by Mark Tufo
“Sir, we are having problems with the zombies.”
“Don’t get bitten, seems like a safe enough problem to avoid,” the senator said peevishly.
Easy enough for you to say, you haven’t left this place since the outbreak, the captain thought. “It’s more than that, sir. It appears that the zombies are getting smarter.”
“How smart can a brain eating zombie get? I don’t care, Captain. Once we can secure the vaccine, none of that will matter.”
The captain saw it differently, but it was useless to argue with Dixon. The man was so fixated on being Supreme Commander as to be blind to everything else. He wondered how long it would take until he got the command to take out the only remaining member of the Triumvirate. With Deneaux’s death, there was only Dixon and Harry Wendelson, the largest land baron in the United States, the man who owned the land they were now residing on. Captain Najarian would do it because he knew which side his bread was buttered on, and then there’d be nothing between Dixon and the asshole he was sure to become.
“Leaders always die,” the captain said as he walked away from the senator. “And then who knows how high a lowly captain can climb.”
His first stop was to the pilot’s room, which, in retrospect, did look a lot like a basement filled with PlayStation playing gamers. Then off to see Doctor Baker. The drones had proved an invaluable tool in finding him, there was no reason to think they couldn’t do the same for this Talbot guy.
Chapter 21 – Mike Journal Entry 10
The bikers never got any closer that day; they also didn’t get any further. And gas was beginning to become an issue (even with the fifty gallon fuel-filled drum Gary had put in the back, attached by a hose to the fuel tank) as we traveled out of Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut and into New York. By the time we were midway through Virginia, it was evident we were going to need more.
“Must be a low crime day,” I said aloud.
BT had enough impetus to get away from Trip that he crawled through a hole I didn’t think was going to allow him through by half. He almost got stuck once and then Trip had started talking about patting his thighs down with lard and BT had pulled himself the rest of the way through. The talk of being buttered up made me remember my time in the cave. I nearly had a breakdown just thinking about it. As it was, when I slept, I dreamt about it almost every night. I’d wake up in a cold sweat and every part of my body felt like I was in the grip of a vise, barely able to move my fingers. I wouldn’t wish that on Mrs. Deneaux…wait, I just might, but only if I could watch.
“Why I rise to the bait I have no idea,” BT said sadly. “Okay, Mike, I’m listening.”
“I mean, why else are they following us? What do they hope to gain?” I asked, truly wanting to know.
“They’re a gang, Mike, they’re seeking payback. Doesn’t matter to them at all if they started it. What matters to them is that they end it. Their leader will look weak if he doesn’t.”
“What if we kill him?”
“Chances are they’ll scatter at that point, but it’s tough to tell which one it is.”
“We need to get off the highway.”
“Oh shit, man, you’ve got that ‘I’ve got a plan’ look on your face. Or you need to take a crap, they’re both pretty much the same.”
I ignored his barb. “We need to either draw them in closer or find a place to lay down an ambush. If you’re right and they’re going to keep following us, I want to get rid of them now. Plus, it gives us a chance to get some fuel.
“So let me get this right. You want to lose them or set up a place to waylay them, both pretty much requiring stealth.”
“Yeah that sounds about right.”
“You do know you have your blinker on, right?”
“Son of a bitch.” I turned it off. “Habit, man. Stop looking at me like that.”
“Being Nicole’s wet nurse would be more fun than this.”
“No it wouldn’t,” I responded.
“Probably right.”
“No shit.”
The bikers did indeed close the distance as I took the off-ramp. Maybe three hundred yards or so, far enough away that getting a decent shot off was nearly out of the question, but close enough that they’d be able to see me turn off. My gas gauge had just passed down below a quarter. One way or the other, we were coming to a head.
“How much longer?” Trip asked, sticking his head through the window.
“Doesn’t that window have a lock?” BT asked.
“How much longer until what, Trip?” I asked, giving BT a cross look.
“Oh! Hey, Ponch!” he said happily.
“He hurts my head,” BT said.
“It should be soon enough,” I gave him an answer to his mythical question.
“Oh great,” he said, pulling his head out.
“Hey, Mike, some of the bikers are leaving the main group,” Gary said, coming up to the window next.
“Maybe they’re getting sick of chasing us,” Justin said with hope.
“Or more likely they’re setting up their own ambush.” BT said it as I was thinking it.
“How many in the main group still after us?” I asked him.
“Dozen or so.”
“Still too many. Alright, I saw signs for gas a mile up. Get Travis, Tommy, and Tracy up with some guns. Justin, I want you to go back there, too. Well this ought to be an interesting ten minutes,” I told BT, referring to how long it was going to take to refuel.
“What do you want me to do?”
“What you do best,” I told him, “look mean.”
The bikers stopped as we did, one or two dared to get in closer, then thought better of it when one of them had the lens of his headlight blown out.
“Come on, come on, come on.” I quickly pumped the hand crank, too nervous to look around much.
“I wonder how they’re doing for gas?” BT asked, standing next to me.
“I would think they’ve got to be getting low as well.”
“I say we torch the station,” BT said.
