He couldn’t simply take a broken bottle neck and shove it in the fat pig guard’s neck and steal his gun. They would catch you, Good Casey said. Damn cops and cameras were everywhere. They had facial recognition. They could track you by your phone. They would find you and put you back in a cage and there wouldn’t be any more work release. They might even make you ride ol’ Sparky for killing a fat pig guard.
But not anymore. The rules are: there are no rules. Nobody was ever going to tell him what to do ever again. Good Casey could kiss his ass. Bad Casey was here to stay. Never again would he smile his best smile when he wanted to snarl and punch.
Never again would he apologize and grovel, when all he really wanted to do was bash their teeth out.
Now the playing field was even, they didn’t hold all the cards. If he gunned one of those assholes down, so what. They didn’t have helicopters and dogs and a hundred donut-eating cops to look for him. The wild west was back. It was just him against whatever posse they sent. He’d take care of them if they did, just like he had back at the bar. That’s right. They better be afraid of him, if they knew what was good for them. He was pretty sure he got one of them. Not that nappy headed clown that had nearly tackled him, even though he had the drop on him. He had to admit the kid was lightning fast. He had him dead to rights, gun barrel aimed right in the middle of his back, but the little bastard had somehow dodged his bullets. He would have loved to put about twenty holes in him. That sanctimonious self-righteous prick, Gunny, too. Too bad that uppity sheriff hadn’t been there. He probably would have stuck around and made them all pay if she was.
Yeah.
Definitely.
He only took off because she was the real target and why bother shooting up all his ammo, killing those losers. If she had been there, he would have beat them all senseless, then made them watch as he did her real slow. Maybe hang her out of the window and let the zombies rip her guts out while he banged her back door. That would teach her. He smiled at the thought.
He liked this new America. A man didn’t have to bootlick anybody anymore and he’d just proved that. He’d just shot up the best they had. The best killers in America! He laughed out loud as he aimed for a little girl waving her arms and running toward him in the street. She didn’t look too bad, she wasn’t all messed up like the rest of those snarling things. The brush guard caught her in the chest and the impact ripped her body wide open. A streamer of intestines got trapped in the bars over the windshield and flapped in the wind as he thumped over her twitching legs. First one he’d ever heard scream like that. Creepy thing sounded almost human.
He took another pull of the whiskey. Hell, he’d shot the President as he was riding through town acting all high and mighty in his own train. He whooped and the grin on his face went from ear to ear. They couldn’t catch him and good riddance to all those pill popping drunks he’d been with. Bunch of losers. All they wanted to do was stay stoned all the time. Scared of their own shadows. Moaning about how sorry they were about things they’d done. They only remembered those undead freaks the way they’d been the first few days, when they were in a feeding frenzy. When they were so fast and vicious. When Casey had joined up with the Three Flags people, he’d still been scared, too. He could admit it. No shame in that. But not now. Not since he saw those truckers. They weren’t afraid of them, and he wasn’t anymore, either.
He and the guys had been on work release at some crappy warehouse in the middle of nowhere, making two bucks an hour sorting garbage. Recyclables. Separate the plastic from the glass. It sucked, but it was better than working on the other side of the plant. Those guys had to do the heavy lifting, actually get all sweaty and do work. They had to unload and sort the box trucks with all the expired canned goods that were going to be donated to homeless shelters and soup kitchens.
He was just counting down the days until he was free. He’d already done six years for an armed robbery charge. Only one more to go, with good behavior. Good thing they didn’t know about that crack whore he had cut up when she laughed at his pecker. Well, he’d shown her, hadn’t he? Who was laughing now, you tittyless hag? No more worries about breast cancer for you. Or that old lady that wouldn’t give him her purse without making a fuss about it. He hadn’t planned on shoving her down the stairs, but she was getting mouthy. Old bat got what she deserved. He was glad they didn’t know about a lot of things. He’d been drifting most of his life, going from town to town. He was usually just a few steps ahead of the law until that off-duty cop caught him robbing the pizza delivery boy. Hell, he was hungry and he needed money. It wasn’t his fault. He should have just shot them both, instead of giving up so quickly.
The day everything went crazy started out normal. The bus ride from the prison to the recycling plant was hot and stuffy, like always. The blue uniforms they made you wear so you would look like all of the other employees were stiff and itchy. They worked all morning, sorting trash, like always. Even lunch break started out normal. The fat pig guard was acting like he wasn’t a fat pig guard by letting them get sodas from the machine, even though they weren’t supposed to. Then the fat pig guard was rubbing it in that he had money and could buy something off the roach coach, and they couldn’t. He sat there eating his double bacon burger in front of them, while they ate shit food the prison gave them for lunch. He was talking and joking with them like always, never realizing Casey would love nothing more than to cram that burger down his fat pig throat with a sledgehammer.
