Maybe they’re trapped in one of the buildings, Gunny thought.
Maybe they’d been caught out in the open when they were hanging the sheets and run low on ammo.
Maybe…
Gunny stopped.
Maybe the aliens came down and got them, or maybe they’re all sitting on the front porch sipping buttermilk. There was no way to know unless they got off to look. The train was impregnable, a refuge of safety where nothing could harm them and they had everything they needed. The second they set foot on the ground, all bets were off. There were no guarantees once they moved away from their rolling fortress.
There were a few short bursts from the 60s, a few undead eliminated, then it was quiet again. Gunny waited a few more minutes, watching for survivors. Waiting for the shouts of greetings from people running toward them. They had to have heard the train rolling in, and if they were trapped, surely the thunder of the locomotive would draw the zeds away. They scanned the tiny town, but nothing else moved.
“You boys see anything?” Gunny hollered up again and the message was repeated all the way down the train. It came back negative. Nearly the whole crew was up on the roofs, manning the 60s and looking for the survivors. There was nothing to see. The town was dead.
Gunny made a decision. They had to find out what was going on. Somebody had flagged them down.
“Everybody come on back down,” he yelled up to the roof. “Half of you gear up, the other half stays with the train. Stabby, take it back out the way we came in for a few miles, eliminate any followers before they come running in. We’ll do some recon.”
Fifteen minutes later, the sound of the train long since faded in the distance, they found what they were looking for.
The former survivors of the town.
There was an old cotton warehouse on a rail spur standing huge, solid and probably the reason this town was founded back in the day. They had turned it into a fortress, but the doors were ajar and they hadn’t been forced. The people had opened them and came out without a fight, thinking help had arrived. Now they were stacked up across the street, in the parking lot of the Methodist church. It had the black Muslim banner flying on the flagpole, the Stars and Stripes wadded up and laying on the ground. Most of them had been beheaded and their grisly skulls tossed in a haphazard pile, the crows pecking away at the soft parts. There were two nuns among them, but they were nailed upside down to the church doors. They had been crucified alive and left for the undead to tear into. Both of the Sisters snarled and struggled to free themselves, tried to rip hands and feet out of the railroad spikes holding them suspended, when they saw the living.
There was a bus in the parking lot, Saint Sophia’s Orphanage stenciled in black along the side. Many of the corpses were children, and from the state of their bloodied bodies and torn clothes, the girls had been used hard before they were killed. Or maybe even after. A mob in a frenzy didn’t care.
Griz and Gunny had seen massacres like this before, but that didn’t make it any easier. Lars had seen similar things in South America, the handiwork of the drug Cartels. O’Neill was pale around the gills but had a hard look on his face. This was a first for Bridget, though. She fell to her knees and retched, last night’s dinner soaking into the red Alabama sand. She’d gotten used to the zombies, accepted they weren’t human, just mindless killing machines. She pretended they were creations from the special effects department, but this was different. These were people who had survived a month of chaos and uncertainty. Dozens of kids that had come through the worst times in human history and were finally seeing hope, a future. Then this happened. How could anyone be so cruel?
Gunny pulled the black flag of Mohammed down and dropped it to the ground, grinding it under his boot as he ran Old Glory back up the pole.
Griz, O’Neill, and Lars kept watch, but there was nothing left, either dead or alive, roaming in the town. They looked away from Bridget, letting her recover with some dignity. They all remembered their first time seeing such a thing. Their reactions had been similar.
The locals had done a pretty good job of cleaning the place up and were starting to rebuild. Griz pointed out the ham radio tower next to the warehouse. Gunny nodded. The townspeople were probably talking with Lakota, had told them where they were located. Had said the name of their town. The radicals overheard the conversation and got here before the train, or maybe Gunny was giving them too much credit. There was a bridge across the Mississippi nearby, maybe it was just the towns people’s bad luck they got noticed. They had been killed by the foot soldiers clearing the land of any infidels they could find, probably on their way to Lakota. It was easier to take out small enclaves than allow them to gather into a single, formidable, force.
