Within a few minutes, everyone was back on the road, two of the men they had rescued from the rooftop deciding to follow them down toward Oklahoma before they split off to check on their own families. The convoy was getting longer.
4
884 Miles to Go
It took them a lot longer to get around Cheyenne than anyone had expected. The population was growing denser the farther east they moved, and the towns and cities were well populated along the highways. They had to keep moving, Gunny’s truck was taking a hard beating as he constantly had to shove cars out of the way, the blade becoming dented and the sharp edges becoming broken and dulled. Sara radioed back that there was a pileup they would have to bust through, or backtrack 20 miles to get around it.
“Wait for us, you can put the bike on Griz’s wagon,” he told her. “We’ll just have to force our way through.”
When Gunny pulled up, he could see it had both sides of the freeway jammed up for about a half mile. There was a subdivision on the south side. It was easy enough to figure out what happened. The jam wasn’t too bad, and it was simpler to plow through it than backtrack. He told the rest of the convoy to hold back a little in case he ran into something he couldn’t move and had to back out to go at it at a different angle. There didn’t seem to be many of the undead stumbling around, so Sara didn’t wait to load up on Griz’s lowboy. She started winding her way through the stalled cars, sometimes having to reach up and slam a door shut that was blocking her way. She was half way through when she realized she was in trouble, but it was too late to stop. She mentally kicked herself for not trailering the bike when she had the chance. She thought she could thread her way through the jam pretty quickly, it wasn’t that long. But the cars were packed in tight, and there were a lot more of the undead than she had first noticed. If she slowed she would be overrun, and it was much too late to turn around and go back. Gunny saw them chasing the bike and kept blowing his air horn to try to draw them away from her, but she was getting too far ahead, the bike being much faster than the rig clearing a path. She thought she could keep her speed up and outrun the undead as they stumbled and tumbled through the maze of cars after her, there was only a handful of them at first. She kept scanning the road before her, spotting openings and aiming for them. She would zoom up to 40 and 50 miles an hour, with scant inches on either side of her as she threaded the needle, before she had to slam on the brakes and maneuver around another stall or wreck straddling the lanes. The zombies were too stupid to aim for where she was going to be, they only chased after her in the spot she was in. If it wasn’t for this, they would have quickly run to intercept and would have overwhelmed her. At times she shot through the grass, with the street tires slipping and fighting for traction, sometimes splitting the lanes. Both sides of the freeway were clogged, a lot of the cars stuck in the grassy median. She really should have stopped and turned around when she first saw this tangle of cars. Now there were so many followers behind her, it was too late. She could only keep moving forward, try to keep ahead of them. Try to keep enough distance between her and them as she zig-zagged, squeezing through narrow openings. As she swung around a jack-knifed grain truck, searching the road ahead of her for the next opening, a hand shot out and grabbed the exoskeleton tubing of her bike, pulling her off balance and slamming the bike to the ground. She rolled free and kept moving under a pickup truck, the scrabbling thing diving in after her, clawing and keening, trying to grab her ankle. She rolled out of the other side and stood to run, but they were coming in from all directions now, her heart was in her throat, her mind screaming at her to get away.
From their vantage point 100 yards back, Gunny and Deputy Collins couldn’t see around the jack-knifed grain hauler and he was silently cursing with every grinding impact on his blade. A few more of these kinds of jams and someone else would have to take the lead, or they’d have to stop somewhere for repairs. He didn’t know if they were going to be able to push the grain trailer out of the way. If it was loaded, it would probably rip his plow off the front of the truck before he moved it. Those boys got paid by the pound, and they tended to haul heavy. He aimed instead for the tractor. There were a few feet between the nose of it and the guardrail. He hoped he could snap the guardrail posts off at ground level, not leave a sharp chunk of metal sticking up out of the ground to rip tires, or puncture fuel tanks. As he cleared the last minivan out of the way and started to pick up some speed to snap the posts, they heard Sara come over the emergency channel. She was gasping for breath and they could hear the sounds of the undead screaming near her.
