The black kid was there, his pistol in his hand and the door of the van open. He looked like he wanted to help, but there was no help. Gunny saw that now. Saw it on the kid’s face. Heard it in the screams of Tiny, and the thousands of undead rushing toward the feast. They were already four and five deep, surrounding the wrecker, with more on the way. Rocking it, pushing toward the warm blood. He couldn’t help Tiny. He couldn’t jump down and run. He couldn’t drive away. He couldn’t keep them out of the truck with only fifteen bullets. He waved to the young man. An acknowledgment of his willingness to help. A thank you. A “you better save yourself” goodbye salute.
He turned back to Tiny. He was still on his feet, but no longer fighting, too many of the undead had his arms, were taking great chunks of warm meat out of them. The only reason he didn’t fall was the press of the bodies against him, battering and pulling him this way and that. Gunny put a bullet into the top of his head, then ducked back into the cab.
He had fourteen more rounds.
Thirteen dead made permanently dead, and then one for himself.
Easy math.
He was calm now.
Panic mode had subsided.
Fearless.
He knew the future.
Knew how it would end.
Knew he had a minute, maybe two.
He wished things had turned out a little different, but they were what they were. He grieved for Tiny, but knew he did the right thing. Knew Tiny would have wanted him to. This wasn’t the first time he had danced with Lady Death. Not the first time he had looked her square in the face and smiled, fully expecting to be in her cold embrace within the next few heartbeats.
He slipped back into the tiny little sleeper and waited for them to make their way through the windshield. As soon as they were finished with Tiny, they would be coming for him. They were still screaming and keening in a high frenzy, like a school of piranhas, and he knew he couldn’t hear the sounds of flesh being ripped and chewed.
He knew it was only his imagination that heard the crack of bones being broken and warm marrow sucked out. He couldn’t hear those things. Only in his mind. He thought about closing the privacy curtain, maybe they would forget about him if they couldn’t see him, but he didn’t want to be taken by surprise.
He would just sit here on this bunk and wait for them. Wait for that uncaring, cold embrace of the Lady he had danced with in the past. There was only one easy way in, through the broken windshield, and he wanted thirteen head shots. A flimsy vinyl curtain wouldn’t stop them anyway, not even for a second. They’d be here, any minute. They’d finish their grisly meal and then start tearing the truck apart to get to him.
Or would they?
At the truck stop, they just milled around aimlessly, like they had forgotten why they were there, that there were people inside. Like they had pretty short attention spans and if they didn’t see or hear a meal...
Suddenly Gunny felt fear. His heart started racing again. He wasn’t calm and cool any longer. He thought he just might cheat the Old Girl one more time. He quietly slid off the bunk and reached under it to grab the latch. He lifted the bed and hoped the storage area under it wasn’t completely full of heavy chains and bulky tie downs, but it was nearly empty. Tommy only kept the safety triangles, a stash of rags, and some cleaning supplies in it.
“Thank God for guys who like to spend time polishing chrome,” he thought as he silently slipped into the little alcove, not much bigger than a coffin. As he pulled the hinged bed back down on top of him, he could hear them scrabbling up the hood and clumsily making their way into the cab.
Chapter Fifteen
Long Dawg knew now. Knew there wasn’t going to be any investigation by any government officials of the North Reno Truck Stop Mayhem. Wasn’t going to be any reporters. Wasn’t going to be anything. He had seen the mob of the undead and knew this van wouldn’t plow through them, so he had exited the highway.
It would be like driving into the ocean. You would be surrounded, stopped, and covered. There were thousands of them. Thousands upon thousands. How had a whole city turned into zombies in only a matter of hours? It boggled his mind. Chemical spraying from the air?
No. Couldn’t have been. The medics at the truck stop were pretty sure it wasn’t some airborne virus, and that made sense because no one there had caught it, except the ones that were bit.