After lunch is when it got weird. The fat pig guard got sick. Casey pretended like he cared. Like he wouldn’t rather be cutting his fat pig guts open, digging out the burger and making him eat it again. That would teach him. He even went to get him a cup of water, sticking his dick in it before he returned. Before he got back to the sorting area, the fat pig guard had ripped three of the inmates to pieces and was chasing down another. As he watched in terror from the stairs, the torn and bloodied guys got up, looked right at him and started screaming.
He ran.
He made it to the office area of the warehouses and a bunch of them managed to barricade themselves in. Those things were relentless, they never stopped pounding on the doors. They never gave up. It was enough to drive a man crazy. Day after day after day of listening to them moan and slap on the walls. They were in the middle of nowhere. No more trucks were bringing in the recyclables. No more cars on the road. Nothing to distract those keening, undead things that pounded and pounded and pounded, trying to get in. They had all the canned goods and old bread from the redistribution part of the warehouse, but there were zombies in it. Some of the regular workers had gotten food from the lunch truck and now there were five of them beating on the door. Somebody had to kill them. They needed that food. There were nearly twenty guys and the two secretaries holed up in the offices. The food reclamation side of the warehouse was closed off. It wasn’t open air like the plastics and glass side. If somebody could kill those things, they would have plenty to eat.
After two days, the men finally volunteered to go out and try. Casey volunteered to stay back and protect the women. He saw the look on both their faces. That sour grimace like they’d just bit into a lemon. He’d seen it before when he had tried to talk to bitches like them. He knew what they were thinking. They all thought they were too good to go out with him, like he was some kind of creep. He wasn’t a creep and he’d show them if they didn’t watch out. He’d show them good. He wasn’t stupid, either. He knew about zombies. He’d seen the movies. One little bite and you were as good as dead.
They got the food, but ten of the guys got bit or scratched. Casey was there to make sure they didn’t turn into one of the zombies. He had the blade from the paper cutter and it made a pretty good machete. Once they had killed all the zombies, he killed them before they could turn into one. The others yelled at him and tried to stop him, but he knew even the slightest scratch would turn you into one of those things. He had to kill them before they turned. You couldn’t wait and s
ee. Get them when they were sitting down and nursing their wounds. He went straight to the fat pig zombie guard they killed and got his gun. The rest of them would thank him later. Especially those secretaries. He’d make those two thank him real good.
Days passed and Casey made sure they knew who the boss was. He had the gun and he wasn’t afraid to use it. By now, they knew there was no one coming to rescue them. This outbreak was worldwide. One of the office managers tried to sneak the gun away from him while he was sleeping. That didn’t end well for him. The others had known of his plan, so they got what was coming to them, too.
He made them kill him. He made them tie him to a chair then slice him up with the paper cutter. Some of them refused. He didn’t need those kinds of people in his gang, so he shot them in the face. After that, the rest of them did what he said.
The other prisoners he was with were pathetic. They were just as soft as the managers had been. None of them were armed robbers like him. None of them were badass killers. They had been doing time for drugs, or their fifth DUI, or something else equally lame. It was obvious he was the Big Kahuna here. They would do what he told them, or else.
He had the most fun with the two women. He was making them pay for the way they’d looked at him with their sour bitch faces. He made them have lesbian sex on the desk in front of everyone. It had better be convincing or he’d have to slice something off, he told them. When the chubby brunette lost her little toe, they took him seriously. After that, they were very convincing. Some of the guys acted like they didn’t want to watch, but he made them. He knew they really wanted to. He made them take turns on them, too. If they pretended like they couldn’t get it up, he threatened to chop off their dangly parts with the paper cutter. They all lined up and gave them a good pounding. All the way to completion because he made sure of that. No fakers, no sir. He wanted to see. The tears and sobs of the women almost turned him on enough to take his turn. Almost. But those ugly skanks couldn’t make him get it up. Nasty whores. He’d never dirty himself with the likes of them anyway.
It had been weeks and Casey was bored and thirsty for whiskey. Not bored and thirsty enough to go outside, zombies were still out there. He had fed them one of the women, hoping they would go away if they ate something, but they didn’t. All she did was cry and bawl and wouldn’t shut up, so he had to get rid of her. He’d warned her. It was her fault he had to shove her out of the upstairs window. He kept the keys to the box truck in his pocket. Couldn’t have one of them taking off one night and leaving him here. They wanted to go, but where? Nope, Casey decided. They would stay here until the food ran out, then they would figure out what to do. The guys were all coming around, finally realizing there were no more consequences to anything they did. No more law. No more rules. They were more willingly taking their turn with the chubby brunette, now, whenever he told them. Some of them were really starting to enjoy it and he encouraged them to give her a smacking if she needed it. Motivate her to move her ass and not just lay there with that dead look in her eyes.
One of the guys came running back in the office, yelling there was a bulldozer out in the fields way east of them. They made their way up to the roof and watched, trying to figure out what was going on. It was digging a pit from the sounds of it. They could barely see the smoke and hear the sounds, but what else could it be doing. It was in the middle of a field and kept working in the same area for hours. The half dozen zombies milling around the building ignored it, though. They still wouldn’t go away. They kept watching the next day and trucks were coming and unloading something, then going back for more of whatever it was.
