The Zombie Road Omnibus

by David A. Simpson

  “And about a million zombies hot on your tail when you come back in,” Cobb said. “They’ll be coming right up those tracks behind you. I’ll have teams standing by to take them out. We’ve got enough ammo to last us a while.”

  “I’ve got some ideas,” Tommy said. “We’ll figure something out.”

  They hashed over a few more things and although Carl was pleased to actually be of use, to be able to contribute something important, he was nervous about going into the big city. It was going to be dangerous. He’d learned to trust these men, he’d seen them in action, but shuffling and coupling that many cars would be noisy and take some time. He started working out some safety protocols in his mind, things that would have to be done a little differently than in the game. The hours he’d spent coupling and decoupling rail cars, the compulsive desire to get ‘licensed’ on every locomotive in the sim, even the old steamers, was actually going to pay off. “If Dad could see me now,” he thought a little grimly. It was clear to him, this whole project had fallen on his shoulders. He was responsible for the safety of the entire town. Of everyone! The soldiers would get them into the rail-yard, but if they didn’t come back with 400 railcars for any reason, it would be his fault. Carl of the Prius, as they called him. He smiled. He did his best work when he put off studying for an exam until the very last minute, when he was under pressure. He could pull this off. He knew more than enough to make this happen. He was already typing notes and doing calculations on his phone.

  The meeting broke up shortly before the 10 o’clock call to General Carson, and they went back out to join the rest of the people celebrating the end of their road trip.

  Cobb and Gunny headed over to Cadillac Jack’s truck and Wire Bender was already talking to someone on the Ham radio, the mysterious powers of the military hardware in Cheyanne Mountain masking the signal from any unwanted ears.

  “Anything new?” Gunny asked, figuring if he wasn’t needed, he could go grab a cold one from one of the many cases of beer that had been put in the reefers.

  It turns out, there was. They had the satellites locked in and filming all of the nuclear power plants around the world every time they made a pass. The plans the Jihadis had put in motion were working extremely well. Nearly every plant had been visited by the modified tanker trucks. Men had gone in wearing full radiation suits and had come back out with carts laden down with the rod handling casks. The glass lined transport casks had been loaded into the tankers that appeared to be water filled and concrete lined. If they had the proper experts and manpower, they could have said definitively what they were, who made them, and when. But all Carson had was a handful of overworked, sleep-deprived soldiers barricaded deep under a mountain in Colorado. They had cleared their sector and had food and water now from the mess hall. At least they weren’t battling zombies and slowly starving anymore.

  The trucks had all traveled to isolated areas along the coasts and the casks had been offloaded to small fishing boats that were equipped with winches and booms to haul in heavy nets. From there, they had been making trips out to deep sea oil tankers. The casks were loaded onto them and then, when an area was filled, they would encase them in concrete with the mixers they had mounted on deck. It was a well-planned operation and everyone was still amazed that a group of warring tribes, that didn’t even have running water in many parts of their countries, could pull it off. They had outside help was the prevailing idea. Big help.

  Since every country was affected, it must have been some One World Global Depopulation group. A powerful one, Wire Bender insisted. He and Cadillac Jack went back and forth quite a bit. Wire Bender, well versed in every crackpot theory on the internet and Jack drawing on years of Military Intelligence. Names flew around, ideas were exchanged, but no one really knew. It was only ideas from the conspiracy theories of fringe far right, or far left, internet sites. One of them had turned out to be right, but they didn’t know who was ultimately responsible. The Illuminati? The Rothschilds? The Russian Oligarchs? The Freemasons? The Flat Earth Society? The Reptilians? No one knew. The general consensus was that whoever did it were firmly ensconced somewhere deep inside the walled territories of the Middle East. They thought they were safe, but they would get what they had coming to them soon.

  The General’s good news was that the North American power plants were all cleared, the trucks had either already delivered their payload to the boats, or were in route. That meant the Americans didn’t have to settle in Lakota, although he strongly recommended it.

