by RW Krpoun
Addison nodded.
Bailing out of the Land Rover as it slid to a stop, Marv hefted the bat, cursing whichever of the deserters stole his M-4. Afghanistan had taught him about firefights, both engagements where you fired at distant muzzle flashes and movement, and fights close enough so you saw dust fly from the enemy’s clothes as the rounds impacted, but this was an entirely new flavor of violence, and he wasn’t happy about it.
All the infected people made a wailing cry, a sort of long drawn out moan at the sight of them, almost a chorus, and advanced at a stagger. Mindful of Captain Jack’s advice Marvin leaned into a good bent-knee swing, blasting the left knee of the gray-faced tourist coming at him, the joint bending sideways under the impact.
The injury would have reduced an NFL defensive guard to a mewling fetal shape, but the man hit the gravel like a sack of potatoes, thrashed like a turtle until he was on his belly, and then methodically began the business of getting to his feet with one knee joint flopping loosely. Marv watched him with a detached sense of horror-he knew all too well that unlike Hollywood, real people scream and thrash and linger in agony even with mortal wounds, but this man was ignoring a knee smashed into bone chips. It conveyed an alien sense of mindlessness, an ant-like quality. Whatever its shape, the thing at his feet was not Human.
He swung the bat downward in a vicious arc that killed the creature and his misgivings.
“Anyone hurt?” Doc swung the EMT bag around to the front. “Anyone? JD?”
“Might have a bruised butt,” the promoter ruefully dusted off his jeans. “I haven’t done a reverse pile-driver in a long time. These…things, they’re not people. Not anymore.”
“Zombies,” Bear said, eyes wide. “Or so close as makes no difference. We’re up against zombies.”
“It’s a world gone mad,” Captain Jack agreed, adjusting his beret. “I say, you throw those rather well,” he nodded to Addison, who was recovering his second hatchet from the skull of a corpse dressed in coveralls.
“That’s all of them,” Marv rejoined the group, having made a quick circuit of the building. “Store’s locked up tighter than a drum, bars on the windows, decent locks. Anybody have job skills as a burglar?”
“No need,” Doc announced, holding up a sturdy yard gnome statue that had been resting atop a long-defunct chest-style Coke vending machine. “His name is Moogie.”
“Good for him,” Bear said slowly. “So what?”
“There are three keys duct-taped to his base,” Doc held them up. “I expect Sid sometimes forgot his own keys.”
“Yard Gnome Action Team,” Addison announced. When the others looked at him, a bit surprised at his statement, he shrugged. “You said after the fight. Doesn’t give anything away.”
“And it marks our first victory,” Captain Jack gave a golf clap. “A name, a battle standard, and a tribute, all in a single stroke.”
“I’m OK with it,” JD agreed, and Bear nodded.
“OK, I’ll stand watch by the Land Rover; Captain Jack, will you cover the back? We need to make sure no…zombies wander up while we’re here. The rest gather food, bottled water, anything close to medical supplies, all weapons, and all ammo regardless if we have anything that it fits. Anything I’m missing?”
“Tools, gas cans, and camping gear,” Bear suggested. “I’ll see about getting the pumps turned on.”
“OK, lets get paid,” JD took the keys from Doc and headed to the front door.
Once the others were occupied Marv moved to the far side of the Land Rover and dug out the sat phone. “Fastbox Two reporting.”
“Fastbox Two, go ahead.” A woman was on the other end, crisp and professional sounding.
“I am at Sid’s Grub and Gas on Highway Sixteen, approximately three miles east of Starke, Florida, that’s with an ‘e’. I have five civilian men with me, plus vehicle transport. These five seem trustworthy, but I haven’t explained my mission. We are resupplying at this location, and will depart for Tallahassee ASAP.” He paused. “Ma’am, we have engaged…zombies, for lack of a better word.”
“Understood. You are weapons free on all infected subjects. Lieutenant Colonel Nelson wants you to check in at eighteen hundred hours or as close to that time as possible. We are working on an air extraction.”
“Wilco. This group calls itself the Yard Gnome Action Team. Fastbox Two, out.”
Pocketing the phone, Marv resumed sentry duty as the others lugged supplies to the vehicle.
