Ash grinned with delight as she discovered that what she had seen reflected was the wrapper of a dropped chocolate bar. She had no sooner picked it up when she spied another nearby, and then found that there were numerous items that had been no doubt scattered in someone’s flight from the place. She was gathering them up, near some of the gas pumps, and she had stowed many in her jacket’s pockets when, in gathering another, she realized she was looking at boots.
Now horrified, she found that the boots were connected to a pair of legs in jeans, and she continued to look up, finding a checkered shirt, sleeveless with two muscular arms extending from it. In the arms were a rifle, which though she didn’t realize it, was an AK-47, and then she looked up further to see a rather stern-looking, unshaven face of a man about forty five, his trucker cap set back on his head as he regarded her. He leaned down at her.
“H’lo, there, little lady,” he said with a deep voice.
She screamed, scrambling backwards away from him on the ground as he watched her. A moment later, he looked around and made a grunt as he heard the sounds of boots on the pavement, closing quickly. From beside him appeared another man, just younger with light brown hair and a full beard, carrying a long black rifle as he came. But Ash was not alone, and a moment later, around her filled in Jake, then Mick, then Jon with their weapons raised.
The bearded man smiled confidently, his G3 rifle pointed at the pilots as his counterpart had raised his AK-47, but had the barrel of the Spas-12 almost at the tip of his nose. Jake regarded them, but he could tell they were just as edgy, and he kept the MP-5 trained on the one with the beard, his face set tight as they remained there for a tense minute.
“Well now, gentlemen,” the bearded one said with a southern accent. “I think you can lower your weapons.”
“Nobody’s lowering anything,” Jake quickly countered. “We’re just here looking for food or supplies.”
“Well, who ain’t?” the man with the AK-47 blurted.
There was another tense moment that seemed to drag on far too long, for Ash’s liking, and she put a hand gently on Mick, and the other came up, trembling. Mick had begun to regard the fact that he had heard noises from the distance. He glanced away from the confrontation for a moment, but Ash’s wide eyes had found the bearded man’s.
“Everybody…?” she said. “Just calm down.”
They were all silent again, but Mick squinted into the darkness. Had something moved? There was a thump from the gloom. The bearded man’s expression seemed to soften a bit from behind the G3, and Jake noticed it. The barrel of the G3 lowered slightly.
“I don’t see no harm in talkin’,” he said, more to Jake than anyone else.
But Mick had not taken his eyes from the darkness, and as Jon and the man with the AK-47 lowered their own weapons, and Jake brought the MP-5 down as the G3 lowered, Mick felt his stomach drop. The faint sounds had become definite, and now, shuffling, encroaching figures could be seen. They were coming, and from just about every direction.
“I do,” Mick growled, which immediately set the others on edge, and they looked around to realize that there were indeed zombies all about them. Mick pulled Ash away from the ones nearest, while Jake regarded a clatter near him, turning to see that a zombie of a woman, barely clad in anything, was only a few feet from him. The MP-5 rattled with a burst of rounds, splattering its head.
The two men they had just met had backed initially toward the gas station, but through the plate glass windows there appeared a gallery of leering faces, hands pawing, and mouths working. The man with the AK-47 turned toward it, bringing the rifle up, as Jon had backed away. Jon realized with great dread what was about to happen, and he lifted a hand.
“Don’t!”
But the AK-47 went off with a single round at the plate glass. The bullet had downed a zombie on the other side, but now, the dozens that had been on the other side of the plate glass spilled out into the night, and the living humans retreated from the station. Jon had wheeled about, and the shotgun went off, nearly decapitating a zombie of an old man, which groaned only before the shotgun went off again and sent it to the concrete with a gory splatter.
Mick and Ash had gone toward the gas pumps, but then realized that there were even more of the creatures filling in between the cars. They were backing away from a gas pump and a pair of the creatures when Mick was grasped. The zombie had been a large, leather-clad biker, and Mick was quick enough to grasp the thing by the shoulders as his rifle hit the ground. He struggled back with it, and cast a glance over his shoulder at Ash.
