Zombie Rush 3 Page 13

  That changed as soon as Green rounded the corner. A nest or pile of zombies suddenly broke out toward the group, who instantly returned fire. The mass at the back door that Tim had held contact on, turned around at the sounds of the shots and attacked. Tim started firing as Danvers seemed to have jammed his gun. He took out two right away as his partner dropped his mag, cleaned out the chamber, and reinserted the magazine.

  Tim hit his third kill in five rounds before Danvers pulled the rifle up to his shoulder and fired two rounds before his gun jammed again. Danvers threw the M4 down and pulled out his sidearm at the last second before the dead were on them.

  Tim backed up and kept firing. The other three were also backing toward the door. They had found the staircase up and it was packed to overflowing with the undead. Too many, too quick. Tim was on the verge of panic when he shouted, "Retreat! Everybody outside!"

  He did a double-check on his melee weapon before he slammed another magazine home. Some landscapers with their stagecoach-style rifles slipped behind Tim and fired two more rounds of relief to the soldiers but only managed to deafen them with their large-caliber explosions.

  Green screamed as a zombie on the ground bit into his leg, tearing a large chunk from his shin. Danvers put a bullet in its head but knew it was too late for Green. Although Green also knew it, he kept fighting. He was getting reckless and pulling back into the horde that kept on coming from the basement. Maybe a door was opened to the work bays and they were letting all of the zombies from there as well; Tim didn't know. He saw Green collapse before it happened as his slide locked open and the horde closed in. Danvers put two into Green's head and then backed the rest of the way out the door, trying to cover as much area for Tim as he could.

  The press was so great that Tim couldn't get the door closed and had to push the crowd back into the room. Every time he tugged on the door there was another body blocking it. He heard the shouting from the open door behind him as he struggled back from the groping hands that tried to pull him into the room. He tried to stop his momentum and had to let go with his left to clutch the square metal handrail on the safety glass door to keep from being pulled all the way back into the building.

  Tim's rifle had now become dead weight with its slide locked back, so he changed his grip and started to bash the heads with the butt stock until it slipped out of his hands. He drew his 1911 as his hand on the bloody railing slipped when they pulled at him harder. He felt the metal cut into the palm of his left hand, spreading his own blood on the railing and mixing with that of the infected. His feet slipped as he put a round in each head of the three closest to the door. He fell back on his ass, still firing as he tried to use his left hand, still on the door rail, to pull himself up.

  Shotgun blasts over him pushed the crowd back enough for people to grab his arms and yank him out of the mess. Several more fired through the opening and cleared it enough to get the door closed. If there were somehow anyone living tucked away inside the station, they were going to stay there. People coming down from the rooftop said there was nothing but the dead in there, so they took it at face value since they had already lost a valuable team member.

  They left the building standing. There was enough going on and didn't need the distraction; they were supposed to draw them toward Benton, not away. Senseless destruction was not what Tim was about either. He ordered the door chained and a sign posted, and in minutes they were hitting the trail back out of hostile territory before the Z's they led to the Chicken Shack even knew that they were there.

  "Billy, you and the other guys hitch on with one of the other rides. I need to talk to Carlos," Tim said, leaving no doubts as to his mood. Everyone gave him a little bit of a side eye scan to see if he was limping from a bite, but other than being dirty, he looked the same as he did before going in the building.

  "You're driving," Tim said to Carlos.

  "All right. Is everything okay, Tim?" Carlos asked as he climbed into the driver seat.

  "No, Carlos, everything is wrong ..." He opened his pack, which he had placed on the floor at his feet. "The whole world is fucked up, haven't ya noticed?" He pulled out a small med kit and slowly peeled off his left glove.

  "Yeah, I noticed. Hey, you been bit?" he asked, looking at the gash in the palm of his friend's hand.

  "I'll be all right; it's a cut not a bite. It wouldn't matter much anyways."

  "What's that supposed to mean? You can't just quit … man, that ain't you."

  "I'm not going to quit, Carlos. I mean, really, how does someone quit?" Tim said, keeping his emotions reigned in. He cleaned his hand with disinfectant wipes and saw the greenish yellow that seemed to be spreading out on the palm of his hand.

  This is different, right? This isn't right, no … His mind raced as he felt the blood in his hand start to boil. The pain started creeping up his arm like clumps of dirt and mud sludging its way through his veins. How long?

  "Look, Carlos, I need you to just listen, okay? I think I'm infected, maybe just a little and maybe a lot, but I am going to fight it, all right? I think I can, no really… I think that I can fight it and beat it, okay?" Tim said hurriedly as he tied a piece of rope around a part of the seat framing before looping it over his body and around the seat several times. It wouldn't hold him in his current state, but as a Z it would do well enough to keep him off of Carlos.

