by RW Krpoun
“Yeah, here. Here’s the specs on the rifle, and Dyson will advise you on the bow. I’m going to head back and study the situation. Get your people working on the bus, and we’ll go as soon as everything is ready.”
“What did you trade Dyson for?” JD asked as Marv climbed into the RV.
“He’s going to pick out his bow.” Marv sat down in the booth and opened the binder. “We’re gonna invade Sharpsburg and rescue fifty-one old people. Get your hero on, boys, this is going to be a tough one.”
“Tougher than Chatham?” Chip asked. Marv noticed that Sylvia was seated with the husky Gnome on the settee.
“About the same, but the zeds won’t have air support.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway. How are we moving fifty-one people?”
“We don’t. The locals have a bus all zombie-proofed and ready for the job-our role is to connect people and transport.”
“Well, hell, I didn’t have any plans except finding some way to get killed today,” Bear drawled. “Looks like you saved me the trouble.”
“That’s the spirit,” Marv agreed without looking up. “Anyone want to opt out of this operation?”
No one spoke up.
“Good. Addison, we may need explosives. The rest of you guys look at these pictures and tell me how we close off those doors for zombies getting in or out.”
Chip ran a cleaning rod down the bore of his already-clean carbine while Marv, JD, and Bear sorted out the details of the attack. The last zombie fight had damn near got them all killed-he already had had one nightmare about trying to get out of that gravel truck’s cab, and he doubted that his subconscious would let him get away with just one. Bad dreams would probably have to wait in line for a shot at him before all this was over.
But Sophia was looking at him like he was Chuck Norris, and she was a really nice girl who just happened to have the hottest bod of any girl who had ever spoken to him in a voluntary social circumstance. If he bailed she would not understand-or rather, she would most certainly understand all too well. In his heart of hearts Chip knew he could live with the knowledge that he was a coward, but what he couldn’t handle was the idea that Sophia, who right now had the mistaken impression he was brave, to think otherwise about him.
And that was exactly what was going to get him killed. He would deeply resent her if she wasn’t so damned pretty.
Dyson climbed into the RV with an odd-looking metal case slung across his back and struggling to carry a rigid black rifle case, a bulging cloth sack, and two cloth shopping bags.
“What the hell did you get?” Marv asked.
“No thanks, I don’t need a hand,” the Georgian struggled into the main area. “Here’s your rifle,” he leaned the black case against the dash. “Lady goods,” he set the shopping bags by Sophia. “And this,” he hefted the cloth sack. “Is a bunch of military surplus and aftermarket tactical gear they threw in for free.”
“What the steel thing on your back?” Chip asked.
“A carrying case for my bow, arrows, and other related supplies,” he lifted it off his back and leaned it in a handy corner. “They weren’t kidding about moving the entire store into there.”
“Are you going to be a Robin Hood out there?” Bear asked.
“Not today, but I bet the bow will be useful for taking zeds out quietly,” Dyson shrugged. “A useful option, anyway.”
“Valid,” the biker nodded.
It took longer than a half hour, but they sorted out a plan. “OK, first thing, make sure you bring every magazine and that they’re all topped off, and it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra box of rounds on hand, too. One bottle of water, and make sure you have a flashlight. Chip has the EMT gear in a back pack, Addison has entry gear, Brick has the hammers, I have the keys. Are we forgetting anything?”
“Deep and devoted prayer,” JD pointed out.
“I’ve got that covered, but I wouldn’t mind anyone else chipping in,” Marv grinned. “Hopefully bad men rescuing good people will count for something. And keep in mind, guys, that that’s exactly what we are doing: we’re going to rescue people. We’re their only hope. They’re on their knees right now praying for rescue, and the Lord isn’t sending them angels, He is sending us.”
The RV was silent for a moment, and then Bricked crossed himself. “Very strong words.”
“Yeah,” Bear nodded soberly. “I could use some expunging in the eternal courts as well. Let’s go get right with the Lord.”