“I’m down! I’m down!” she yelled into the microphone, and at the same time Gunny saw her bike laying on its side at the front of the grain hauler. He didn’t hesitate, just nailed the pedal to the floor and slip shifted up a gear, going for every ounce of speed he could wring out of his Pete. The blade dug into the guardrail and the front of the jackknifed truck simultaneously, and the doghouse of the fiberglass and plastic Freightliner exploded in a shower of debris, both trucks shuddering from the impact. The freight shaker slid sideways and the rails curled off, out into the grass, the uprights snapping at ground level from the blunt force slamming into them. Gunny kept it floored, punishing his truck and sending cars rolling and sliding away from the severely abused blade. They could see her ahead of them now, running between a line of cars with a half dozen dead quickly catching up to her.
She slid over the hoods of two sedans blocking the lanes, that had gotten into a minor fender bender. That bought her some time as the zombies plowed into it, packed so tightly they interfered with each other when they tried to leap over it to bring her down.
She ran. Lungs burning, legs aching, arms pumping, heart racing. She could see the end of the traffic jam, just a half dozen cars ahead, and knew they would catch her once she hit the open road. There would be nothing to slow them down. She had her gun, but she couldn’t bring them down when she was at a dead run. She tried a car door. Locked. “Who the hell locks their car when you park on the freeway?” her mind queried uselessly.
Gunny saw the same thing she did, silently urging her to circle back toward them in a different lane if she couldn’t jump into a car and close the door. They would be there before those things had a chance to break in. But she was running for her life, wasn’t thinking of anything except her next step, her next lungful of fiery breath. He grabbed another gear and aimed the rig back onto the freeway, knocking a police cruiser out of the way, sending it spinning into a few of the slower zombies as they ran screaming out of the traffic jam and onto the open road.
“Take the wheel!” he yelled at Collins and unbuckled his seatbelt. She had hers off and was leaping over to his seat, her foot finding the pedal and keeping it mashed to the floor as Gunny opened his door and leaned way out, hanging on with one hand and reaching for Sara with the other. She was only a few yards ahead of the closest zombie as they came flying up behind her. It was within leaping distance.
“Closer!” Gunny yelled at Collins and she adjusted the wheel, the big diesel screaming at red line and black smoke rolling out of the stacks.
Sara heard them and chanced a look over her shoulder, saw Gunny’s outstretched hand as he held onto the open door with his other, both feet planted on top of the battery box, leaning at a precarious angle to swoop her up. Just as the creature leaped at her, arms outstretched with every intent to drive her down to the ground, she turned and jumped, both arms reaching for him as he caught her. The impact nearly shook him loose, the door slamming into them and bouncing hard against her helmet, but she clung to him. Hard.
“I got you,” he told her, then hollered up to Collins, “Let up a little, you’re gonna blow the motor!” They came to a stop and Collins found neutral and set the brakes. “Rifle,” Gunny barked and she handed his M-4 down to him as he and Sara half tumbled, half hopped, down to the ground over the still missing battery box step.
Gunny kneeled, quickly checked his impact area, then started double
tapping the runners. Within seconds, they were down. They could hear the rest of the trucks coming, slowly winding their way through the path Gunny had cut, oblivious to the life and death struggle that had just happened.
“I need to get my bike,” Sara panted.
Gunny couldn’t believe it. Surely this little scare, this close call, this incident of near death and dismemberment would make her second guess the whole bike riding thing.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Deputy Collins said.
“I do,” was all Sara said, and she was already jogging back the short distance to where it was lying.
Gunny stood, unable to do anything except look for targets with his carbine, and yell for her to hurry up.