  He pulled his bag up more in his lap and continued to rummage through it until his hand fell on something inside. Slowly, reverently, he pulled it out and reached back in for a couple of boxes of shells.

  "Have I ever showed this to ya, Carlos?"

  "Dude, is that a Python?"

  "Yep, a 1965 Colt Python; the best revolver ever made. My gramps picked it up playing poker back in '71. There was a time when something like this would fetch a couple thousand bucks; today it's only worth the bullets that you have inside it. And here, this is a nice drop-leg that I picked up for it when it came into my possession."

  "That's a nice gun, bro, you should wear it."

  "Naw, it is not practical for me. How about you? Do you want it?"

  "Wow, man, I would if I had a house to hang it in. Now I carry a 1911. First gun I ever bought. I'm kind of partial to it; I'll stick with it. Thanks though."

  "Well, I have to give it to someone. Everyone I know is dead."

  "Are you sure that you're infected? I mean, you might beat it, right?"

  "I might, but then I might not. I don't know … Hey, I know. There was a girl back at the compound. Good looking girl I was thinking I might want to spend time with. Better yet, she's a shooter."

  "Oh yeah, yeah, yeah the little blond, right? She's that cop's daughter."

  "Yeah, give it to her; she'll know how to take care of it. You gotta use it first though, Carlos."

  "Use it? What do ya mean?"

  "You know what I mean. It's tough. I stopped by my parents' house the day after all of this started. My mom died a few years back and my dad had MS, so my brother and his wife had moved in to take care of him." Tim paused for a long time as Carlos saw the lines of emotion rage across his face. His body shuddered and one solitary sob escaped as his eyes streamed tears.

  "I told myself that I was releasing their spirits. I convinced myself that they would never be free or at peace until I put a bullet in their heads. So that is what I did with that gun—just like you are going to do for me, Carlos." Tim finished as more sobs took over, and his restrained body slumped lower in the passenger seat.

  "All right, dude, I'll do it for you. I mean we're buds, right? I wouldn't let anyone else do it, bro," Carlos said. Tim nodded his head in a way that moved his whole body back and forth. "Relax then; when the time is right, I'll do what needs to be done, okay?"

  Tim returned some semblance of a smile to his friend and struggled to spit out the last sentence that he had to get out of himself. "They had a baby girl. Six months old, and I was going to be her godfather. God damn, she was a cutie. She had the kind of nature that mad
e you drawn to her, and when she smiled you instantly knew why. It was because nobody enjoyed being alive more than that baby girl." Tim sobbed some more as he struggled to find words to describe what he saw. "I found her … unfortunately, they'd both found her first. I think that's why I am okay with dying, Carlos. I have seen the worst. Everything since then has become more of the same, and I wonder … how many of us still living will find death to be as much of a welcome friend as I do? I think everybody feels this way, so … what kind of hope do we really have?"

  "Dude, you're thinking about this way too much."

  "Am I? I mean, am I really?"

  "I still gotta live in this world, Tim. I have to keep up the fight and struggle until I know all of mine are gone. I have only a sister back at the compound, but I know some of my cousins are still out there, fighting and struggling. So I hear what you are saying, and I feel bad for you … but you got to shut up, dude. I don't need your nightmares haunting me too. I got enough of my own, okay?"

  "All right bud, I get it. I know we only spend one weekend a month together at Guards, but I look forward to those weekends. You're a good friend. Now shut up so I can fight this thing."

  "You're the one doing all of the talking. I looked forward to them too," Carlos said, and tapped his fist on Tim's thigh to let him know that he mattered. For Tim, that was all that he could ask for right now.

  #

  Lisa stayed down in the pit, receiving all of those who came in. The planning phase was done so all they could do was wait as everything was put into place. She left that up to Mustafa as she and Skit helped out those who were coming in from Little Rock. Close to seven hundred had shown up already, and most of those were ready to keep up the fight. Tonka had joined her and the other dogs in rooting out the infected; sadly, there were several who tried to sneak through the line. Some were simply unwilling to accept their fate but willing to risk the safety of everyone. There were, however, a number that stayed with her, determined to work right up until their bodies gave out and they died before reanimation brought a bullet to their brains. Until that moment of peace, they were determined to make a difference.

  She worked with them, and when they fell, she and those with her knew what to do. It was in that special moment between animations when the past and future no longer mattered. It was inspiring to see those who would soon be zombies continue to sacrifice for others until their last breaths. They were a testament to human nature and the reason worth fighting for. Not some silly make-believe entity; it was people … they were what mattered, and most of them were good.

  Lisa didn't know why the sound of one Humvee caught her attention, but she stood and watched it approach. She could see the rope binding one man to the passenger seat and she wondered why he was brought back here. Then she realized that it was Tim, and she went over to the vehicle when it stopped.

