Zombie D.O.A. Series Five: The Complete Series Five

by JJ Zep

  “I’m still breathing boss, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Can you see what’s going on out there?”

  Wackjob peered into the gap between the shacks. “Looks like that dipshit Goliath and his crew just got back. Brought back another vehicle. Black looks like, a Caddy maybe. I don’t know shit about cars.”

  A cheer went up from beyond the shacks drawing Charlie’s attention. The Eaters were heading back to the fireside, Goliath in the lead. Behind him came two of his crew leading a couple of men on rope tethers – General Harrow and Colonel Randy Grunewald.

  fifteen

  Jojo limped to the top of the stairs, moving as fast as his gimp leg would allow. He pushed through the doors and rounded the HQ building just as the instruction was given for the evacuees to mount up. The civilians rushed forward and started hauling themselves and their meager possessions aboard the waiting transports. Jojo found his path blocked, but he pushed through the melee, then cut between two trucks. It was quieter on this side. He looked left and right, spotted Buckland halfway up, supervising the loading of supplies. Jojo ran towards him, limping hardly at all now.

  “Captain Buckland!”

  Buckland looked up from the clipboard he was studying and passed it to the sergeant standing next to him. He took a couple of steps towards Jojo and stopped, frowning. “What’s up, Joe? You look –”

  “Listen!” Jojo said, cutting him off. His lungs had still not recovered from the toxic smoke they’d sucked in at the prison. The short sprint had left him wheezing. “You’ve got to get these people out of here.”

  “Exactly what we’re doing. We roll as soon as we have these –”

  “Now!” Jojo cut in. “We’ve got Z’s coming up the road, a mile out.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Radio,” Jojo said. “I got through. The defense line is broken. The Z’s are coming.” He dropped his hands onto his knees, and hawked up a mouth full of bloody phlegm, spat it into the grass.

  “Jesus, Joe. You okay?”

  “I’m good,” Jojo said, wiping his hand across his mouth and straightening up. He didn’t feel good, his throat felt as though he’d just swallowed a handful of thumbtacks. “Now can we get this done?”

  Buckland hesitated only a moment longer. “Right,” he said with finality. He walked to the back of the truck, exchanged a few words with one of his sergeants and sent the man scurrying. In the next moments the loading of supplies had been abandoned and there were shouts from the NCOs exhorting the civilians to “get their asses on board.” Then the thrum of heavy diesel engines filled the air.

  “You’ll be riding shotgun in the second vehicle,” Buckland shouted over the cacophony.

  Jojo shook his head. “I’m not going.”

  “What?”

  “I said, I’m not going. I’m heading down to El Centro to look for Charlie.”

  “Jesus, Jojo that’s crazy, mate. You’ll be heading straight into them. It’s suicide.”

  “Exactly why I need to ask for one of your Humvees,” Jojo shouted over the roar of the trucks.

  Buckland looked back at him, his expression desperate, mouth working at a reply that wasn’t forming.

  “We ain’t got time to argue this, Col. I’m going, even if I have to walk it. Now, do I get the Humvee or not?”

  “Of course, of course you do. But Jojo, think about this. Think about what you’re doing.”

  “I have thought about it. He’s my brother, Col. If it were me out there he’d do the same.”

  A look of resignation crossed Buckland’s face. He gave a sad nod, extended his hand. Jojo took it and Buckland drew him into an embrace.

  “You take care of these people, Col. Get them to safety.”

  “You take care of yourself. Get back safe to that girl of yours.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Sir?”

  Jojo broke away from Buckland and turned to face two soldiers, both wearing the tan Ranger beret. One wore sergeant’s stripes. The other was a corporal.

  It was the sergeant who spoke. “Begging your pardon Major Collins, but we couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. We’d like to go along on your mission, sir.”

  “Denied,” Jojo said immediately. “You go with Captain Buckland to Oceanside.”

  “I don’t think you understand, sir. We’re Mons and Kingston. We served under Lieutenant Collins, under your brother, in Dog Company.”

  “Great,” Jojo said. “That means you’ll be…” He looked at Kingston, something about the man was maddeningly familiar. “I know you.”