He wracked his brain on the way back to the truck stop, trying to think of what it could be, what caused it, what to do next. Where to go next. Home was out of the question. Hell, if this little wide spot on the road was completely infected and overrun by those things, LA was worse. If that was possible. Those maps must have been accurate, all those cities…. All those countries were lost.
He drove slow, feeling bad about the truckers he couldn’t help back there. That Gunny guy had probably saved his life when all this started. He’d been living the gangster lifestyle for a few years now, but he hadn’t forgotten the creed that had been ingrained in him during his stint in the Army. It was deeper and stronger than the so-called street creed.
Nigga’s in the hood would rat you out just so they wouldn’t have to do a few months in County. All the Rangers he’d tagged along with in South America would take a bullet for you. They would never leave a man behind. He had, just now. But that was a hopeless situation, and if he had tried anything, it would have been three dead instead of two.
That Gunny guy knew it, too. He saw. He had waved for him to leave. Still didn’t sit right with him, though. He needed to get back to the truck stop. Let them know what he saw. Let them know how bad it really is out here. He doubted if anyone that had left the safety of the Three Flags was still alive. He had to get out of his hood attitude, get back into a military mindset.
That’s what had kept everyone back there alive, and if he wanted anything, it was to stay alive. They were the best chance, joining up with them. He wouldn’t last no time at all out here on his own. Besides, where would he go? No. He’d throw in with them.
That truck stop was plenty safe, had plenty of food and water, and a lot of vets who knew a thing or two about defenses. And killing. They’d figure it out. But he wanted to bring something to the table, also. He’d just watched two of them get eaten, and they seemed like they were pretty well known to everyone at the Three Flags. Pretty well liked. He could just say he hadn’t seen them, but that would be hard to pull off. He’d pulled out of the truck stop after they went by, and that one armed guy on the roof had seen that.
No. He’d tell the truth. Be brutally honest. Tell them what he saw. Give an accurate situation report. And to give an accurate sit rep, he needed more information. His mind made up, Long Dawg took the next exit to do a little scouting. To get a feel for the extent of the spread of this infection. Travel a few miles off the main roads, see if there were survivors or zombies. He was careful, he had a few hours of daylight left and a full tank of gas.
If he saw a group of them, he would get turned around ASAP. He just needed to bring a little something to the table if he were going to join this group as an equal, and not as a civilian they would think they had to take care of. It was an ugly truth, but it was a truth nonetheless that civilians saw the color of your skin and, more often than not, judged you for it.
Soldiers didn’t. Everybody that wore a uniform was green. They judged you on your abilities. Although he’d joined Uncle Sam’s Army to do the least amount of work, in the easiest job possible, he’d learned a lot under the tutelage of the Rangers and Delta Force and the CIA guys he had been assigned to translate for.
He was a fast learner and an extra gun in the field, who knew what he was doing, was better than one that didn’t. There was a lot of downtime at the base and they had taken it upon themselves to make sure he was competent in the field.
By the end of his tour, they were all encouraging him to re-up, to go to Ranger school. The LT said he would make sure he got a slot, but Long Dawg had other plans.
Plan
s to get rich, not hump a pack and get shot at. Plans that led him to right here. Right now. Scanning the road ahead of him for escape and evasion routes.
Chapter Sixteen
It had been hours. The clock was ticking closer and closer to midnight. The atmosphere in the diner was tense as everyone was waiting. Anticipating the big wrecker to radio, to tell them to open the gate, they were coming in.
They were trying to hold on to hope, but it was fading with each passing minute. They had heard Gunny’s and Tiny’s frantic yells as the mic in the wrecker had been keyed and held open. They heard the screaming of the zombies, the roar of the motor, Gunny yelling, “Watch out!” a sound of impact, and then nothing.
The kitchen radio, the one Kim got on sometimes to advertise to the truckers the daily specials when business was slow, had been turned up loud, but there was only static over the airwaves. Nearly everyone that was left at the truck stop sat around at the tables talking quietly, waiting for the radio to speak, and sipping coffee or tea.