Gunny needed to get back. Maybe the jihadis were on their way to Oklahoma and maybe they weren’t. Either way, he would feel a lot better if he were there to help defend it. To help set up defenses. He wondered if there was a date already picked for an all-out attack. Maybe there were hundreds of small cells, heavily armed and already making their way there. Maybe the closest groups were just biding their time, killing all the infidels they could until the appointed date. He had to let Cobb know and make sure it was broadcast on the radio station constantly, every hour. The people had to know kill teams were roaming around. The only way an attack like this could work was if the people were unaware and were taken by surprise. There was no way some good ol’ boys from Alabama, who had cleaned up their town, would go down without firing a shot. The jihadis were probably wearing American military uniforms. It only took one of them to speak English to lull the survivors out of their compound, thinking help had arrived.
“Check this out,” Griz said and pointed at a handful of the bodies that hadn’t been desecrated. They’d been shot, but not beheaded and when he rolled the decaying, headless corpses off of them, they were looking at a mystery. They were apparently Muslim, but not military. There were women in hijabs with bullet holes in the back of their heads. The men were dark-skinned and one of them was even clutching a Koran. Resettlement refugees, most likely.
“Why would they kill their own kind?” Bridget asked, forcing herself to look, forcing herself to man up and act like she had a pair.
“They were the wrong kind,” Griz said. “These were locals, see how they’re dressed. They ignored the pilgrimage call to Mecca. They weren’t devout enough for the hajis that came here to cleanse the land.”
“But they’re Muslim. I thought they were all in on it,” she said, her voice getting stronger, although she was still a few shades whiter than pale.
“No,” O’Neill said. “We fought alongside Muslims who hated the radicals more than we did. But it doesn’t take a whole lot of bad apples to lead a nation if they can get in power. Look at Hitler. You think all the Germans were Jew haters? Just a minority, really.”
“I read somewhere that only one percent of them are crazy enough to do something like this, but one percent of a billion people is enough,” Lars said and glanced around at the dead town before he added, “Obviously.”
“Yeah,” O’Neill agreed. “But they say nearly fifty percent of them want Sharia Law, so that’s another billion that will stand by and do nothing, let this happen, thinking it’s for the best.”
“Why didn’t somebody just stand up to them?” Bridget asked, impotent tears of rage still threatening to overfill her eyes when she looked at the pile of bodies.
“Who knows?” Griz said. “By the time most of them found out what was going on, it was already over.”
“But that’s just crazy,” she insisted, her mind trying to reject what she was seeing. “People aren’t that evil.”
Gunny scoffed, he knew better. He could give her a hundred examples of pure evil. Pol Pot killed people because they wore glasses. Stalin starved millions of Ukrainians to death. The Hutu chopped up a million Tutsi with machetes. The English let the Irish starve during the Potato Famine. The Americans killed the Indians. The Turks slaughtered
the Armenians. Jim Jones gave poisoned Kool-aid to children, and Jeffery Dahmer ate people. There was plenty of pure evil in the world. This wasn’t the time or the place for a history lesson, though.
They could hear the train off in the distance, making its way back to them.
Gunny pulled his shemagh over his nose then toed one of the corpses, examined the crusty, dried blood. “They’ve been here for at least a day, probably two,” he said. “Rigor is already leaving the bodies, they’re getting pliable again. Bastille didn’t start broadcasting about flagging down the train with the sheets until yesterday.” He was still trying to fit all the pieces together in his head. Trying to determine exactly how it happened and why.
“So, you’re saying the Muslims hung the sheets?” Bridget asked. “After they killed these people? Why would they do that?”
“Just to let us know they were here. Hell, they ran their damn flag up the pole,” Gunny said.