  “Well,” Cobb said when they had signed off a few minutes later. “I’m staying here, but I guess you better tell everyone, let them decide.”

  Gunny nodded. “Yeah, it’s their choice if they want to leave, but this is as good a location as any. I’ll call this place home.”

  Gunny went back to the campfire and the party that was winding down. He motioned for the Cowboys to cut the music and they quit midway through a slow number, the half-dozen dancing couples looking around quickly, hands falling to weapons, to see where the danger was.

  Gunny noticed and was a little saddened by it. These were the survivors. Instincts, raw guts, and luck had kept them alive. It was a shame something as simple as the music stopping caused them to grab for weapons and push wives behind them in a protective gesture. He raised his hands in a placating manner.

  “It’s alright, folks,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you some more good news. General Carson and the team under Cheyanne Mountain have been poring over the satellite images, and he says all of the nuclear power plants in North America have been cleared. The people that did this to us want this country for themselves. They didn’t want it to be a radiated wasteland.”

  A mixed shout went up, some cheering the nuclear threat was over, some cursing the Muslims.

  When they settled down a little, he raised his voice to be heard and said, “That means you don’t necessarily have to stay here, in Lakota. You can go anywhere.”

  They hushed at that news and quiet murmurings were heard as this was quickly discussed.

  “But we’ve already cleared this place,” someone said.

  “And there’s plenty of water here and you said we could build a wall around it!” someone else joined in.

  More spoke up and it sounded like most people were in favor of Lakota. All the hard work was done, they had been on the road and were tired of running, and this was going to be home. They were staying.

  “I’ll be staying,” Gunny said. “I’m just saying everyone is free to make your own choices.”

  “Who put that guy in charge?” Collins heard from the back of the crowd, as she was making her rounds. It came from a burly man in dirty overalls. He was tall, bald, heavily muscled, tattooed and was wearing a goatee. He and his friends had just joined the group earlier in the day and they were passing a bottle of whiskey among themselves. They hadn’t helped with any of the town cleanups, and from the smell of them, they’d been drinking their way through the apocalypse. They looked like a rough crowd, maybe wildcatters. Maybe professional layabouts. Maybe fresh from a jailbreak. In this new world, you could be whoever you said you were. Nobody knew your past and it was easy to reinvent yourself.

  “He’s the new president,” said a woman with a .357 strapped to her hip, the statement inducing laughter from the group of men.

  These guys could be trouble. Collins hoped it was just the drink making them act like asshats. They were new, so she tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Hoped they were just coming down from the constant fear of a few weeks of fighting and terror, and that the Wild Turkey was doing the talking for them.

  She looked back to the front of the crowd. Back to where Gunny was talking in his down-home way, the Kentucky drawl coming through. He needed a haircut, his beard was graying, and there were stains on his jacket. Blood stains. But the people he had led here seemed to love him. They would follow him to where ever he told them to go. They’d seen him risk his life more than once and had
listened to Stabby’s overblown tales of his heroics. Sure, they didn’t believe everything, but they knew it was true anyway. They knew he’d risked it all the first few moments of the outbreak to save everyone at the Three Flags. Knew he was the one who figured out the cause of the virus. They knew he’d led a convoy of desperate people thousands of miles, across dangerous lands and hadn’t lost a single person. They knew he’d killed hundreds by himself clearing Lakota. He and his crew had stood firm in an onslaught that left the streets flowing in undead blood. He had led them to the promised land.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said. “We’ve been broadcasting this is the safe haven, this is the place to come to if you can. The people that released the virus can hear it, too. They will know where we are. They’ll be coming after us, sooner or later.”

  The people all fell quiet, considering the fact that there might be a small army of fanatical Muslims wanting to finish them off. The people who had nearly succeeded in killing the whole world, would come gunning for the last of the Americans who had survived their plague.

