Primus Unleashed

by Amber Wyatt

  “Sammy, quick,” Dwayne motioned at the small opening now visible under the barrier, “get in there and move whatever the fuck is blocking this bed. Albert, get out of the way and let him through.”

  Sammy did not need any more urging and wriggled straight under the bed like an eel. Within seconds his legs and feet shuffled and disappeared from view as he pulled himself out of sight into the infirmary.

  “It’s blocked by cabinets,” his voice came back muffled, “they’re heavy.”

  “Get yo skinny ass in there and help him,” Albert motioned to Barton to get through the hole under the bed. Then he gripped his metal weights bar firmly and faced back up the hallway towards the sounds of the approaching zombies. “And hurry up, we ain’t got much time.”

  The grey-haired prisoner dived down with an agility that belied his age and whipped himself through the hole with surprising speed. Dwayne exchanged a surprised look with Albert and remembered that the kindly old librarian had originally been convicted for strangling somebody. Soon after there was the sound of scraping and a thud and the bed was pulled back about a foot.

  “That’s as far as we can move it, guys,” said Sammy.

  “Big Al, you go. Try and shift it some more.” Dwayne motioned the bodybuilder urgently towards the gap now showing.

  “No way I’ll fit in through there bro, you go. You’re strong, get in there and shift this fucking bed.”

  Dwayne bent over to squeeze himself through the gap when suddenly a powerful kick to the ribs knocked him flat and laid him out on the floor, winded. He looked up to see Bourne grinding the barrel of his revolver against Albert’s temple, pushing him away from the hole in the wall. Behind him Friedman’s mouth was open in an ‘O’ of surprise.

  “Out of the fucking way, inmate,” sneered Bourne through an ugly smile. “I’ll go first, thank you very much.” And then he was down and squeezing himself through the gap, revolver first, pointing at Sammy and Barton on the inside, “and don’t you two fucks even think about trying anything.”

  Then he was gone.

  Friedman helped Dwayne up and with a muttered apology helped squeeze him through the small gap into the infirmary. Then the young guard took up a position next to Albert with his pistol held out in a firing position facing the corner of the hallway leading to D block.

  “Bourne just took off man,” said Sammy, waving at the back of the infirmary.

  “Fuck that guy,” wheezed Dwayne. He looked at Lamar’s barrier from the inside. The huge examination couch had been tipped over on to it side and wedged up against the hole in the wall, with some filing cabinets tipped over and pushed up behind it. Sammy and Barton had managed to push one of them to the side but it had been too heavy for them to lift up out of the way. From outside in the hallway gunshots echoed as Friedman opened up with aimed shots at the first zombies to come around the corner.

  “Dwayne!” Albert’s roar was a desperate prayer.

  Dwayne ignored the pain in his side, leaned and gripped the edge of the cabinet and threw it up and sideways. Lightning quick Sammy and Barton started pulling the bed away from the hole as Albert pushed from the other side. Friedman continued firing until his pistol ran out of bullets.

  “I’m out,” Friedman shouted. Albert grabbed him without a word, and threw him bodily through the hole, before following right on his heels.

  “Push it back! Push it back!” Albert shouted and he shoved the bed back at the hole with Sammy’s help while Dwayne dragged the filing cabinet back into position. They were just in time. A rush of zombies hit the other side of the bed, and a dozen hands clawed around the sides as they shoved it back in position. Then they managed to wedge the filing cabinet securely behind it and they all sagged back in relief. Zombie fingers prised fruitlessly through the gaps around the bed, but it was solidly wedged in place. There was no way that they were going to be able to shift the barrier an inch.

  “Holy shit!” Dwayne laughed and sat down. After a moment’s hesitation Albert laughed too.

  “That was some intense shit,” said the huge bodybuilder, showing his white teeth in a huge grin. Barton just looked at the two of them, appalled. Then he smiled and started laughing too. They had made it!