Donning surgical gloves, mask, and apron, Doc knelt beside one of the downed zombies and began probing in its mouth.
“What are you doing, Doc?” Marv asked.
“Collecting blood and saliva samples, and excising the glands responsible for saliva.”
“Why?”
“There is a simple chemical reaction test which should answer a few questions about transmissions. An electron microscope would be my first choice, but you have to make do.”
“OK, we’ve got full tanks and thirty gallons in cans,” Bear hopped down from securing a duffle bag to the roof of the Land Rover. “Probably a week’s worth of food, ten days’ worth of bottled water, and no throwing the bottles away.”
“Camping gear, with what the terrible trio had, is sufficient,” JD tossed a coil of rope into the rear of the Land Rover.
“We located one Remington Model 870 pump shotgun in a tactical riot configuration, one stainless steel Colt Government Model pistol, and one lever-action Marlin carbine in .30-30. We located fifty rounds of twelve gauge number two shot, one box of fifty rounds of ,45 ‘hardball’, and forty rounds of .30-30, as well as eighty rounds in calibers for which we have no weapons,” Captain Jack reported.
“Any forty caliber?” Marvin asked.
“Afraid not. We also found a katana, apparently a war trophy from the Second World War, but Doc has threatened to murder anyone who tries to take it away from him.”
“I’m happy with this Mossberg for now,” Bear said. “But I need ammo.”
“I’ve got this SiG which I don’t care for; I’ll trade it for the Colt,” Marv offered.
“I would suggest that I take the Remington and divide the shotgun ammunition with Bear,” Captain Jack said. “Marv can take the Colt, Doc the katana, which leaves JD and Addison choosing between the Marline carbine and the SiG pistol. Gentlemen?”
“I’m not a great shot,” JD admitted.
“Pistol,” Addison mumbled, and accepted the SiG from Marv.
“OK, that leaves us with a better weapons load-out, but we’re still light on ammo, and I need magazines,” Marv checked and loaded the pistol. “Doc needs a firearm, and Addison a long gun.”
“A pistol,” the short man shrugged. “I’m not the violent type.”
Addison heft the ice axe. “I’m OK.”
“All right. In any case we’re better off than we were. Everybody but Bear needs to fire off a few rounds to get the feel for their weapons right before we leave. OK, if we circle around Starke, its fifteen miles up 301 to I-10, and I-10 is a straight shot to Tallahassee. Best of all the Interstate lets us avoid towns.”
“The phone in the store works,” JD sighed. “All I got was voicemail.”
“Cell coverage is always the first to go,” Bear said, unsure if that were true, but convinced it was the right thing to say.
“Lets roll,” Addison mumbled.
It was nearly two when they struggled across the ditch and got onto 301; the Harley had had troubles getting across damp pastureland, and the Land Rover hadn’t fared much better.
Once on asphalt rolling north the day seemed eerily normal: ranchers tending their charges, a town of a hundred souls going about their day, a tractor pulling some sort of farm machinery waddling down the road.
“Did we just kill zombies and loot a store?” JD asked as Addison passed the tractor. “This is like the Twilight Zone.”
“The virus hasn’t completely spread,” Doc advised. “From what Bear described incubation appears to be
between sixty to ninety minutes, and is debilitating within thirty. Newly infected victims do not get far under their own power.”
“So it can be contained?” JD sounded doubtful.
“Perhaps. I don’t know enough now, but in an urban sprawl it seems unlikely. Out here, maybe, although from your description of Starke its open to debate.”
When they reached I-10 things started looking less serene. Traffic was steady, but almost exclusively westbound, and a high percentage of vehicles were loaded with household belongings. The truck stops, gas stations, and fast-food joints that cluster at handy exits were closed with signs that stated they were sold out.
More ominous were the number of abandoned vehicles on the shoulders, and those vehicles with drivers standing next to them with ‘out of gas’ signs.
“Jacksonville has begun the final slide,” Doc observed unhappily. “No doubt there are infected subjects in a few of the vehicles around us, being taken to safety by family or friends. That’s how it spreads: in jumps of fifty miles or so, based on traffic.”