The cowboys and some of the others had brought in a few beers from the cooler in the C-store. Cobb had refused payment for anything. He and Martha knew the score better than anyone in here. She’d lived through the collapse of everything she knew. Lived through utter lawlessness in her home country until Cobb had come back and spirited her away.
She’d helped him when he was injured, when half of his face had been ripped off. She hadn’t saved his life, she couldn’t claim that, the doctors had done that. But she’d been there for everything else. She was one of the local orphan girls who was hired by the Americans to run errands, change bedpans, and do laundry.
She picked up enough English and was soon helping with in-country rehabilitation for injuries that didn’t warrant a long trip back to the States. She helped him learn how to walk again on his crutches, speak again with a growl, and accept the fact that his face was no longer handsome.
When Saigon was falling and she was sure to be killed because she had helped the ‘enemy', Cobb had gotten to her, met her among the chaos and bombs and fires. He had taken her back to the last military outpost and had the chaplain marry them right there. She barely understood what was happening, only had the clothes on her back. The next thing she knew, she was on an airplane bound for America with the rest of the civilians and dependents being evacuated.
They eyed each other over their mugs of tea, both reliving those dark days when a country fell into ruin and death and destruction. That was bad. This was worse. The whole world had fallen into ruin. And death. And destruction.
He gently squeezed her hand and stood up. He wasn’t one to sit around, and there were things to do. Things really were as bad as bad can be. He needed to start figuring out a long term plan. Not just a week or month long plan. A years long plan.
He stomped into Wire Bender's shop, shoved between Griz and Hot Rod leaning on the counter, and dropped an armful of USB sticks he had gathered out of the store. “Still got internet?” he growled.
“Yeah, but only from the satellite feeds, and it’s going fast. Local access is down,” said Wire Bender.
“Start downloading everything you can about survival stuff,” Cobb said. “Blacksmithing, seed saving, repair manuals, solar and wind power stuff… I don’t know. Anything you can think of before it’s all gone. Save it. Make back-ups.”
Wire Bender's eyes went big and his mouth dropped open a little.
“Close your gob,” Cobb grumbled as he clomped out of the room. “You look dumber than you normally do.”
Cobb made his rounds, checking on security, talking to the men that had been posted around different areas. There wasn’t much happening. Just the occasional infected showing up now and then.
“They seem to know we’re in here, but as long as they don’t see us, they’re pretty calm. Just kind of wander around and bump into things, but always stay nearby,” Scratch said when Cobb joined him on the catwalk. Kim was up there with him, watching the glow of the lights of Reno that was visible over the horizon.
“Hard to believe it’s only been less than a day, Paw Paw,” she said.
He grunted noncommittally. Then he told her and Scratch what he had Wire Bender doing, and if they thought of anything he needed to download, make sure he radioed him to let him know.
“They aren’t interested in the cattle that Peanut Butter is hauling,” Scratch noted, watching the undead meander around the parking lot. “I think they only want to eat human.”
Cobb grunted again.
Kim-Li turned back to watch the distant city lights, her hand resting over Scratch's on the railing. Cobb glinted at Scratch, who suddenly felt nervous and self-conscious, almost like ol’ Cobb had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
He held Cobb’s gaze with what he hoped was an innocent look on his face till the old man looked over at the back of his grand-daughter. He turned his hard stare back at Scratch and Scratch wasn’t sure, it could have been a trick of the flickering light, but he thought he saw the old man’s lip curl a little, the hint of a smile, as he turned around and clomped back toward the trap door.
When Cobb announced to the dining area what he was having Wire Bender do with the internet before they lost it completely, he hadn’t expected much of a response. What could a bunch of truckers think of that wasn’t already being downloaded? But Sara and Stacy both jumped up, nearly spilling their herbal teas with a chorus of, “Oh my God!” and they both ran for the door rattling things off to each other as they went. “Surgery” “Pediatrics” “Dentistry” “Alternative Medicines” “Herbal Remedies” until they were out of earshot.