  Barton was almost humming in excitement. If he was recaptured after escaping, it was no big deal for him. He only had nine months to push. Any court would see that it had been reasonable for him to ‘escape’ in order to get away from the zombie outbreak at the prison. But he was not planning on going back to jail. With eighty million dollars in his pocket it would be easy to disappear. As soon as they got out, he planned to split from the group and get hold of his money. After five years in prison daydreaming about his millions of dollars, now that the day of his freedom had suddenly come, he was feeling giddy with excitement. His money was so close he could almost taste it.

  Barton started from his reverie and looked up at an urgent gesture from Friedman. The young prison guard and Sammy were looking at the back of the infirmary where a much larger hole in the wall led into the carpark. A scraping noise came out of the darkness.

  “Bourne is that you?” Friedman called out.

  “Yeah is that you, you cowardly motherfucker?” shouted Albert angrily, turning to look at the back of the room.

  An immense figure bent down as it stepped through the hole into the light and then stood up straight again. It was a huge monster out of a madman’s nightmare, a giant, the largest zombie by far any of them had ever seen, with the skin ripped off its entire head, displaying ruptured, bloody eyeballs and the gory musculature of its flayed face. Huge, muscular arms raised up and probed forward blindly as the sightless monster probed its way further into the infirmary.

  “Oh God.” Dwayne breathed. “It’s Lamar.”

  Dwayne regretted the words immediately. The monster’s head snapped towards him and its awful face angled left and right, seeking the source of the sound. Everyone in the room froze, not daring to breathe as the zombie grunted and stumbled forward, barging through furniture, its arms outstretched.

  Friedman looked down at this revolver. It was empty anyway. He waved until he had everyone else’s attention, then did a slow countdown with the fingers on one hand.

  Three. Two. One.

  He tossed his pistol underhand towards the front of the infirmary and it bounced loudly off the receptionist’s desk and then the front door. The giant zombie went crazy, stomping its way through chairs and desks as it charged through the infirmary, straight past the men cowering to the side.

  They ran for their lives straight for the hole in the back wall leading into the carpark. The lights in the carpark were out and they all paused, momentarily blinded as they ran into the darkness. Dwayne slipped briefly on rubble as he ran over the slab of wall that Lamar had pushed down. Albert tripped over completely and sprawled on the floor, his metal bar clanging off into the darkness. Behind them the monster that had been Lamar was noisily tearing apart the infirmary, throwing around tables and medical equipment as it thrashed around blindly.

  Albert picked himself up and as his eyes started to adjust to the low light, he could see that he had tripped over a couple of zombies with their heads smashed in. It looked like Lamar had taken them out before he too had turned into a zombie. Then the nausea hit him and he gulped as he saw Lamar’s discarded face, ripped off and lying flat on the ground in front of him like some grotesque mask.

  Lights suddenly flared in front of them and they threw up their hands in front of their eyes. An engine roared. They squinted and could see a hunched shape behind the wheel of a pickup truck as it started moving and then accelerated towards the exit.

  “It’s Bourne!” shouted Friedman.

  “Bourne, stop you asshole. Wait for us!” Dwayne shouted and they all ran towards him waving their arms. Bourne ignored them and drove on. “You fucking prick!”

  “Follow me,” shouted Friedman. “I got the keys to number four.” He waved at the other side of the carpark. “It’s
in the corner.” They all followed him, running towards the row of prison vehicles along the back. In the corner was a GMC truck with a number four stenciled on the bonnet and on the doors. Friedman held his hand out in front, squeezing the button on his key fob frantically, and as they got closer the lights flashed and there was a loud beep as the doors unlocked.

  Rhythmic, heavy thudding came from behind them. Sammy cast a glance behind to see that Lamar had come back into the carpark and was chasing after Bourne’s car. But with the sound of Friedman’s car unlocking, the zombie had whirled around and was now running towards them.

  “Shit, he’s coming. Hurry!” Sammy ran even faster. They all looked around and all sprinted the last few steps, slamming into the truck and wrenching the doors open with sweating, fumbling hands. They piled in, virtually on top of each other and slammed the doors shut in a panic.