  “Sir?”

  “You were the soldier that delivered the note to Litherland, the message from Harrow.”

  Kingston gave him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, that was me,” he said. “Except the message wasn’t from Harrow. Sergeant Mons here convinced Harrow’s P.A., Leanne, to type it up. That girl’s a whizz when it comes to forging Harrow’s signature and she’s an old… ahem…friend of Charlie, so she was happy to help.”

  “What did the note say?” Jojo asked, grinning despite his attempt to keep a straight face.

  “Basically that Harrow wanted to hold off on the execution, to make a public show of it once the shack people were dealt with. Also that Litherland should report immediately to repel the Z’s that had broken through on the southeastern flank.”

  sixteen

  It was quite obvious that Goliath was the leader of the group. Even the old-timers deferred to him. Now, as he paced up and down by the fireside, rubbing his chin as though struggling with the world’s greatest conundrum, his people sat in silence, waiting on his answer.

  “Seems to me,” he said eventually, “that we find ourselves with a glut, a surfeit, an abundance. There have been times, as all of you know, when we’ve been reduced to feeding on rodent and carrion, times when our babe’s have gone hungry, time’s even when we’ve had to take sustenance from among our own. Now… abundance. Four fatted calves, ripe for slaughter.”

  “Don’t do this,” Harrow pleaded for the umpteenth time. “Jesus Christ, don’t do this. Do you know who I am? I’m General Harrow. I’m the chairman of the Pendragon Corporation. I don’t report in and they’ll send soldiers looking for me. You want that? You want a division of Corporation troopers rolling into your town with Humvees and Strykers? Let me go now and I guarantee your safety, yours and that of your people. What do you say?”

  Goliath ignored Harrow’s outburst, shifted his gaze to where Harrow and Grunewald knelt on the ground. “I don’t see no rescue party, General. What I see is a lot of hungry people. Where was your Pendragon Corporation when my people needed feeding?”

  The Eaters grunted their assent, pounded the palms of their hands against the ground.

  “Is that what you need?” Harrow said. “You need food? I can get you all the food you need. Medicines too, fuel, ammo, anything you want. Just name it.”

  Goliath chuckled. “You’ve got nothing we need, General, nothing to trade for your life. Perhaps it would be better if you quit whining and show some dignity in front of your men.”

  “My men?” Harrow spat. “These are not my men. These are deserters. If you’re of a mind to eat them, hell enjoy, be my guest. They deserve whatever’s coming to them.”

  “How about the fat boy?” Goliath said, nodding at Grunewald. “Lot of meat on that carcass. Pity to waste it.”

  Harrow looked across at Grunewald, cowering in the dirt with his head down, his body quivering with suppressed sobs. An expression of barely disguised disdain crossed his face.

  “Colonel Grunewald is a soldier,” he said. “Like all soldiers, his life is disposable in pursuit of the greater good.”

  “And I assume that, in this case, the greater good means you walk free?”

  “There will be no repercussions arising from the death of Colonel Grunewald or these others. Now, do we have a deal?”

  “You son of a bitch, Harrow.” The words emanated from Grunewald li
ke a growl. Slowly he lifted his head, his pudgy face drawn taught, lips pulled back in a rage-filled snarl. “You goddamn son of a bitch.”

  “Mind you words, Randy,” Harrow reprimanded him. “Don’t say anything you can’t take back later.” He’d barely got the words out when Grunewald charged him.

  Randy Grunewald was a big man, six-two and bulky, but he moved with surprising speed. The sudden lunge caught his guard by surprise. The rope was wrenched from his grip, and he went staggering back, his foot coming down among the pans of giblets roasting at the edge of the fire. The pans went skittering across the embers, spewing boiling fat. Several of the Eaters were spattered by the white-hot substance. Flame spewed from the embers of the fire pit and sprung to those sitting closest. A woman’s dreadlocks caught fire and the blaze jumped from her to the woman closest and ignited her dress. Soon a trio of human torches was dancing at the fire’s edge, spreading the flame to others and to the shacks nearby. Grunewald, meanwhile, had a chokehold on Harrow as the two rolled in the dirt unattended by Goliath’s men who were now running for the lake with buckets. In the next moment an explosion rocked the camp, as one of the shacks, probably an ammo store, was torn apart.