“It’s not a horrible idea, but it’s not really going to slow them down. There are probably ten stations in a mile radius from here.”
“I know that man, but how often are we going to have the chance to do it.”
“It would be a hell of an explosion,” I said with a gleam in my eye, thinking about the resultant mushroom cloud. I don’t know what it is that is built into a man that causes him to love when things explode.
“Plus, it might give them pause to reconsider chasing us,” BT hastily added.
“Dude, I’m already convinced. You don’t need to keep rationalizing with me. You got any ideas how to get this done?”
“I was a cop, of course I do.”
“Wait, you were a cop? How come I didn’t know about that?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
“No, I think I would have remembered that coming up in a conversation. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.”
“Likewise,” BT answered.
“So, did you have much reason to blow up gas stations on your patrols? Was it retribution for the owners not giving you enough of those cheap donut wannabe’s?”
“Come on, Mike, those things are gross. It’s like eating chocolate chalk.”
“You must have never smoked weed, because those damn things are heavenly. I mean not that I smoked pot, I’ve just heard some people talking about it.”
“I said I was a cop.”
“What’s the matter, was internal affairs closing in on your corruption?”
“You watched too much television.”
“That’s it, isn’t it!” I said as BT moved to the side of the truck to talk up through one of the openings.
“Gary! Going to need a couple of flares,” BT said. “And no it was a girl named Callis.”
He said that last part so softly and with such sadness, I do not think he meant for me to hear him.
“Behind the seat up front,�
� Gary responded.
“Dad they’re just sitting there,” Travis said. “Most of them don’t even have their guns out.”
“Well that’s a good thing,” I responded.
“All these engines idling are bound to attract some unwanted attention,” BT said as he peeked around the truck. “What are they doing? They follow us halfway down the East Coast and then don’t do shit when we stop. Makes no damn sense.”
“Agreed.” I tapped the side of the tank, trying to get an idea of how full it was.
“How much more on that thing?” BT asked, looking back at me.
I could see strain on his features. I couldn’t tell if he was about to have another attack or something had him concerned. “What’s the matter, man?”
“This doesn’t feel right.” BT’s nose wrinkled up. “You smell weed?”
“Well…now that you mention it.”
Trip came around the front of the truck, a large plume of smoke preceding him. “Hey, man, what are you guys doing here?” he asked with a big smile.
“BT’s a cop,” I said to him.
“The Indian is the fuzz?” He quickly put his joint-laden hand behind his back, a small swirl of smoke arising behind him.
“Indian?” BT asked.
“Native American?” Trip answered.
“You’re not following the thread correctly,” I said to BT’s confused countenance.
“Enlighten me then to drug-speak.”
“He’s calling you TP, remember?”
“You have got to be kidding me! I thought we were past that. Fill the damn tanks so we can get out of here. Guy can barely remember his own name, but this he’ll never forget,” BT was grumbling.
“Hey, man, aren’t Indians supposed to be all mellow and one with the earth?” Trip asked, already forgetting that BT was a cop. He had brought his joint back up to his lips and was taking a drag.
“You don’t shut up, I’m going to scalp your ass,” BT said, pointing a giant finger at Trip’s head.
“Dude is harshing my high, Ponch.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “He harshes mine all the time.”
“You should tell him you can’t scalp an ass either,” Trip said in a conspiratorial tone.
“Not a chance, the Chief already looks pissed off.”
Trip got next to me and we were both staring at BT. “Yeah, I think you’re right, man. Look at that vein on his forehead, looks like a speed bump.” Trip moved closer to BT and had his finger out as if to feel it.
“You touch me and I’ll cut your ponytail off!” BT roared.
Trip’s eyes got huge and his mouth opened into a perfect oval. “No wonder your tribe kicked you out,” he said, before retreating the way he had come.
“Dude, I didn’t know,” I said to BT.
“You let that guy pilot a helicopter you got into?” BT asked, shaking his head.
“There wasn’t much of a choice.”
I was luckily excused from explaining myself further when the bikers as one began to throttle their engines. Even though they were a couple of hundred yards away, the buildings channeled the sound effectively. It was deafening.
“Are they coming?” I shouted as I pumped furiously.
“No!” Travis shouted back.
“Pack up, Mike!” BT said, coming over.
“What’s the matter?”
“They’re hiding something. Come on, man, the extra gallon or so isn’t going to make a difference.”
My OCD said differently. When I filled a tank I was compelled to top it off--just my nature. So I almost ignored BT, I’m glad I didn’t.
“Here, let me see that,” he said, taking the hose. He splashed a fair amount of gas around the access hole. “I hope this truck goes fast enough.”
“Hope? How fucking big is this explosion going to be?” I asked.
BT smiled.
“Oh shit, is that what my smiles look like? Because you look slightly insane,” I told him.
“Get in the truck, Mike.”
I did. After a quick headcount I yelled at everyone in the back to get down.
“Pull up some,” BT told me. He jumped up onto the running board on his side.
“They’re coming!” I heard from multiple voices in the back.