“Shoot it!” he called, which only made her look at the weapon in her hands. His eyes widened.
“SHOOT!” he commanded her.
He snarled as he shoved the biker zombie backward at the same time Ash had extended the gun in front of her. She closed her eyes as she squeezed the trigger, and a spray of the 9mm rounds loudly erupted from the weapon. When she opened her eyes, she could see Mick gathering up his rifle, but she also noted that the enormous zombie had collapsed onto its back, and the ground behind it was sprayed with red.
“I… I killed it!” she stammered.
“Sensational,” Mick growled. “Come on!”
It was then that there was a flood of bright light, and the roar of an engine which drew the attention of all the living humans. It was a pickup truck, and it was approaching fast, Jake noted as he watched one, then another, then two more zombies either struck or run over by it. As the truck skidded to a halt, it blasted another zombie from its feet, sending it flying to the pavement several feet away. A door was flung open.
The face of a scowling, bald black man appeared, and he came to the front of the truck brandishing a Colt 1911 pistol, which he leveled on a zombie on the ground, its back twisted and broken by the truck. The .45 went off, and the zombie’s head scattered onto the pavement, at which time the black man, clad in camouflage fatigues roared at them.
“Run, you dumb motherfuckers!” he called at them.
With no further hesitation, the group started to the truck, shoving off close zombies as they went. Jon and the man with the AK-47 were the first to the truck, and each of them dove into the bed, Jon landing atop the other man momentarily before they scrambled to kneeling positions with their guns ready. The bearded man was the next into the back, and Mick began to help Ash over the tailgate. He jammed the stock of his rifle backward to halt a zombie in its approach, but practically threw Ash into the truck bed, where she landed on her back.
Mick then climbed into the bed as Jake was scrambling to the passenger side of the cab, and stopped at the door only to gun down another zombie with the MP-5. The black man had gotten back into the driver’s seat, and he slammed his door shut as Jake did the same on the passenger side. Jake looked up through the window- the open window- as a zombie with most of its face gone had staggered into view. The last round in the MP-5 went off, downing the zombie as Jake looked over.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” he cried out.
“Damn thing won’t shift!” the black man bellowed.
In the bed, Ash looked up in terror as something pulled on her jacket, and found that a zombie that had been a little boy was in the bed of the truck with them. She screamed, recoiling from it before a combat boot smashed the thing against the back window of the truck. Mick snatched the zombie up by one arm, using his pistol to kill it, and then he flung it out of the truck bed. The bearded man fired off two rounds, but soon the group in back discovered, zombies were closing in around them, and the truck wasn’t moving.
“COME ON!” Jon called toward the front of the truck as the humans in back had gathered into a tighter group. Arms and hands were reaching into the bed of the vehicle for them, and Ash made herself as small as she could as guns began going off around her. Jake had rolled up the window as more zombies gathered about the front of the truck, and the black man reached forward to the dashboard.
“Get in there, you motherfucker!” he yelled at it and punched the dash
. To his surprise, he felt the clutch finally work, and the truck shifted into first gear. Ramming the gas pedal down, he started the thing forward through the sea of dead creatures. In another moment, he had slammed through them to find the road, and the fishtailing truck raced out onto it, bouncing those in the back. Within seconds, the zombies were left behind to mill about, moaning and staggering as the truck raced away to the west.
Inside the cab of the truck, Jake heaved a huge sigh, and looked over at the silent, serious-looking man driving.
“So… thanks for saving us, back there,” Jake said.
“Ain’t no big thing, man,” the driver said, not looking from the road.
“Just the same, pretty glad you showed up when you did,” Jake continued, and took the magazine from his MP-5. Now, the driver looked over, and he smiled.
“I’ve been following those two hillbillies you got with you for a couple hours,” he explained. “That’s how I found you, and of course, all that digging around and talking brought the mush heads out.”
“I’m Jake,” he introduced himself.