  “Start it up! Get this fucking car moving!” Dwayne shouted. Then Lamar hit the side of the truck like a charging rhinoceros, and they all screamed in fear as the truck rocked to the side, bouncing off the wall.

  Friedman finally got the keys in and the engine came to life with a throaty growl. Suddenly the rear window exploded as Lamar punched an enormous fist into the car. The huge zombie thrashed his arm around inside, spraying glass and blood as the men screamed and tried to fend him off. Then, quick as a striking snake, the massive fist closed around Barton’s head and ripped him out of the window as if he were a doll. He was gone in a flash. Blood sprayed as the slim man’s skin ripped against the sharp glass edges, and his left shoe popped off, to bounce on the floor of the car. Barton’s face was completely engulfed in the zombie’s meaty hand. If he was screaming, mercifully the others could not hear it.

  Friedman shouted something unintelligible and stamped down on the pedal. The GMC screeched forward, scraping past a supporting pillar, and raced off towards the exit leaving Lamar behind, chewing down on Barton’s stomach.

  As they sped towards the exit ramp, blinding sunlight and the sound of gunfire spilled in from the outside. Two hundred yards away, the National Guard soldiers guarding the rear exit from the prison were firing everything they had at Bourne’s car as it sat by the side of the exit road.

  “GC, take out the second truck!” Sergeant Brown shouted at the soldier holding the AT4 rocket launcher.

  “Second truck, got it, Sarge.”

  When the first pickup truck had roared out of the rear carpark exit, his machine-gunners had immediately opened up, hitting it several times. The driver had leapt out and rolled into cover and was now shooting back at Brown’s troops with a handgun. Brown ignored him. At this range the man, probably a guard judging by his uniform, might as well be throwing snowballs for all the chance he had of hitting anyone. He had given the order for one of his squads to get out an AT4 84mm anti-tank rocket launcher to destroy the truck, when the second vehicle had come out of the carpark, engine roaring.

  “Backblast clear!” The gunner shouted, looking behind him, before turning forward again and squinting down the sights. “Firing now,” the soldier pressed down the red safety lever, and started tracking the second GMC truck that was zooming down the road. His finger tightened on the trigger as he exhaled slowly.

  Friedman gripped the steering wheel tightly and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. He took in the scene in front of him with a glance. Bourne’s truck stopped with steam pouring out of the front of the radiator, and Bourne himself lying in a fold of ground to the side of the road, shooting his revolver at the line of soldiers and Humvees blocking the road to the highway. Friedman suddenly noticed one of the soldiers pointing some kind of enormous tube straight at him.

  “Holy Jesus!” he yelled, hauling the wheel over to one side. The truck veered suddenly off the road to the right and bounced across the rough, sandy ground in a huge cloud of dust.

  “What the hell are you doing?” yelled Dwayne as everyone inside bounced around.

  There was a loud bang and a flash as the AT4 fired and the 84mm high explosive round flashed past the left-hand side of the truck straight into the wall of the prison.

  Inside C block the explosion blew chunks of concrete and flaming zombie bodies high into the air and clear across the entire width of the open atrium. Dust and the noise of gunfire spilled in through the gaping hole in the wall. The packed zombies turned towards the noise as one synchronized mass, and flooded out through the hole in the wall into the sunlight.

  “Fuck,” Brown swore, as more zombies than he had ever seen in his life started pouring out of the hole his gunner had just blown in the wall of the prison. The horde of undead took only a second to orient themselves, then started running straight towards him. “Forget the cars, shoot the zombies. Shoot the zombies!”

  The second truck kept on driving off in a cloud of dust. It clearly was not zombies driving. Surviving guards probably. In the back of his mind Brown wished them good luck, then focused his attention on the threat in front of him and controlling his machine-gunners as they mowed down lines of zombies. They were being thrown back and knocked down by bullets, but unless they were hit in the head, they stood up again and kept lurching forward.