It had to be a burial pit. The government must have this zombie outbreak under control and are cleaning up the towns. The men all looked at each other uneasily. That may not be such a good thing for them. They had a dark secret that would send them all back to prison forever. Maybe they could blame it on Casey, he had forced them. He had the gun. None of them were rapists. Or killers.
But they were, and they all knew it. Maybe it hadn’t started out that way, but after all these days of Casey telling them they could do anything they wanted, they had all been eager when he said it was their turn. All of them had happily hurt her after she tried to kill them by letting the undead in. She hadn’t even cared if she would have been the first to go, as long as the rest of them died. Casey didn’t let them beat her with anything but open hands, but they had tried to make every inch of her skin turn black and blue with bruises. And her private parts. They had really done a number on them. One after another, as hard as they could for as long as they could, while Casey watched and cheered them on.
They had her tied up downstairs so she couldn’t try anything again, but they had a problem. They couldn’t let the authorities find her. Casey solved it when he pushed her outside into the zombies and while they roared and tore into her, they ran for the truck.
It wasn’t the government burying the dead, after all. Just a bunch of truckers and other survivors who managed to get together. They had cleared a town, buried the zombies and were now celebrating. He and the guys made their way over to the crates of whiskey and helped themselves. Their two weeks in the warehouse would never have to be spoken of. Ever. They started drinking to forget. Casey drank to remember, and had to remind himself he was in the company of ordinary people again. Had to listen to Good Casey when he told him to just smile and nod when someone accidentally bumped him, or just grabbed his hand and shook it and welcomed him.
They were all still scared and freaked out by the zombies, but those truckers weren’t afraid of those things. They were careful of them, but they had no fear. They would just kill them if they were in the way. Like swatting a bug, almost. He learned not to be afraid of them either. The zombies were so dumb, it wasn’t funny. If you were careful, you could live.
He hadn’t given any thought as to what he wanted to do with the Lakota group. When they said anybody could claim any house they wanted as their own, he and the gang had instantly headed for the biggest bar they saw. He claimed it, shut the door and they all started partying in earnest. He wasn’t planning on doing any work like they were demanding, that was for sure. They acted like slave drivers. Especially that jumped up cop. She was a nobody, then all of a sudden she was a Miss Priss Sheriff, bossing him around. And those guys that just busted in on the Watering Hole. He knew they were all vets, but they weren’t so great. He’d shot one of the super badasses hadn’t he? He was just as good as them. Now that all these damn zombies were slowing down, rotting away, or whatever was happening to them, they were easier to deal with, too. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of the zombies. Not of going back to jail. Not of the police. Not of nothing.
He’d start his own country, just like they did.
Good riddance to the bums he’d left behind. They didn’t have any vision. They just wanted to stay drunk all the time and feel sorry for what they’d done. Casey had vision, though. He wanted a gang of hard-core head busters. He wanted to start his own town like those Pollyanna Pussies in Lakota. Except his wouldn’t be filled with a bunch of candy asses. He’d be the President. Or the King. He’d have the best stuff he could never afford before. The prettiest girls would fill his bed at night. They’d do raids like in the movies and take whatever they wanted. All the toughest men would take orders from him. He would be like a Mafia Don. They’d make everyone pay taxes to them. Just like in the old days in England. Pay your tribute, give us your virgins, and we won’t burn down your town. Not too crazy, not total anarchy. He couldn’t imagine rioting and looting all the time, just when it was necessary. And like any strong leader, if somebody needed killing, then a killing they’d get.
Casey had graduated high school. He wasn’t no dummy. They may have held him back a few years, but that was just because the schools in juvie sucked. He wasn’t any good at numbers or science stuff, but he got good grades in history. He liked watching old movies. Those historical epics about the Spartans and the Emperors and Kings. The Pha
raohs and the Tsars. They all had slaves, too. Oh, hell yeah. He was going to bring slaves back and all those dirty Muslims would know their place. He’d teach them to come over here and think they could take over. They’d get a beating every day whether they needed it or not. He giggled. What was he thinking, of course they would need it. He’d make their women into his own personal harem.
He needed to find a gang that would follow orders and he knew just the place to get them. The prisons might have some badasses still alive and if he was the guy to set them free, well, wouldn’t he be the hero? Yes, indeed. Shoot the biggest, toughest one in the face as soon as he said something disrespectful and that would make the rest of them fall in line. He’d seen the movies. He knew how this worked. He started heading for the Davies Correctional Facility. Maybe his old man was still alive in there.
39
The Hospital
Gunny rushed over and dropped to his knees beside the gasping Scratch. It was bad. Griz had his shirt ripped open and had one hand on the hole, trying to stem the flow of blood that was pouring out around his palm. With his other hand, he pulled out a field dressing from one of the many pockets in his hunting vest. He was tearing it open with his teeth. Gunny looked up at Lars, who was beside him, guns still in his hands.
“Round those guys up,” he indicated the gawking men from the bar. “Make sure they don’t try anything.”
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