Chip checked his load. A tactical vest would just emphasize his weight, so he found a set of three pouches that strapped to his left thigh, with a strap running to his pants belt to support the weight. He stowed his carbine magazines there, while a thigh holster held his Glock and its spare magazines. He dropped a handful of shotgun shells for his cut-down in the lower left pocket of his tiger-stripe uniform shirt, and balanced it with a bottle of water in the right.
Beside him Brick adjusted an OD green harness that held his AK magazines across his upper chest. “You be OK, Chip,” the Pole advised him. “This is piece of cake.”
The husky Gnome checked the strength of the flashlight he had gotten from Doc’s gear, and tucked it into a pocket on the outside of the EMT pack, along with two spare sets of batteries. “Easy for you to say,” he shrugged as he clipped his hammer and shield to the back pack. “You’re a badass. Polish Army and a contractor in Afghanistan. I’m just a gamer.”
“You are a good man,” Brick slapped him on the shoulder. “I know. I say myself, Brick, this one be good in hard place. And I am right.”
“Thanks, man.” Chip tried to believe him.
Marv finished explaining the codes and call signs to be used on the CB. The Gnomes were parked at a defunct gas station two miles outside Sharpsburg, the RV and the pickup parked under the roof that protected the station’s pumps. The bread truck that would carry the Gnomes into battle was parked on the road.
“OK, if things go to hell, everyone knows where the rally points are. Girls, you stay out of sight and do not trust anyone-I think Sid is being straight with us, but I’ve been wrong before, and in any case FASA is looking for us.”
“We’ll stay sharp,” Bambi assured him. Both girls had test-fired the pump shotguns JD had issued them, and after their experiences with the gang-bangers Marv had little doubt they would not be taken captive easily.
“Its not a great plan,” Marv admitted, turning to face the Gnomes. “But it’s what we have to work with. We pull this off, we’ll have accomplished something. Anyone have any suggestions, ideas, or comments?”
“Guys, its been real,” Dyson. “I’ve enjoyed meeting all of you, even Bear.”
The biker shook his head. “Everyone’s a freakin’ comedian.”
They went to war in a bread truck which Sid’s people had made zed-proof with chain link over the windows. A ladder was bolted into place in the center of the cargo area, and led to a roof hatch. Chip drove, electricity still running up and down his spine from the way Sylvia had kissed him goodbye. Behind him Dyson had found a small, grimy blue boom box and had fired up Kenny Loggins singing ‘Danger Zone’, which seemed appropriate.
He ran over a zombie as they neared the downtown area, swerving slightly to nail the creature as it stepped out from between two vehicles to find the source of the engine noise. He didn’t like doing it, but he was in this, in it deep, and he figured that he had better get his war face on. He wondered where Gunny Emory was, and wished he was here. They could use a few more heroes where they were going, because the rest of the Gnomes were definitely one short.
His mother was really serious about it this time-she was really pulling out all the stops. Up to now Addison had survived through her need to avoid any suspicion, and her failure to secure trustworthy minions to carry out her insane plan. This time, though, she had her act together. This time she might succeed.
He flexed his hands in the hopes of steadying them. After years of living below the grid he was out in the op
en and fighting.
Seven against hundreds-he liked the other Gnomes, but he wished he wasn’t the only sane person in the group.
JD extended the stock on his MP-5 and took a deep breath. Leaning forward, he looked down the length of the truck and through the chain link covering the windshield to see the pale bulk of the rest home rising out of the downtown district-looked like just a couple blocks to go.
He wondered how it had come to this-five days ago he had gotten into his Caddy, a successful wrestling promoter with a wife and children. Now the Caddy was wrecked and abandoned in central Florida, his wife and kids were in Belize, and he was in Oklahoma riding in a truck that smelled like doughnuts, holding a submachine gun and going to do battle with zombies. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to weep or laugh hysterically.