“Name’s Noah Anderson, but nobody calls me that,” the driver said. “So call me Bulldog, right?”
“Where we headed, Bulldog?” Jake asked, putting a full magazine into the MP-5.
“Home,” Bulldog answered, and pointed straight ahead. Jake, while not satisfied with the description, merely nodded as the truck raced on.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN- UNDERGROUND, SAFE AND SOUND
The truck had continued west for a good half hour, and no one in back spoke as they went, most of them still recovering from the close call at the gas station. Ash was quaking, and Mick had an arm around her as Jon sat on the other side of her, while the other men were seated opposite them. They looked just as shell-shocked as Mick or Jon, but the truck soon slowed, and drew near a sign which Mick tried to make out, finally reading it as the headlights fell on it.
“Monroeville Storage,” he read aloud, and the others had a look too as the truck went to an open gate by the sign.
“Safe and Sound, Underground,” Jon read the slogan under it, and exchanged a glance with Mick.
“Since 1978, in fact,” Mick joked, noting that fact from the sign. The other two men exchanged a glance.
The truck turned through the gate, and followed a road back from the highway to where a number of fences surrounded what eventually was revealed to be a low, concrete structure with a single set of steps leading up to it. They could see that a chain link fence of some ten feet surrounded the structure, and that there were a small number of the ghouls outside that fence. Bulldog drove the truck up to a gate in the chain link, and Jake looked over to note a keypad. Bulldog punched in four numbers, and the gate began to slide open.
Once the truck was inside, the gate slid closed, and Bulldog pulled the truck almost up to the base of the stairs to the building. Those in the bed of the truck were looking at the zombies on the other side of the fence, but all of them shifted when the truck came to a complete halt, and everyone looked around. Soon, they were beginning to hop out as Jake and Bulldog emerged from the cab. Everyone was staring at the structure, except Bulldog, who had retrieved an M16 rifle from inside the truck, and slung it.
“What the hell is this place?” the man with the AK-47 asked.
“Home, sweet home,” Bulldog answered.
“Looks pretty solid,” the man said. “By the way, I’m R.T., and this here’s Brock.”
He had nodded toward the bearded man. Jake introduced the others, and Bulldog introduced himself before Mick had nudged the brawny man that had saved them.
“Anyone else inside?” he asked.
“Yeah, there’s a few others,” Bulldog answered. “Let’s get inside.”
The entire group started up the stairs to the place, and at the top of the stairs found that there was a large, steel door of about six feet in width. He used a key card on a pad, and there was a beep, at which time the huge door, which turned out to be about two feet thick, swung slowly open. It was a pleasing site to the newcomers, and they headed inside to find a large, open area with a concrete floor with pallets and florescent light, forklifts, and jacks.
Bulldog pressed a button, and the door began to swing shut. When it did finally slam shut with a big, booming noise, Bulldog went to a wheel on the door, and turned it like it was a bank vault or a submarine hatch, locking it. He turned to the others with a toothy grin, and put on a pair of dark sunglasses.
“Now, we can go downstairs, and you all can get the best night of sleep I bet you’ve had in a long damn time,” he said.
Just a few moments later, he had led them to another door, which was already propped open, and was much smaller than the outer door. Along the way, he had explained to them that the place was a big underground storage facility for just about anything people wanted stored, and that he had lucked into it with some others that had since moved along or been killed. It was powered by generators, solar panels, and at least one windmill that he knew of, because there were things stored that had been frozen or refrigerated. There was a well that provided water, and so the place was fairly self-sufficient.
They traveled down a long set of stairs to where the inside of the place, cavernous and constructed of poured concrete and block, was lit with more florescent lights, but was still somewhat dim. The air was cold, and almost everywhere they looked, there were shelves or stacks of various things, but the landing at the bottom of the stairs seemed to be a sort of gathering point. There was a pair of tables, and there were numerous chairs around them.