  Cobb spat on the ground. There was a heavy silence as they considered his words. Men with guns who wanted them dead, would know exactly where to find them.

  “Good,” Griz proclaimed loudly. “Then we won’t have to go looking for them.”

  The crowd erupted with shouts of “Molon Labe” and “We’ll feed them to the hogs.” They seemed to agree with Griz. They wanted payback and this would save them the trouble of tracking them down and blowing up mosques. There would be time for that later.

  When he got them settled down again, Gunny said, “I guess we should make this democratic, like. Show of hands, who wants to stay, make this our new home?”

  If there was anyone who didn’t, surely they were outnumbered 200 to 1.

  “We’re home, then. Wind it down soon,” he said over the cheering. “Big day tomorrow. We’re all going house shopping.”

  He turned and melted back into the crowd, heading for his truck. No guard duty tonight, thank goodness. A full night’s sleep lay ahead of him.

  The burly man laughed raucously again, but not in humor. It was mean and derisive.

  “I didn’t vote for him. He ain’t my president,” he boomed, slurring his words a little. “I’ll stay up all fuckin’ night if I want to, and there ain’t a damn thing he can do about it.”

  The people nearby gave him sour looks and glanced toward the deputy as they started to head back to their trucks or cars. One more night, then tomorrow… real beds.

  His buddies joined in the laughter and slapped half empty fifths of whiskey together before they took long pulls from them. They had only been in camp for a few hours and were already three sheets to the wind. Collins had seen them come in driving a box truck, all of them in dirty workman’s clothes. Blue overalls, blue shirts and light jackets with their names on them. She assumed they were from a factory and had gotten out when they heard the radio message. Now she wasn’t so sure. Were those prison clothes?

  “Gentlemen,” Collins approached them, trying the soft touch, wanting them to see reason before they got out of hand and something serious had to be done. “Nobody is telling you to go to bed. Just keep it down so others can sleep, that’s all.”

  “Well, well, well,” the big man said. “Looky what we got here, boys. A pretty little thing playing dress up.”

  He took another pull from his bottle of courage and continued, raising his hand to her face, cutting her off when she started to speak.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” he looked at her badge and nameplate, “Deputy Collins, the world is dead. There ain’t no more law and you don’t have no authority.”

  The crowd immediately surrounding them quieted and turned to watch. Collins sighed inwardly. She’d dealt with this a hundred times in the past. Usually at closing time at the local bar. There, she always had backup. A dozen officers were only a radio call away. The drunk would spend the night in jail and if he didn’t hurt anyone, didn’t resist arrest too much, he’d be out in the morning and about ten thousand dollars poorer when it was all said and done, after the lawyer’s fees. She wasn’t worried about having backup here. She was worried about these men getting themselves killed by people who wouldn’t show the same restraint a peace officer would. It was a different world now. This behavior would not be tolerated and she needed to either back down and slink away, or put the main antagonist down quickly, before things went sideways in a bad way.

  “Sir,” she said in her cop voice. “You are mistaken. There is law and order here, and I do have the authority to enforce it. I’m asking you gentlemen to be courteous to others and keep the noise down. If you need to get rowdy, do it out there somewhere.” She pointed out into the blackness, away from the campfire and the people gathered. More and more were turning to look, craning their necks to see what the disturbance was.

  He turned to peer off into the night, making a slow show of it, playing for the audience then looked back at her, shaking his head. “Nope, sugar. A man might get eaten out there. I’m staying right here, and me and my gang will do whatever we want. We ain’t hurting nobody, and you, deputy, don’t have any jurisdiction here. That badge says Nevada. We ain’t nowhere near Nevada.”