“Arrogance,” Griz added. “They have killed nearly everybody in the world. They know we’re outnumbered, and they think we’re outgunned. They want us to know they’re coming.”
“Looks like they’re going to kill any survivors they come across,” Gunny said. “Even their own who aren’t in the same sect. They’re not taking prisoners or slaves.”
“What do you mean, same sect? What’s the difference?” Bridget asked. “They’re all Muslim, aren’t they?”
“Sunni and Shia,” Gunny answered with a sigh as he walked over to the struggling nuns hanging on the church doors. “Kind of like Catholics and Protestants. Same thing, only different. They’re fighting over who is the rightful successor of Mohammad and have been since he died. Sunni think the Shia are apostates and need to die so there can be a pure form of Islam. I’ve seen men killed because they held their hands differently during daily prayers.”
“They’re all crazy,” Griz spat with venom, joining Gunny in putting the Sisters out of their misery. “Most of them are inbred morons, they marry their cousins and have been for centuries. Gunny, you and Carson got a plan to kill ‘em all?”
“Got ships and subs blowing up their walls as soon as they can get there. The Russians and Chinese have cruise missiles they’re going to launch at the cities our ships can’t shell,” Gunny replied. “It’ll only kill a tiny percentage of them, but it’ll let them know the party is over. We’re going to take out all of their infrastructures, put them back in the stone age. They’re targeting power plants, dams, airports and military bases. It’ll destroy their chances of organizing something against the hordes until it’s too late, and cut off their ability to mass evacuate with airlifts. Carson said whoever the zombies don’t get will starve to death. The Russians have thousands of Cruise Missiles and they’re going to use them all. The Chinese have enough of their army left to keep them out of China. They’ll gun down any refugees trying to get out. The Germans have learned how to gather up huge hordes of zeds with their drones and they’re leading them to the borders.”
“We need to get on the Ham,” Griz said, anger still in his voice as he pried the spikes out of the door, laying the nuns on the ground with the headless children. “Bastille needs to let everybody know, give him something worth talking about instead doing those stupid “New Arrivals and their Stories” interviews.”
“Agreed,” Gunny said “We’ve got to head back, too. There’s another war coming and we need to be there. And I need some bacon.”
Lars and Bridget frowned in question at that, but Griz was wearing a grim smile. Shaytan was back.
22
Gunny
They met the train at the crossing near the sheets hanging from the poles.
“Where is everybody?” Stabby asked as they climbed aboard.
“Dead,” was all Lars said and he didn’t press the issue.
“Mission is over, we’re heading home,” Gunny told him. “Let’s get this thing rolling back to Lakota.”
“Uh, Cobb called, mate. There are some survivors in Atlanta we’re supposed to pick up,” Stabby said.
“They’re on their own,” Gunny replied. “We need to get back. We can send a rescue crew out later.”
Stabby nodded, flipped the levers to switch directions and the train slowly started picking up speed, heading back west.
Gunny grabbed the mic and hailed Lakota, he needed them to start spreading the word about what had happened in Munson.
The rest of the crew went to the dining car and started stripping out of their gear, but within a few minutes, the train stopped and reversed itself, heading back toward Atlanta.
Gunny came in shortly and started pulling his gear off, too. Silence filled the car, all of them waiting for him to tell them why they had changed directions. Again.
He was annoyed, even though he knew Lakota was right, that they had spoken the truth. He finally turned to face them.
“Wire Bender made contact with a large group of people, a lot of them babies out of a daycare place, holed up at a college. They don’t have weapons. They’re surrounded and out of food. No water either. They won’t last another few days, let alone the week or so for us to get back and send out another train. Besides,” he added, trying to keep the aggravation out of his voice, “they don’t need our help building defenses in Lakota. Apparently, we’re just a bunch of dumbass grunts who wouldn’t know a hammer from a pipe wrench if it bit us on the ass.”
Griz burst out laughing. “You were talking to Cobb?” he asked.