“How did it get started?” JD asked. “It takes too long to get on a plane these days for an infected subject to manage it.”
“Bioweapon,” Marv answered. “Sprayers shipped into busy ports, which are also inevitably large cities.”
“You know that for sure?” JD asked.
“Pretty sure. We got it through high-higher. They didn’t say what group or why, but I figure ISIS or Al Q are a safe bet.”
“Bastards,” JD muttered.
“130 miles to Tallahassee,” Addison announced. “We’re averaging forty miles per hour.”
By three in the afternoon the average speed was twenty-five miles per hour as wrecks and broken-down vehicles regularly created impediments. By four they were down to twenty miles per hour and they had covered just over fifty miles.
“Conditions in Tallassee are confused,” Doc reported, shutting down his tablet, which he had built into a digital picture frame so he could smuggle it into the River Arms. “Looks like a coyote packed a bunch of illegals into a box van and headed up there, only to find out that he had a truckload of infected when he arrived.”
“How much damage can one truckload cause?” JD asked from the front passenger seat.
“I doubt that was the only vector incident, but the key time element depends upon the reaction of the authorities. The fringe Net says TPD is shooting infected subjects on sight, and the National Guard is trying to deploy troops into the area, but they are running against the clock. Communications are a major issue-there’s panic, and the cell network is failing under the surge.”
“Lemme check my e-mail again,” JD busied himself with his phone.
“I would like to get away from the coast,” Marv advised Captain Jack. “After we drop off JD we should head northwest and catch I-20 into Texas. The coastal regions will be hit the hardest.”
The slender man leaned around Doc to study the road atlas. “Yes, that sounds good. Perhaps…”
“YESSSS!!!” JD whooped. “Got contact! Damn, it’s a long one.”
“I was thinking perhaps we ought to make camp at night,” the slender man continued. “After dark driving conditions will deteriorate and the chance of encountering infected under unfavorable circumstances will increase.”
Marv touched his empty NV goggle pouch and scowled. “That’s something to think about. Sundown is around nineteen hundred; we’ve two hours of daylight and eighty-odd miles to go.”
“THAT BITCH!” JD screamed; everyone but Addison jumped.
“What?” Marv leaned between the front seats.
“My wife-that bitch was cheating on me!” JD snarled, punching the dash. “Look, it has been rough for the last couple years-I’m on the road a lot, things, you know, drift, but I didn’t think…” He slammed the phone into the dash, crushing it into a twisted mess. “She took the kids and left with her boyfriend. Said they were going to Belize. Said she was sending the e-mail just as they were boarding the plane. About twenty-four hours ago.”
“Belize?” Doc asked.
“Yeah, I figure it was the British cocksucker who lived two doors down from us, always too friendly. He was something with British Petro, always talking about Belize. Can’t be a coincidence.”
“I’m sorry, man,” Marv thumped JD’s shoulder.
“Fuck her-I don’t give a shit now. But she took my kids.” JD slumped in his seat.
The Land Rover rolled on in silence for a while. Doc elbowed his companions in the back seat and pointed out two infected wandering around an abandoned vehicle.
“Hey, Doc, how are conditions in Belize?” JD roused himself.
“Um, let me check,” the small man dug out his tablet. “Last I checked, that region was clean-tourist season has passed. Mexico has serious problems, but only around Mexico City. If Belize goes into quarantine in the next twenty-four hours, they ought to weather the storm.”
“Well, at least my kids are safe. That’s something,” JD sighed. “Guys, no point in going to Tallahassee unless you need to. I’ll stick around until you get to Texas.”
“Don’t you need to go home and get your stuff?” Doc asked.
“No, she sold the household stuff and put my things in a storage unit, stashed the key and papers in our rental mail box. Thing is, that’s deep in the downtown area, and right now I think that’s not where we need to be.”
“What about you guys?” Marv asked. “Bear’s heading home, I’m under orders, but what about families and homes?”
“Addison is a nomad, and already has his belongings,” Captain Jack smiled. “Like you, my home is in the service. Doc?”
“In a storage unit in Jacksonville,” the medic shrugged. “Nothing important for the short term and that area’s going to be pretty hot for the next week or so.”