  By now half the camp was listening. Watching. Waiting for Collins to put him in his place. She hesitated. She was warring with herself. Technically, he was right. She didn’t have any authority here. Gunny was the only one that truly had any official status. Nobody in the chain of command had said she was still a deputy, she had just taken the duty on herself, a continuation of her job. The law applied to everyone, even her. How could she enforce it if she was the first one to break it? Gunny had been listening and saw her indecision. He knew she was such a stickler for rules, she might actually back down from this jerk. He pushed his way through the crowd, stifling his first impulse to smash his grinning face. He pulled out the Sheriff’s badge he’d been holding onto since Crow City. He’d wanted to have a little ceremony for her and McBride once they got settled, but this looked like as good a time as any. He handed it to her, making sure the drunken men saw it. A gleaming sheriff’s badge that had no county or state identification on it. Simply a 5-pointed star with SHERIFF stamped boldly in tall letters.

  She refused to take it, much to Gunny’s annoyance.

  “You can’t just make someone sheriff,” she said quietly. “It’s the highest law enforcement office in the county. Higher than feds, even. The sheriff has to be elected. Not appointed.”

  “Dammit,” Gunny said, then raised his voice. “We’re holding elections tonight,” he said to the quiet crowd, all of them watching the little drama play out. “I nominate Deputy Collins for the office of Sheriff. Anyone else wants to run against her?”

  No one did.

  “Ayes are for, Nays against, who votes for her?” he called out so everyone could hear.

  Every hand shot up, some people holding up both, and they shouted their “Aye’s”.

  “Nays?” he asked.

  Silence.

  “The Ayes have it,” he said to loud applause and turned to her. Not taking a chance that she would come up with some other reason she couldn’t accept it, he unfastened her deputy badge and pinned on the star.

  “Aren’t you supposed to ask me if I even want to do it? she asked under her breath.

  “I got shanghaied into my job, and now so did you. Congratulations,” he said quietly, so only she could hear.

  He turned to stare at the men who had started this whole thing. He spotted the ringleader, the big bald man with the stringy billy-goat beard and a workman’s jacket with Casey on the name patch. “Good enough?” he asked. But it wasn’t really a question. It was a demand.

  The big guy looked around at his buddies for backup, but they were staring at their feet and trying to be invisible, slowly shuffling backward. He thought about dropping his hand to his pistol to show he wasn’t intimidated by all this, but then thought better of it wh
en he was halfway there. He just let it hang in midair. This Gunny guy didn’t look like he was in the mood to take any crap. He had hard eyes. Ice cold and penetrating. His jacket was blood splattered and tucked behind a holster at his side. His hand was hanging loosely near the pistol. Not exactly threatening, but certainly not friendly, either. It was in a Kydex holster and he had no doubt that the man was fast with it. It looked like a Glock, too. No safety to flip. Just pull and shoot. Maybe a half second and he’d have a bullet blowing the back of his head out onto the parking lot. He moved his hand in the opposite direction of his gun, slow and easy.

  “Hey, we were just having a little fun, sir,” he said. “This darn whiskey makes me act a little stupid sometimes.” He chuckled and then turned the bottle upside down, dumping out its contents on the ground, showing him that he didn’t mean any harm. It was all just a misunderstanding. I’m really a nice guy, see? Gunny’s eyes never left his. Never turned to look at what his left hand was doing by taking his attention off of the right. Casey licked his lips, his smile feeling very strained.

  This guy was a gunfighter. This guy was a killer.

  “Casey,” Gunny said, “a lot of us have been hitting it pretty hard these last few days. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  He didn’t have to say anything else. The implications were clear. You’d better not wake me up acting like an ass, you may not like me then. I may not be very nice then. I may put a hollow point in your stupid smiling face then.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, quickly agreeing. “We probably will, too. Right guys?” he asked his friends.

  They were fast with the head nods. Yes, indeed. It was time to stop drinking and settle in for the night. And live to see the sunrise. Casey’s forced smile faded as everyone turned and walked away, his thin lips curled into a snarl. Nobody embarrasses him like that. That uppity bitch deputy started all this. She was going to get what was coming to her. He snatched a bottle of Jim Beam out of the hands of one of his friends, daring him to say anything about it.