The music switched to ‘Short Change Hero’; Marv stood with one armed hooked through the ladder, watching Chip swing the truck around a two-car pileup and straighten out on the last three blocks to the pale brick rest home. Two blocks and counting, and his chest felt the way it did when the choppers swung down into the final approach on a hot LZ. He wondered why he had extended, he wondered if Deb had cheated on him, he wondered why he had survived the firefights, he wondered why the hell he was still doing John Wayne bullshit.
He shook his head-he knew the answer to that last one for certain: pride. Pride kept you in formation when a smart man would have fallen out, pride kept you carrying your load and helping your buddies when all you wanted to do was drop. In the end, pride was the only thing you really had.
He slapped the ladder to get their attention. “Final approach, boys. Time to show ‘em how its done.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Sharpsburg Assisted Living Center was a five story building of local pale brick surrounded on two sides (west, south) by parking areas, on the east by a shallow circular drive, and on the north by a fifty-foot expanse of lawn. The building was essentially secure except for the main doors and glass fronting on the east side, whose safety glass had been shattered by gunfire in the failed rescue attempt, and the old-style steel fire escape, whose ground-level stairs had been dropped during the same operation. A few inert bodies could be seen in the lobby, along with a number of zombies, and more zombies wandered or idled amongst the abandoned vehicles and storefronts of the main street.
“Six to Rolling Iron, we’re set,” Marv said into his handheld CB.
“On my way.” Moments later a CAT 450F bucket loader with expanded metal mesh screens protecting the driver’s area rumbled out of a side street and approached the Living Center’s east entry. Aligning itself with several jerky but short-distance maneuvers, it lowered its bucket until the heavy steel was striking sparks off the sidewalk and rolled forward, pushing benches and concrete planters before it and snapping off the ‘No parking’ signs.
“They’re avoiding it,” Dyson leaned over the dash, pointing. “The zeds are avoiding the front-loader.”
“Yeah,” Bear nodded slowly. “They must figure they can’t affect it.”
“They tried for the gravel truck,” Chip shook his head. “They couldn’t affect it.”
“But they really only swarmed it when we slowed down,” the biker pointed out. “They could climb the hood, probably the entire vehicle if we weren’t there. I think they’re smarter than we’ve been giving them credit.”
“Animal cunning,” Marv nodded.
“How’s that?” the CB asked.
“Great job, Rolling Iron. We’re good.”
“Go with God, boys.” The front loader raised its bucket in a jerky salute and rumbled off down a side street.
“Showtime, guys,” Marv clipped the CB to his MOLLE vest and climbed the ladder.
The bread truck started rolling forward again as the Ranger emerged onto the roof, followed by Dyson and Addison. He balanced easily on the balls of his feet as Chip jumped the curb and swung around onto the grass adjacent to the first floor fire escape.
Addison twisted the igniter on a bomb and pitched it at the zombies approaching from the north as Marv opened fire and Dyson swung himself over the rusting iron railing and onto the fire escape.
While the other two covered him the Georgian grabbed the greasy counterweight control cable and threw all his weight downward. Its dry hinges screeching like a banshee the last section of stairs slowly lurched upward, gradually scissoring back into their retracted position.
The creaky upwards process of the stairs reminded Addison of the old stop-action special effects on Saturday morning movies. He pegged another bomb into the growing ranks of the zombies converging on the truck, and then clambered onto the fire escape landing to lend his weight to Dyson’s.
When the stairs finally clanked into place Marv stomped three times on the roof and swung onto the fire escape as Dyson wrapped a chain through the rungs of the retracted stairs and the flooring bars and padlocked it in place.
Sweating, eyes glued to the rear view mirror, Chip tried to ignore the hands pawing at the truck as he pulled forward, then reversed and cut the wheel hard. He hadn’t wrestled moving trucks through the tangled streets of Houston and other sprawls for nothing: he backed the bread truck parallel to the east side of the rest home with less than six inches between the vehicle’s side and the pale brick, breaking off the rear view mirror as he rolled back. When Bear, standing on the ladder with his shoulders out the hatch, thumped the roof he braked sharply, setting the hand brake and cutting the wheels as Brick and JD unbolted the chains that ran through narrow slits cut in the truck’s side, letting the long steel plate they supported slide down to the ground between the truck and the building.