“OK,” Marv leaned forward. “Addison, let’s turn north on I-75. Getting inland will make things easier, I bet.”
“There’s the sign: fifteen miles,” Captain Jack pointed out.
“JD, Belize went under quarantine five hours ago,” Doc reported. “Your kids should be fine.”
“That’s something,” the promoter mumbled, staring out the window.
By the time they reached the exit for I-75 they were travelling fifteen miles per hour, and the shoulders were lined with abandoned and often looted vehicles. They rode with the windows down and weapons resting against the stills, mainly as a message for the groups of armed men loitering on the shoulders of the road.
“Things are getting rough,” Marv eyed a handful of young men sagging and ragging in best street punk style next to the bright yellow crash barrels at the entrance to the off-ramp. “Those maggots are hyenas watching the herd. If we had more ammo and time I would love to sort them out.”
“Control is failing,” JD agreed. “It must be hell in places where guns are less common. Down here you take your life in your own hands jacking with strangers.”
On I-75, traffic was rolling in both directions, and the speed swiftly picked up to nearly sixty miles an hour. The shoulders of the roads were largely free of abandoned cars, and while the stores they passed were closed the scene appeared to be much more normal.
Then Addison cursed and twisted the wheel, side-swiping a Prius into the ditch as he swerved to avoid an expensive-looking RV that careened across two lanes and plowed into a pickup truck. In an instant all four lanes of north-bound traffic were transformed from an orderly procession to a scene of chaos. A semi with a Wal Mart box trailer had screamed to a tire-burning stop a quarter mile ahead, nearly jack-knifing as it came to rest across all northbound lanes. Two compact sedans and a Smart Car smashed into the trailer’s undercarriage while a green all-wheel-drive station wagon rolled trying to get around the barrier by way of the ditch.
The Land Rover got over onto shoulder, heading for the ditch, when an Air Stream trailer broke free of the SUV towing it and rolled, slinging its exterior contents across the roadway. A bright red d
irt bike bounded off the asphalt and slammed into the Land Rover’s grill with an impact that killed the vehicle’s forward momentum.
For an eternal half-minute crashes and collisions rocked the northbound lanes as vehicles slid and yawed to a halt or an impact.
The five men sat in stunned silence as steam boiled out from beneath the hood, staring at the quarter-acre of destruction that had appeared with the suddenness of a whirlwind.
“Shit!” Marv said with heart-felt emotion. “Good driving, Addison, you saved our bacon. OK, secure weapons and medical gear, and start gathering packs. Where’s Bear?”
“Right here,” the biker walked past the Ranger’s window and examined the Land Rover’s grill. “Yep. It’s done for-the radiator is gone, the fan is wrecked…probably more, but that’s just overkill.”
Marv grabbed an ALICE pack the trio had brought with them and started stuffing the trash bags containing their food supply into its maw. “Bear, keep watch. How’s your bike?”
“Lost some chrome. What a mess.”
“Anyone hurt?” Doc paused in slinging various bags around his shoulders to stand on tiptoes and peer around.
“Everyone stick close,” Marv said. “First we secure our gear, then we see about helping others.”
“That’s weird,” Bear stepped up on the Land Rover’s bumper to get a better view. “The guys in the Wal Mart truck are opening up the box trailer.”
“Perhaps they have something useful there,” Captain Jack suggested, shrugging into his pack.
“Something ain’t right…oh, shit.” Bear jumped back down.
Heaving the pack onto his shoulders, Marv grabbed his baseball bat and stepped out from the rear of the Land Rover as Bear lunged past him.
Pouring out of the rear of the semi’s box trailer was a veritable river of infected.
Chapter Two
Heaving himself up onto the hood of the Land Rover, the thin metal buckling under his weight, Marv took in his surroundings: to the west southbound traffic was starting to react to the sight of the pile-up and the horde of zombies, and collisions were occurring: no route there. To the east was a ditch, a stub of a frontage road, a hundred feet of cleared ground, and swampy stands of trees. Due north, besides the vehicles and a horde of infected, was about a hundred yards of Interstate, and then a bridge crossing a muddy river.