Cookie mentioned something about preserving foods without refrigeration, and canning, and some other stuff as he headed out of the back of the kitchen.
Cobb looked at the rest of the group still sitting at their tables.
“Sure you don’t need to know how to drive a space shuttle or something?” he asked, a bit of menace in his voice.
“It really is the end of the world?” Buttercup asked. She was only in her 20s and Cobb could tell she’d been crying, but seemed to have it under control now.
“I think so,” he said. Softening his growl a little.
“Well, we better get some things on livestock care and animal husbandry, then.”
Peanut Butter nodded and they both stood to leave. “We know horses, but cattle and sheep are something else, entirely.”
“And we need to either set the cattle free that we have in the trailer, or start butchering them tomorrow,” Buttercup said. “They can’t last another day without water.”
“We have incoming! It looks like the painter van is coming back,” Scratch blasted over the kitchen CB from the handheld he had on the roof. “And some guy from the parking lot is making a run for it, too! Get the front doors open!”
Cobb and most of the truckers were on their feet and running for the C-store. They had guns drawn and were ready to lend fire support, if needed. Griz came charging up the aisle from the CB shop, where he’d been hanging out, his Colt .45 at the ready.
They could hear the sounds of bodies thumping against metal and the screams of the undead starting to chase after the fresh meat. As soon as they got the doors open, they crouched to look under the trailer blocking the entrance and could see the van leading the zombies away from the store front again. He had made a quick pass in, ran into a few of them, and was leading the rest back out after him on a merry chase.
“Smart,” said Griz, and all agreed.
The van lead them out onto the main road, then did a quick U-turn and came flying back in, plowing into as many as he could, sending them flying in all directions. There had only been about a dozen milling around and he had effectively cut their numbers in half. The broken and maimed ones were still a danger, but a gimping, limping, broken down zombie was nowhere near as dangerous as a screaming runner who could leap twenty feet and had two good arms to shred you with.
The one headlight that still
worked picked up a running figure as he made his way toward the doors, coming out of the truck parking lot. But he really didn’t look like any trucker they had ever seen. His hair was vivid black, and in a Mohawk. He was wearing leather pants and a biker leather jacket, but the most striking thing of all was the Hannibal Lecter Mask. Or maybe the Wolverine style armbands he wore, with the jutting blades glinting in the sodium light.
A few of the runners had seen the man hurtling for the safety of the truck stop, and changed their path to intercept him. Griz leveled his .45, but it was already too late to get a clear shot, the masked man was behind the targets. The van slid in quick and the doors on both sides flew open, even before it came to a complete stop. The black kid was back and Gunny was with him, already taking shots at the faster ones heading toward them and the weirded up guy in the mask. The first of the runners leaped at the mohawked man running toward them and he picked up his pace and crouched lower.
Not a full out sprint, just enough so the infected’s leap was a little too long, and he brought up the Wolverine claws and drove them in, raking his belly wide open. They dug in a little too deep as the zombie flew over his head, its guts starting to spill out of the deep furrows in its belly.
The blades hooked on the pelvis bone and snapped off, sending them both crashing to the ground. The zombie head first into asphalt with a face-breaking crunch, and the leather clad man flat on his back, his feet flying out from under him. His arm was stuck wrist deep in the dead man’s abdomen, the broken blades protruding out of his rump.
He was quick to rebound though, wiggling his arm out and on his feet, punching powerfully at the screaming woman, with her arms outstretched, reaching for him. He caught her square in the eyes, right where he had been aiming for, and the blades punched out of the back of her skull.
He shook her off, using a booted foot to her mouth to help her along, the blades twisting his arm at an awkward angle as he finally jerked them free. He heard the reports of gunfire and jumped over a falling body as he continued his run for the doors. He went into full sprint mode, dropped to his knees to let the plastic pads slide him under the trailer, right past the two guys from the van who were scrambling for the door.
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