  “Slow it down. Take your time. Aim at their heads!” Brown shouted at his platoon above the noise.

  Bourne saw the soldiers switch their fire towards the zombies and decided to make a run for it. But his sudden movement drew the attention of one of the National Guard sharpshooters, Corporal Leroy Slade, a father of three who worked part-time as a cashier at a lingerie store. He instantly snapped off two shots into Bourne, dropping him into a heap. There was no further movement and Slade aimed his rifle back at the horde of undead charging across the open ground. He had enough higher priority targets to worry about now, zombies knocked down by machine-gun fire, that he needed to shoot in the head before they managed to get up and start running again.

  Bourne clutched his stomach and moaned in horror as his hand sank in. One bullet had hit him low in the ribs from behind and exited out through the left-hand side of his abdomen. The exit wound was about a hand’s width across but to Bourne it looked as if his entire stomach had been blown out. The sheer amount of pain was unbelievable and it was only because he was unable to even draw breath, that he was not screaming in agony.

  He crawled one-armed, clutching himself with the other hand, slowly and painfully back towards his truck. The radiator was still spouting steam but the engine was running. He needed to find help, a hospital, something. And fast. Blood was not pouring out, so he guessed that no major blood vessels had been hit, but he knew he was hurt bad, maybe bleeding internally. Bourne felt that if he let go with the hand pressed against his wound, that his guts would just fall out. His insides felt like they were literally on fire. He clenched his jaw and kept crawling, lying on his side, keeping low and out of sight of those damned soldiers.

  Corporal Slade paused to change magazines and looked back at the abandoned truck, his attention drawn by two zombies who had broken away from the main group and were running towards where he had shot the running guard. He had a quick look through her scope but could not see the body. Slade supposed that if the man he had shot earlier had drawn the zombies’ attention, then he had only wounded him but he was still alive, hiding behind cover. Slade sniffed unconcerned, aimed his weapon back at the main group of zombies and started firing calmly at them again. He would let those two zombies deal with the wounded runner and then pick them off later. Not too pleasant for the wounded guard, he supposed, but it was more efficient that way. Slade put the guard out of his mind and focused on his breathing, his sights, and on steadily squeezing the trigger.

  In the front courtyard of the prison, from where the two of them had been hiding inside their crashed car, Milea finally dared to look out from under his jacket. It hardly seemed possible but their simple trick seemed to have worked. Every inhabitant of the quarantine zone, from the age of five upwards, suffered through endless, condescending public service announ
cements on how to deal with encountering a zombie. Schools and businesses within the zone were required by law to perform both fire drills and zombie drills on an annual basis.

  The first rule drilled into everyone was to get out of reach and to hide until help arrived. Zombies unable to see or hear live humans almost immediately became uninterested and possessed little or no memory of where their prey had fled to. Accordingly, Milea and Lamoureux had taken off their uniform jackets and scrunched down in their seats to hide underneath them. After only a few seconds the zombies pawing at the windows had been distracted and then drawn away by the sound of music and deafening gunfire from the front gate.

  Lamoureux peeked out from under his jacket and looked out of the window.

  “They’ve gone,” he looked back and forth across the main courtyard. Only a few last zombies were still in sight, lurching out of the main gate, slower because of obvious injuries to their legs, and they were completely oblivious to the two men hiding inside the car crashed into the side of the building. “What’s the plan now?”

  “We need to get back inside before the National Guard starts moving in and finds us here,” Milea said, his face unhappy. While he had been hiding under his jacket, he had spent the time considering the grim realities of their situation, and none of his thoughts had presented any pleasant options.

  “Back inside?” Lamoureux was incredulous. Then he looked out at the courtyard as the last zombie stragglers limped and crawled to the front gate and were almost immediately shot to pieces. “I suppose all of the zombies are dead now,” he said doubtfully.

  “Most of them,” corrected Milea. “There’s probably a lot gathered in C block because of the fire alarm, but we will just have to sneak past them.”

  “The staff carpark,” said Lamoureux, sudden understanding in his eyes.