By the time the rest of the trucks were slowly making their way through the end of the maze, the undead that had started to clamor after them had caught up. Most of the rigs in line were covered with screaming zombies trying to claw and bite their way in. Scratch was bringing up the rear with Stabby and Lars riding shotgun, and his Western Star was idling along in the path that had been cleared. It was covered with the undead. Julio had long ago strapped his recently acquired BMW to the back of Griz’s Lowboy and was riding in the cab with him. They weren’t going fast enough to do much more than shunt the keening masses aside, but they were safe, as long as no one panicked and did something stupid. The rebar cages over the side glass and windshield protected them, the howling undead could pound all they wanted on the rigs and all they would do is break their hands. Griz came over the radio occasionally, words of encouragement, engaging drivers in conversation like this was just another Sunday stroll through the park. He kept them talking, even cracking jokes as faces blind with rage and fury slammed against his caged windows, screaming in undead lust for their blood. Scratch and Stabby joined in, cracking wise remarks and pointing out any particularly hot zoms. Especially if they were half naked. Would a condom protect you against the zombie virus? It was dark, dark humor and Gunny was hoping the bus driver had turned the radio down low. The civilians, especially the children, didn’t need to hear how warriors tried to swallow their fears by acting fearless. When he saw the first of them make its way around the grain hauler, Sara was already a half mile up the road, processing her close call the best way she knew how. In her mind, if she didn’t get right back on the horse that threw her, she’d be too afraid to do it in the future. It wasn’t an option. She had to get her bike, fire it up, and ride. Maybe tomorrow she wouldn’t want to, but as long as she forced herself to do it today, it would be okay. Gunny gave a whoop over the radio.
“Hammer down, boys. We’ve got clear roads for miles, and not a Smokey in sight!” He started winding out the gears, letting the big Caterpillar roll coal out of the twin stacks. There was a joyous sound of air horns and train whistles from the trucks as they started shaking off the undead. It didn’t take long before bets were flying back and forth across the radios as to whose zombie could hang on the longest, as one by one they fell off the trucks as they picked up speed. It was a cruel spectacle, watching them try to hang on in the wind, still trying to claw their way through the armor. One by one though, they would slip, bounce off the road and tumble into guardrails, exploding into flying body parts on impact, or just slide along the road, their skin being eaten off all the way to the bone in a nasty case of road rash.
The Wal-Mart they had decided to stop at was a small one, well outside of town, but in a growing community. It would have a pharmacy, and making sure Shakey had time to get in there and get what he needed was the top priority. Gunny didn’t let on that he knew about the diabetes, and he hadn’t told anyone else. It was Shakey’s secret to tell if he wanted to, and he had Sara and Stacy both keeping an eye on him, making sure he wasn’t showing signs that he had run completely out of his insulin. He would let him keep his secret, if that’s what he wanted, as long as it didn’t put anyone else in danger. Old soldiers knew about keeping secrets.
They were all waiting on Sara’s report, waiting to see if it was completely overrun, or if it looked like they had a chance to get in without anyone being eaten. She came on the radio a few minutes after she had opened the bike up, putting a few miles distance between them, to let them know it didn’t look too bad. She sounded calm. In control. Gunny and Collins exchanged a look and a shrug.
“Sounds like she’ll be okay,” Collins said. “I guess she really did need to ride.”
There were a few fast food places at the exit, but only one of them served breakfast, so Population Undead was manageable. As they had planned, she zoomed into the parking lot of the oversized strip mall, revving her motor and honking her horn. Any of the undead walking around aimlessly that heard her, immediately gave chase as she zipped through the parking lot, gathering up as many as she could, always wary of her escape routes and keeping far enough away from any obstacles so she wouldn’t get surprised again. After she had circled the main store and the restaurants a few times, she led them back onto the freeway, a crowd of about twenty chasing after her, arms outstretched, grasping and reaching for fresh blood that was just a few tantalizing feet in front of them. Once she had them all on the road, she got on the radio. “They’re all yours, Gunny! Remember to stay right!”
Collins keyed the mic on 19 and told everyone, again, to stay in the Granny Lane as they all sped up, now that the trap had been set. Sara goosed it, and within minutes, she was flying past the trucks in the Hammer Lane. They all gathered speed to smash into the fast running infected, splattering and splintering bodies that used to be human, disgorging organs and painting the road in shades of red.
