despite the trip-hammering of his heart.
They followed First Street all the way to Maple Street, which connected First to Highway V. “Think any monsters are due here?”
Rick looked at Mike, who was riding shotgun with him this time. “What?”
Mike chuckled at him, “Not a Twilight Zone fan, huh?”
Rick smiled at him, and said, “Nerd. Besides, the monsters are already here.”
Having crossed back to V, they went down to Depot Street and began to clear the south side of the state highway.
This section was much smaller than the first and they had little trouble with it, until they came to the end of Fifth Street.
“You hear that,” Dean asked, “what is that sound?”
They listened for a moment, when Mike suddenly ran up to the corner, looking south down Main Street.
“Someone’s running this way. About five blocks from here. They are pounding it pretty hard.”
The others joined Mike, watching the runner draw slowly clo
ser, until they noticed the horde of zombies behind him.
A massive pack of zombies, approximately fifty to sixty, were following the runner.
“I swear,” Rick told them, “those things are faster in groups.”
“We have to help him,” Gordy said.
“How are we going to do that, we can’t stop that many. Hell, we can’t even slow them down.”
“We have to do something, Mike. Eventually that guy will get too tired to run, then they’ll catch him. We can’t just let that…”
“I have an idea,” Rick interjected. “Gordy, you have that flare gun right?”
“Yeah, I keep it in my day kit, why?”
“See the above ground fuel tanks over there at that little auto-shop?”
Everyone looked at the tanks, and back to Rick. “We don’t have any idea how much damage that will do; it might blow us up in the process.”
Rick had leaned into the truck he had been driving, pulling out the Accuracy International L115A3 Lapua .338 Magnum. “Everyone, back here.”
The three men joined Rick behind one of the office buildings that fronted Main Street. He was standing on top of a large heating and cooling unit, holding the rifle out. “I’m going to climb up, Mike, pass this up to me when I get up there. Dean, get the flare gun from your dad and follow me up. Hurry, we don’t have much time before they’re in front of the tanks.”
Rick chambered a round into the large rifle and sighted down at one of the fuel tanks. “I’m going to poke a couple holes in those just before they get here, wait until that guy is about a block past us, then fire a flare right into the gas.”
“Got it,” was all Dean said in reply.
The runner had about a two block lead, but it was obvious that he was quickly running out of steam. Rick cursed as the runner stumbled, but he didn’t go down. “Move it. Keep that lead, man,” Rick said aloud.
The two men waited, watching the runner. Just after he passed the tanks Rick fired two rounds in rapid succession, both punching holes low in the tank on the left. The runner stumbled again at the sound of the shots, but kept going. The zombies seemed confused for a moment, but returned their attention to the meal they could see. The runner was just going past the New London Bank when Rick returned his attention the zombies.
“Wait, Dean, let the whole mess of them get in front of those tanks.”
Dean waited, watching as the first of the zombies went past the tanks. A moment later he heard Rick say “Now”.
Dean called out “Fire in the hole” loudly, to let the others know what was about to happen, then pulled the trigger on the flare gun.
The flare arced down over the heads of the advancing horde of undead, bounced once and splashed into the pool of fuel that had collected under the tanks.
Dean and Rick both ducked down below the edge of the roofline to protect themselves from the explosion.
Time seemed to hang suspended for a moment just before the fuel ignited. Preceded by a loud whooshing sound as the gasoline caught, the first tank exploded, with the second tank erupting a second after.
Rick and Dean both felt a moment of fear when the building they were on top of shook violently, and the roof sagged beneath them. Eager to get off the roof, they scrambled carefully on hands and knees to the rear of the building. Gordy and Mike waited below; crouched in a corner where a longer building intersected the one they were now on.
Rick passed the rifle to Mike, following it down. Dean slid down right after him. Rick stowed the long range rifle in the truck, grabbed his Remington 12 gauge, and all four men made their way back to the street. Everyone was dismayed to see that the truck that had been parked in front of the other vehicles was now missing its windshield.
Standing back from the blackened pit created by the explosion mouths hung slack in shock at the carnage they had wrought. The small building that had housed the auto repair shop behind the tanks was completely gone, rubble from the building strewn everywhere.
The storefronts of the buildings across the street had been blown out, and even as they stood there one of the buildings began to cave in, crumbling forward out into the street.
Zombies and parts of zombies were burning everywhere they looked. Very few of the living dead that had been following the runner were moving around, fewer still had begun to pick themselves up, and Mike took these down quickly with the suppressed rifle.
“The runner,” Gordy said, walking towards the downed form of the man who had been running from the horde of undead.
As they walked up slowly, not sure what to expect, the man began to stir. “What the hell?”
As Gordy and his men walked up they realized that the runner was a young woman, her hair tucked under a ball cap that somehow she had not lost in the explosion.