BT lit the flare just as I caught movement from a side street. My stomach lurched to my throat as I saw the huge cement truck squealing its tires while making the turn. It was heading straight for us.
“Get in!” I shouted to BT.
I hit the gas just as BT launched the flare up over the back of the truck. More things were happening than I could even begin to process, it was unfolding so fast. Our truck, although a powerful beast, had all the get up and go of a snail crawling through frozen molasses. The cement truck had taken its turn somewhere in the thirty-five mile an hour range and was gaining fast.
For a moment, I thought that BT had missed with the flare. I saw sparks dance from the end as it struck the ground…and then…nothing. The blue flame was nearly invisible as the vapor caught, a rippling ribbon of flame snaked from the ground and down the rabbit hole. The truck was still picking up momentum when I felt rather than saw the concussion hit. The truck went from forty to fifty as the blast forced us along. We were rocking around like a ship in a hurricane. Our back end may have left the ground momentarily, but I’ll be damned if I knew for sure.
The cement truck was easy enough to spot, though, it was engulfed in flames. Fuckers probably saved our lives as they blocked a path of propellant from hitting us. I had no clue about the bikers, I’m sure at least a few of them became deep-fat fried fuckers. The resultant fireball took up my entire rear view mirror. I would have stopped to admire the view, but I was scared shitless.
“Had no idea it would be that big,” BT said, gripping tight onto the dashboard.
“Comforting,” I told him, my foot still securely wedged down to the floor on the gas pedal.
By this time the cement truck was riding our ass. Most of the gas that had dropped onto their exterior was now burning out. The tires still had a lick of flame to them, but that looked like it would be extinguished soon as well. My hope that the explosion was going to take them out was dashed as the driver slammed into our rear end.
“What the hell was that?” Gary shouted from the back.
“Bikers traded up!” BT responded.
I could hear bullets pinging off the heavy steel of the backend. I was confident it wouldn’t break through, but it had to be loud as hell in there.
“You guys ready for some payback?” I asked. “Hold on!”
I waited while everyone braced themselves, or I at least hoped they did, before I slammed on the brakes. The truck lurched as the cement truck was now battering us. When I finally got the plow to stop, I threw it in park and jumped down.
“What the fuck are you doing, Talbot?!” BT screamed. I was already firing before the words got out of his mouth.
“RUN INTO ME WILL YOU?” I was screaming as I came around the side of my truck.
I’m not sure who was firing from the rear of the dump truck, but the glass windshield on the cement truck had shattered and caved inwards towards the cab. The driver and passenger had both ducked down under the dash. That did them little good as I blew dime-sized holes through the door.
“FUCK YOU!!!!!!” I was shredding my throat as I dropped a magazine’s worth of ammunition into that small compartment. “How’s that feel?” My body was as tense as taut metal; cords on my neck were threatening to snap.
“Mike, let’s go!” BT yelled.
He grabbed my shoulder and was pulling me back to the truck. The bikers were hauling ass to come up on to us. We made two nice targets, all ripe for the picking.
“COME ON!” I shouted, beating one fist against my chest.
Bullets began to whizz by, one catching the material of my jeans down by my thigh, the heat in its passing giving off a sweet savory scent of smoked bacon. The bullet that caught me in the shoulde
r was the one that got me moving. Twice in one day, new record for me.
“You alright?” BT asked once we were back in the truck and again moving.
We had pulled away from the wreckage of the cement truck. The boys once again had clear firing lanes on the bikers who pulled back quickly or accelerated past as they again started to take fire. I watched at least one biker go down with what looked like a gut shot. Horrible way to go, and I couldn’t think of it happening to a nicer person.
“Just a scratch,” I told BT.
“Just a scratch? I saw the exit wound in your back.”
I had a fair amount of blood pooling in my lap, and with my heart beating somewhere in the vicinity of two hundred beats a minute, the flood was pumping out rapidly.
“Tracy! Mike needs some medical attention!” BT yelled as my head slumped forward.
I struggled to keep it up. It was becoming difficult to focus, and for a moment, I had the sensation that my vision was tunneling. I felt myself being physically removed from my seat. After that…it was a fade to dark. Th-th-that’s all folks! Why I had images of Porky Pig in my head is beyond me. I’d always been a big fan of Bugs Bunny.
Chapter 22 – Captain Najarian
“Captain Najarian, sir, I thought you might want to see this,” Corporal Graham said as he handed a stack of high-resolution images to his commanding officer.
“Well that’s certainly an explosion. Where’s this from?” Captain Najarian asked.
“Virginia, sir. Richmond. It used to be a gas station, Mobil, I believe.”
“Now it’s a parking lot. Someone blowing up a hive?” the captain asked, referring to the zombies propensity to go into a stacked stasis when food stores became low.
“I figured the same thing, sir, so I looked at some of the satellite images before the explosion and this is what I came up with.” The corporal handed over another stack.
“That a snow plow?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir, and there appears to be twenty or so bikers and a cement truck chasing them.”
“They’re not together?”
“Some of the images catch muzzle flashes.” The corporal pointed to some of the places where he had circled a small point of light on the images.