  Charlie felt the ground tilt under him. The post he was tethered to, leaned forward. The air was suddenly filled with burning shrapnel. Hot debris pocked Charlie’s skin, but the Eaters standing between him and the explosion took the bulk of the blast.

  The camp was in chaos, several of the buildings ablaze, the dead, dying and injured littering the ground. Charlie pulled at the post and felt some give. He rocked forward, then back, and felt it loosen some more.

  He looked across at Wackjob, who was slumped against his bonds, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Wackjob!” he shouted. “Riley!” Wackjob didn’t respond. Thick blood dripped from his forehead and pooled in the dust.

  Charlie rocked against the post again, straining hard, the garrote biting at his throat. It was no use. The post had given up all it was going to give. He scanned desperately for another way out, spotted Grunewald lying flat on his back, his massive gut rising and falling in rapid breaths. Beside him, Harrow lay in the dirt, dead eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

  The first of Goliath’s men came running into the clearing and flung his bucket of water at the burning shacks to minimal effect.

  “Colonel Grunewald!” Charlie hissed, keeping his voice low. Grunewald made no response.

  “Grunewald!” Charlie tried again. This time, Grunewald did look up. He appeared dazed.

  “Colonel!” Charlie whispered. “We’ve got to get out of here.” A hiss of steam drew Charlie’s attention back to the other side of the fire, where the men had formed a chain and were passing buckets between them. He caught something else. A shack in the middle of the row, stood somewhat lopsided, its door blown askew by the force of the blast. Now a diminutive figure appeared in the doorway, her blonde hair in disarray. Charlie wanted to call out to Skye, to tell her to stay put, that he would come for her. But he didn’t dare. If he was going to get out of here he couldn’t afford to draw the attention of Goliath’s men.

  seventeen

  Wackjob was out, Skye wandering dazed through the camp. Much as Charlie hated to admit it, Grunewald was his only chance. The colonel was sitting up, staring around as though uncertain of his surroundings. Blood glistened in his graying, crew cut hair.

  “Colonel Grunewald!” Charlie called out.

  Grunewald turned towards him with all the animation of a wind up toy. Charlie could see tears staining his pudgy cheeks.

  “Colonel, we’ve got to get out of here. You’ve got to cut me loose.”

  “I killed him, Collins.”

  “No time for that now, Colonel. You’ve got to cut me loose.” He nodded to the array of knives lying in the dirt next to the overturned butcher’s block.

  “He was a good man.”

  “The best,” Charlie said. “But that’s not important now. What’s important is that you have to cut me loose.”

  “You never liked him,” Grunewald said. His voice had acquired an angry note. “You betrayed him, turned on him when he needed you.”

  “Listen Colonel, we don’t have time for this. You’ve got to –”

  “I don’t got to do shit. I don’t got to do shit for you.”

  Grunewald pulled himself into a kneeling position then tottered to his feet, staggered towards the discarded cutlery and picked up a meat cleaver.

  “All of this is your fault,” he said, turning towards Charlie. A slew of bloody drool trickled from his mouth. He staggered forward.

  ***

  The ringing in Skye’s ears blocked out all other sound. The camp, this horrendous place where they’d brought her, was in flame. Broken bodies lie scattered on the ground, some writhing and screaming, others in the rigor of sudden death. The place smelled of blood and seared flesh and cordite. It was as close to a vision of hell as she could imagine.

  But despite the weakness in her limbs, the wringing in her ears, the inability of her brain to take full stock of the situation, she knew one thing. It wasn’t a thought exactly, but an instinct, an instinct that astounded her. Ever since the nurse had told her that Danny had died, she’d wanted to die too, to join him. She was surprised to realize that despite all that had happened, despite everyone she’d lost, she still wanted to live.