“That’s it: the front is sealed off,” Bear yelled, and climbed up onto the roof of the truck. Brick followed and helped him unstrap and extend the ladder they had stored on the roof of the truck. JD climbed up and accepted the gear Chip passed up from inside the truck while the two got the ladder into place.
“Man, they are rocking the truck,” Chip said as he climbed up through the hatch.
“Yeah, it’s a free concert out here,” the promoter gestured at the mob of infected that surrounded the truck on all three sides. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”
While Chip and Brick braced the ladder Bear donned safety glasses and scrambled up the rungs to the second floor window they had chosen. The elderly woman watching them waved and scurried away as the biker pulled a five-pound hammer from the back of his belt and carefully struck the window at its center. Rapping it in each corner as the cracks spread, he finally belted it sharply about two-thirds of the way from the top, producing a cascade of shattered glass which bounced and clattered off the sheet of cardboard JD was holding over Brick and Chip’s heads.
Raking the remaining shards from the frame, Bear yelled “Clear” and tossed the hammer into the apartment before climbing in, followed closely by Brick.
“I’ve got it,” JD braced the ladder, and Chip climbed steadily up to the window, trying to ignore the way the ladder swayed from the zombies pushing on the truck below.
Inside the darkened apartment he helped hold onto the ladder as JD climbed, and then he and Brick hauled it up through the window.
“You boys are sure a welcome sight,” the lady said admiringly, jumping as gunfire erupted in the hallway outside. “My lands! I am Mrs. Abernathy, but please call me Betty.”
“I’m Chip, that’s Brick, JD, and Bear,” Chip tried to sound pleasant. “Are you ready to leave, Betty?”
“I am,” she indicated two small bags packed and ready.
“OK, this is the spot, and the power’s cut,” Bear shouldered the sledgehammer, took a deep breath and swung it hard against the wall, punching through the sheetrock and insulation. Across the living room Brick started on the opposite wall.
“Why don’t you come over into the kitchen with me,” Chip suggested. “This is going to create a mess.”
“It was a very nice apartment,” Betty observed sadly.
“I
t is,” Chip agreed. “And sheet rock damage is easily repaired.”
“They’re not playing our game,” Marv told JD over the CB. The Ranger and his team were on the fire escape at the second floor, Addison watching up the stairs while Dyson and Marv covered the hallway. “We’ve gotten a couple, but the rest have taken cover. The recessed doorways and the little side-corridors wipe out our fields of fire. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”
“Don’t we always? We’re working on it.”
“Why don’t you two move up to the third floor? I can cover this hallway,” Marv sighed.
“These are older zombies,” Dyson gestured towards the three they had shot in the hallway. “Probably part of the truckload sent in to get the dance started. The older they are, the quicker and more cunning they seem to be.”
“Unfortunately true.”
Working methodically, the Gnomes opened up passages to each of the apartments on the east side of the second floor and gathered the occupants into the north-most apartment.
“OK, when we open the door, proceed into the hallway, turn right, go to the fire escape, turn right, and go down one flight. There will be a stepladder leading to the roof of the bus, and people to help you.. Undoubtedly there will be shooting, but just keep moving-we’ll keep you safe,” Chip tried to sound as upbeat as the airline stewardess’ did when explaining how to bail out of the planer in time of disaster.
“Hell, sarge, just gimme a weapon and I’ll help you!” offered Walter, a peppery eighty-year-old wearing a VFW cap with Korean War insignia.
“Thanks, Walter, but we need you to get to the school ASAP. They need every hand to help man the perimeter.
“Just so long as I get a chance to get an oar in the water,” Walter grinned. “Perimeter’s more my speed these days. I ain’t as mobile as I used to be.”