The group stood over her, with Mike offering his hand to help her up. “Are you the ones that just blew up the world?” she asked loudly.
“Yeah, sorry about that, no other way to stop that pack of zombies you had on your tail. Are you ok?”
“What? Am I gay? What the hell?”
Gordy almost laughed at the puzzled look on her face before noticing blood coming from one of her ears, and pointed to it. She realized then that she wasn’t hearing properly.
“Fuck, I think you guys blew my eardrum. Thanks a lot you assholes, you could have freaking killed…” She stopped speaking abruptly as she turned to look back in the direction she had been coming from. She was stunned by the crater left where the tanks had been, and the masses of still burning gore. A few of the surrounding buildings had begun to burn freely.
“That reminds me of this guy I used to date, he was in a band called Flaming Guts. They sucked. I’m Rebecca, my friends call me Becca. People who try to blow me up don’t get to call me anything.”
Mike and the others just stood there quietly for a moment, taken back by this brash young woman.
“Are you guys all mute, because that would suck, to be nearly blown up by strange mute men,” Rebecca said, voice still raised.
Gordy laughed, “No, we aren’t mute. And we certainly didn’t try to blow you up. I’m Gordy Fletcher; this is Rick Tillerman, Mike Phillips, and my son…”
Rebecca cut him off, saying, “Do they call you Scarface?” she asked looking directly at Dean.
Dean scowled at her, pulling his scars into a very unpleasant shape. “They wouldn’t dare,” he growled.
“Yeah? Well, that’s because they’re pussies. Come on, my people are nearby, and that explosion will draw every damn Zom for miles.” Dean, contrary to his look of disdain, was instantly smitten.
“We need to get our vehicles,” Gordy told her.
“Well, hurry up then.”
Gordy waited with Rebecca while the others ran back to get the two trucks and the car.
Chapter 19
Rebecca took them to a small single story white house on the corner of West Clay and Second Street.
The house was filthy inside, as were the five people that were waiting nervously for Rebecca to return.
“What the hell Becca! You blow the town up, or what? And who the hell are these people, armed to the teeth like that?”
“That is Arianna; I call her Airy, short for Airhead. She hates it, isn’t that right Airy?”
The tall, thin woman placed her hands on her hips and spat out an unintelligible swear.
“The old guy in the corner is Everett, the blond dirty looking dude is Garett, the dark haired dirty looking dude is Louis, and that guy in the corner looking like he’s about to piss himself is Richard.”
Everett stood up from his chair, walked over and extended his hand to Mike. Everyone could see that the old man had difficulty walking. Mike, to his credit, did not look at the hand in disgust before shaking it. Everett shook the hands of all four men, introducing himself formally as Everett Watson.
“You get anything to eat, Becca?” The one named Garett asked.
“I did until these guys tried to blow me up.�
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“What the hell, you serious, Becca?” Louis asked, incredulous.
“No, I dropped my pack between Eighth and Seventh streets.”
“Oh come on, Becca, we’re freaking starving, why would you drop your pack?”
“Because, Airy,” Rebecca said with a tone of hateful sarcasm, “a pack of Zoms came out from the trees on Avanti Street. I didn’t see them in time to go around, but they saw me before I could hide. I was this close to becoming a Zom nom,” she said, holding thumb and forefinger a inch apart.
“We’re going to fucking starve to death before you find us anything to eat,” Arianna said viciously.
Voices were raised, and everyone from the house began to yell back and forth. Gordy and his crew simply stood there, stunned at the nastiness these people were spewing at each other.
“Shut the hell up!” Mike suddenly shouted. Everyone in the room looked at him, fear rising in the faces of those that didn’t know him, except for Rebecca. “How did you guys get through the winter together, good freaking grief!”
“Do you think everyone can stay civil enough to sit and talk with us a bit, tell us how you all survived the winter?” Gordy asked.
Before agreeing that they could, each of the people living in the house looked to each other, as if silently asking whether or not it was possible.
Rick and Mike stood silently, listening while Gordy drew the story of their survival from the small group.
Jimmy wandered through the filthy house, getting an idea of how these people lived. He was overjoyed to find a small bookshelf in an office off the kitchen. He knelt down, running his fingers over the spines of the books.
He slid out several, reading the back covers before deciding on one to take with him. With book in hand he walked back to the living room and asked, “Anyone mind if I take this?”
Everyone looked at the book he was holding up. “What kind of a name is Tig?” Mike asked.
“A Space Story,” an excellent book,” Everett said. “The books were here when we found the house, so feel free. I do think you’ll enjoy that one. I have read it several times over the winter. It makes me sad to think that I won’t get to read the continuing saga now.”
American Revenant (Book 2): Settlers and Sorrow Page 11