  She scanned the camp for a way out. The square was surrounded by shacks on all four sides, one side now blazing furiously. But there were gaps between them. She chose one of those gaps and staggered through it, found cover in the long grass. She looked back towards the burning camp, certain that someone must have seen her, that pursuers were closing in. No one was following. The camp people were more concerned with getting the fire under control. If she was going to escape, now was the time to do it.

  Which way, though? The screams, the flames, the darkness, all served to disorient her. She looked desperately back towards the village and that was when she spotted the two men, the men who’d saved her life in El Centro.

  They were tied to a couple of posts, the one named Wackjob slumped forward, maybe dead. The other one, Charlie, was facing off against a large man in a military uniform. That man held a meat cleaver.

  Skye saw something else. One of the camp people was jogging across the camp towards Charlie and the other man. He was carrying a spear.

  ***

  “Colonel, you may want to think about what you’re doing here.”

  “Think Collins? But I’ve never been much of a thinker. Oh, you think I didn’t notice? The way you looked at me at the briefing the other day, the way you’re always looking at me. You think I’m stupid, don’t you, Collins? You think I’m some Neanderthal who only got this bird on my lapel by tonguing Bob Harrow’s asshole. That’s what you think, isn’t it, Collins?”

  For a moment, Charlie had no idea what Grunewald was talking about. Then it hit him. Grunewald thought that Charlie was Jojo. The man had lost it big time. He swaggered in, cleaver clasped firmly in his meaty fist, the insane smirk on his face accentuated by the firelight.

  A flash of movement behind Grunewald caught Charlie’s eye. “Colonel, look out!” he called, as the Rooster boy charged forward clutching his bamboo spear.

  “Nice try,” Grunewald sneered in the moment just before the spear skewered his lower back.

  Grunewald ejected a grunt of pain and went rigid, losing his grip on the cleaver. His hand went to the site of his wound just as the Rooster boy withdrew the spear. Grunewald swung round to face his tormentor.

  “Why, you little shit!”

  Rooster boy thrust again, this time driving the spear into Grunewald’s belly.

  In the next moment, Charlie felt someone pulling at his bonds, then hacking at them. The knife sliced through the meat of his palm but he barely noticed. His hands were free. Now the garrote fell away from his throat. He swung round to face his benefactor.

  Skye! He could have kissed her right
there.

  Barely able to believe that he was free, Charlie took the knife from Skye and ran towards Wackjob. A quick finger to the pulse at Wackjob’s throat told Charlie that his friend was still alive. A slash of the blade and Wackjob’s hands were free.

  Charlie began sawing through the garrote. The Rooster boy was still holding Grunewald at bay, the spear now pushed right through Grunewald’s body, protruding from his back. Yet, Grunewald was still standing, amazingly pushing himself along the shaft of the spear as he tried to get at the boy.

  The rope around Wackjob’s neck fell away, and Charlie ducked his head to hoist Wackjob as he slumped forward.

  “This way,” he told Skye as he turned from the camp and headed for the fairway. In his side view he saw Grunewald begin convulsing, dancing like a junkie on juju juice.

  The old man’s words from earlier came back to him. Them spears is tipped with puffer fish venom. Seen a man go that way once. I wouldn’t recommend it.

  Charlie hit the cover of the trees, looked behind him to make sure that Skye was following and then went left, circling the camp. From behind came the sound of the Rooster boy yelling. “They’re getting away! Dad, come quick! They’re getting away!”

  eighteen

  Despite Jojo’s initial bravado, he was glad to have Mons and Kingston along. This mission, he realized, was insane. Buckland had been right when he’d called it suicidal. But suicide or not, there was no doubt in Jojo’s mind that he was doing the right thing. If Charlie was out there, he was going to find him. And having two of Charlie’s Dog Company boys along wasn’t going to hurt. These guys were the real deal. Their exploits were legend in the unit.

  They were just a mile out from Center when they hit their first Z’s, a thick cluster of the things staggering up the road like the survivors of a nuclear event. Mons, working the fifty, opened up, cutting a swathe through their ranks. Kingston, at the wheel, took the opportunity to sideswipe a few that escaped the deadly attention of the gun.