They swung into the strip mall at full speed, knowing time was their enemy. The trucks lined up and Gunny’s entry team hit the ground running. Everyone else set up a perimeter, the only ones left inside the vehicles were the kids and their moms. All others, including those who barely knew how to shoot, were in a semi-circle, guns facing out, scanning for targets. A few of the vets paced behind the lines, letting the unsure and already frightened men and women know they were there.
They were unafraid.
They would be right behind them and firing away if any of the infected came sniffing around.
Deputy Collins had argued against this, but she had been overridden. Griz said it would be a low-risk encounter for them, and they were only a few feet away from the safety of the trucks if a big horde did show up. They needed to learn how to fight, or they would die. They needed some trigger time.
Gunny sprinted to the front of the Walmart and scanned inside before prying the automatic doors open. Nothing moving around from this vantage point. He yelled into the darkened interior and Stabby whistled loudly, calling, “Here zombie, zombie, zombie!” as they pushed the big sliding doors open a good six feet.
They came. He heard them, and this time the crew wasn’t messing around with trying to hold doors shut and engage them one at a time. Lars ran a row of shopping carts across the opening and joined the line up at the front, aiming into the dimness, trying to find targets. They all opened up about the same time. The handful of early morning shoppers, and the skeleton crew of employees, didn’t even get near the improvised blockade before being felled in a hail of steady fire. They waited for more to show up, reloading with fresh magazines, examining the twice dead to make sure they really were. They could hear muffled howls coming from the back of the store. Probably in the break room or bathroom. They gave it another minute, but no more came screeching out.
“Go,” Gunny said, and they started rolling over the shopping carts, spreading out left to right, each man covering two to three aisles, making sure there were none lurking and quiet, damaged but still dangerous. Even though the roof skylights shed some natural light into the store, they all had their lights on. A few real tactical flashlights mounted on rails on their AR’s and shotguns, but most had actual flashlights duct taped to the barrel or fore-stocks of their various weapons. Once they had determined the front part was clear, on Griz’s signa
l, they all headed down the aisles to clear the back of the store. The howlers were in the Ladies Room and Gunny didn’t even bother opening the door, just sent a half dozen rounds in about head level through the door and it was quiet again.
“Alright, grab what we came for,” Gunny said, and he and Griz went toward the front to set up an overwatch. They made a detour to the Sporting Goods section to grab hunting vests for the oversized pockets, shemaghs if they had them, or bandannas if they didn’t. The dead were starting to stink and it would only get worse with each passing day. They both grabbed a handful of Burt’s Bees lip balm as they passed the display stand. It was a favorite in the ‘Stans for its double duty capabilities. Prevent chapped lips, or rubbed under the nose, mask the smell of rotting flesh. Scratch and Stabby stayed in the rear, making sure no surprises came out of the warehouse part of the store. The rest of the crew found carts, dumped the contents on the floor, and ran for the areas they had been tasked to raid. This was a small store and they only had a few dozen cheap guns, but a few of them were Mossbergs and they had nearly a whole cart full of ammo that took two men to push out of the front doors. As the crew grabbed their goods and went out to load them into the trucks, the rest of the people on watch rotated in, four at a time, and with a warning not to take too long. Gunny made sure Shakey was the first one in, and he was tasked with grabbing the medical supplies out of the pharmacy. There were a few shots from outside, but not many. Sara had done a pretty good job of leading nearly all of them away. There were houses nearby, though, and who knew how many were on the way now, running toward the sounds of gunfire.
The store was secure so Gunny and Griz went back outside to relieve a few more people on the perimeter, trying to get everyone rotated in as quickly as possible. He wouldn’t feel safe again until they were all inside the armored vehicles and rolling. He stopped beside Bastille, who was crouched on one knee, holding the shotgun completely wrong. He would hurt himself if he actually had to fire it. “Go on inside, Bastille,” he said. “Grab what you need. I’ll cover your position.”
The Zombie Road Omnibus Page 36