The tables were simple folding tables, and there were decks of cards, empty ammo boxes, plastic cups, a few empty beer bottles, and some dishes on them. Ash looked around even further to note that there was a large rack on one wall where many guns were set. Bulldog had gone to the rack, and he placed the M16 in it before stretching, and looking around at the others, who were just sort of shuffling around.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Ash asked, waving the UZI toward Mick, who once again caught the thing in his grasp and smiled at her. He took the weapon.
“I’ll take care of this,” he said. “You find a shady spot, okay?”
She nodded, and set out to find a chair to sit down on.
“There’s a ton of different rooms in this place, and we set up all kinds of couches, cots, and some beds, so you’ll be able to make yourselves pretty comfy,” Bulldog explained, just as another man had entered the chamber, and was immediately stunned to see the others- so many of them- standing about.
He was younger than any of them, and had a good looking baby face and blonde hair, and he was dressed casually as he took in the sight of others, acknowledged by some of them while they began to remove packs and set weapons down. Jon approached Mick with a fairly amused look on his face.
“Well it’s old, but at least it’s filthy,” he kidded.
Mick gave a short laugh.
“But safe.”
Jon had taken a stuffed toy bunny from a shelf near himself, and he extended it to Mick.
“Here, take this to help you sleep,” he said. Mick regarded it, and shook his head.
“No way,” he said. “Fucking thing probably comes to life at night and eats people.”
Jon smirked, but set the bunny back on the shelf, then he and Mick set out to explore the main room at the bottom of the stairs. Near one wall, there were couches and a single reclining chair, and Jon regarded that there was a large television and various entertainment pieces that the current occupants had no doubt grown bored with. Jake had approached where Bulldog was sitting at one of the tables, and watched as Bulldog poured himself a lot of gin.
“So you’re military, then,” Jake said, removing his hat, and setting his pack on one of the chairs. Bulldog looked up.
“What makes you say that?” Bulldog asked.
Jake smiled.
“I’ve known too many marines,” he said. “I can spot ‘em from a mile away, at least.
”
“All right, ya caught me,” Bulldog said with a grin. “So what, then? You military as well?”
“Mick, and Jon and I are fighter pilots,” Jake said. “Jon and I are actual, real fighter pilots, but Mick’s Air Force.”
Mick shot Jake a dirty look, accompanied by a middle finger as Bulldog gave a laugh.
“World’s gone to hell then,” Bulldog said. “Officers… And worse, fly-fly boys.”
“Yeah, well, at least we got a grunt to boss around,” Jake kidded, while Brock looked over them with disdain from across the room.
“Well, when you find the grunt you can boss around in here, you let me know,” Bulldog said, and took a big slug of the gin.
“Have you heard of any kind of coordinated response to this shit we’re in?” Jake asked, which seemed to draw the interest of everyone in the room.
“The most I’ve seen was a bunch of rednecks in pickup trucks, using everything from a flame thrower to a rake,” Bulldog answered. “That was down deep south before I found my way up here. Since you’re the first other military people I’ve seen, I’d have to say… we’re on our own.”
“I figured about twelve of you fucking jarheads would have this all sewn up by now,” Jake ribbed him, but Bulldog shrugged.
“We didn’t have any officers on hand to help us fuck it up,” the marine said.
“And nothing has come over the big radio we have,” the younger man, Mark, said.
“At least you’ve got one,” Jake noted.
“Does the place have bathrooms?” Jon asked.
“Oh yeah,” Mark answered him. “A few, and even some showers.”
“Well won’t that make us all easier to deal with…?” Brock drawled.
“Even got a kitchen,” Bulldog said, and downed more of the gin. “Though, it’s only a kitchen because we crammed a bunch of kitchen shit in an office.”
“Well, I’ve been known to throw together some fine meals in my day,” Brock said. “R.T. and I may not be heroic soldier boys, but we do have our talents.”
Jake eyed Brock for a moment, and discovered there was a hint of anger in the southerner’s tone when he spoke. He and Jon exchanged a glance, and Jon went back to flipping through various DVDs stacked on a table.
Escape from the Dead Page 13