“Actually, that part was from Martha,” Gunny said, smiling in spite of himself, then imitating her voice, “You betta bring back baby or I cut off you baby maker.”
“DAYUM!” Lars swore, protectively grabbing himself. “Chop, chop, Stabby! Let’s get this thing to Atlanta.”
Gunny looked at the map as Stabby took them through the Alabama woodlands toward Tuscaloosa. It was only a few hundred miles to the college. They’d load everyone up and hustle back to Lakota. The return trip would be fast, all the intersections were already switched in the right direction. He hoped the radicals were cocky enough to think they could just rush the town with overwhelming numbers and mop them up quickly. He hoped they weren’t methodically making plans and raiding military bases for heavy ordinance. In another few weeks, the town would be ready for anything. He knew Wilson was going to make a trek out to get some tanks as soon as they had the place armed with everything they could get from McAlester. They would be able to figure them out, they were just big guns, basically.
He doubted the Muslims would come in heavy, they thought they would be going there for the victory party. It was the only town of its kind, fully functioning with electricity and running water, so they wouldn’t want to tear it up too bad. Probably just small arms. That would work in their favor, because they were in a pretty good defensive position, and had some serious ordinance at their disposal. He needed to hurry this up, get the survivors and get back home. He told Stabby to bump the throttle up a few more notches.
Morning turned to afternoon and Griz whipped up another of his casseroles, with some peach pie for dessert. They were on the long East End District set of tracks that connected Birmingham to Atlanta. It wound up through the hills above Interstate 20 and no spurs were running off of it. The map indicated it was a high-speed line so when Gunny took over engineer duties, he had the loco cruising along at about 60 miles an hour. This was one of the quickest sections they had run, with only a few towns where they had to slow. They had one hell of a following trailing them, though. They needed to keep the speed up so they wouldn’t get buried when the runners caught up near Atlanta. They had to be far enough ahead to give them enough time to get everyone out of the dorms and onto the train. Cobb had told the survivors to coordinate directly with the train and when they were about an hour away, they finally established contact. The communication signal was weak, they said they were running on battery power, but Gunny knew exactly where they were, as he’d been by the campus dozens of times. It was a large group of stud
ents and teachers from Georgia Tech, on the main campus, and the map showed a rail line going right past them. They said they had picked up the broadcast Bastille was sending out and had managed to get to the Ham radios the Amateur Radio Club had. When they finally managed to speak to each other, they started formulating a plan to get them all out. Gunny was going to make one run past their building to pull away the undead surrounding them, then a fast stop on the way back, with machine guns keeping the path clear. Easy as pie.
“Y’all start getting ready,” he said. “You’ll see us soon.”
The rest of the crew had listened to the conversation and were amazed so many had survived so long. Especially with no weapons.
“Bunch of vegetarians in colleges. You know they didn’t eat any of the meats,” Griz had declared. “Don’t they have walls and fences around the campus? I’ve never been to one, but they always do in the movies.”
“They just got lucky,” Lars said. “Some folks had to be in the right place at the right time. They saved all those babies, too. They’ll be a good bunch to add to Lakota. Besides, I think there’s a chance I’ll find me a fine African Queen among them. A smart one, too, if she’s going to college. Maybe we’ll adopt us a couple of those kids.”
“Didn’t take you as the daddy type,” Evans said, grabbing a second helping of the casserole.
“Man, babies are the future,” Lars said. “They’re the reason to build a better world. Without them, we’re nothing.”
“You got that right,” Stabby said. “When I get a Mrs., we’ll ‘ave a house full of ‘em.”
“It’s all about the babies,” Lars continued. “Look at us, man. We’re out here fighting and killing and taking chances every day. How many of us sitting here do you think are gonna be alive next year? Hell, by Christmas? The babies, man. It’s all about the babies. They the only reason we’re trying to build a new world. They need to live, even if we gotta die to do it.”
The Zombie Road Omnibus Page 77