  "Tim, you're not looking so good," Lisa said almost light-heartedly. She figured that he had been staring death in the face for the last ten minutes or so and didn't need her bringing him down.

  "Not feelin' so good either, Lieutenant. Seems this cut on my hand got a little infected."

  "Sounds like a bit of an understatement, bud. You saved a lot of lives today, my friend."

  "Yeah … Carlos and me done pretty good," Tim replied as he looked at his friend, who was struggling to keep from crying.

  "Yes, you did. I don't know what I am going to do without you," Lisa replied, knowing that it was probably inappropriate, but being dishonest with someone who had helped her so much seemed worse.

  "I don't know what y'all will do either," Tim said and then chuckled with a cough. "Naw, I'm kiddin'. Carlos here is a good man … he's got your back." Tim tried to slap Carlos but was still bound to the seat so his arm just flopped onto Carlos's leg.

  "I know he will; he already has. Let's get you untied," Lisa said, and started untying the ropes around his chest.

  "I know I'm not going to die in transit now—ha, ha. I just had vision of coming back as Carlos navigated through a horde. That would not have been good for my friend," Tim said, his voice getting weaker, his arms less responsive as his breathing slowed. His heart stuttered as they lifted him from the truck.

  Lisa felt the pull on her wound and laid him on the ground. She grabbed his cooling hand and looked him in the eyes, never flinching as the beginning edge of zombies started to arrive. The background filled with the rumbles of heavy equipment clearing Z's out of the way as tanker trailers and propane tanks were dropped off along the outside edge as well as down the center median of the interstate.

  "I was going rogue, Lisa." Tim spoke as if they were old friends, and his eyes were pleading for some type of release.

  "It was a strange ti ..."

  "Don't, I need to say this in the time I got."

  "Okay, I feel like we're in a scene from Gone with the Wind, but go ahead."

  "Well, aren't you the comedian?" he said, and she winked with a concerned smile. She wasn't the person that people confessed things to and was really regretting losing her anonymity of being just the Mexican girl down the street. Emotions weren't her thing and religion was definitely not her thing, but that wasn't important right now. What was important was that she give Tim whatever he needed to put him at peace.

  "Just a day into it, I had to take care of my family. I decided that nothing was worth shit anymore and the only thing that mattered was my own survival." Tim took a couple of long gasping breaths. "So me and the boys commandeered our authorized equipment … so to speak." He paused, staring blankly off into space, causing Lisa to think he had passed. Suddenly he took a large breath and continued. "And came to town looking for some things to make—life a little easier. We found you instead. We showed up as you were executing the racists. I heard your speech about criminals and us and them and to let them live was to be responsible for their crimes. It made sense. Carlos and I knew immediately what we had to do." He paused again as he struggled for just enough air to finish. "You save ...."

  Lisa laid his head down and closed his eyes. She saw the Colt Python from her peripheral vision and gently crossed his hands across his mid-section. She stood and backed away as Carlos laid the barrel against his friend's head.

  Chapter 13

  When It All Blows

  Lisa helped Carlos get Tim into a body bag, but then stepped back as he and Skit put him across the back of the Hummer. She had been putting way too much strain on her wounds as it was.

  "Where do you need us, Lieutenant?" Carlos asked.

  Lisa looked at him knowing that he and Tim had been with her since the last time she got out of the hospital. Their relationship was short-lived but powerful in a way one could never expect. There were six others with him and they were getting to the point where they needed to clear the area for what was coming. "Why don't you and your boys babysit the busses that just headed out. They're loaded with refugees, and not many of them are fighters. Take care of Tim, get some sleep, and meet up with us before we head into Little Rock."

  "Roger," Carlos said, smiling at the lieutenant's attitude, like the two hundred and fifty thousand zombies were merely a bump in the road.

  "Good luck, Carlos, and thank you."

  "My pleasure, Lieutenant. You're a good commander … Tim was right," Carlos said as he signaled two into his rig and left.

  Lisa instantly returned to the task at hand; the beating of the bass drums. There was too much at stake to start risking people unnecessarily now. The front-end loaders and some newer enclosed bulldozers were all that was left fighting the Z's, other than the line of shooters at the very back end of the chute. The corridor they had created had become known as the chute and it consisted of over a mile of the four-lane interstate from Raymar Road to South Shoeby. It was a basic plan; simple in nature, yet devastating in result. The frontage roads on both sides were utilized as well as the center line. Now it was only a matter of time.

  The swarm had become too much for the smaller skid loaders
and was starting to overwhelm the larger equipment when Lisa called it.

  "Okay, Mustafa, pull them in and seal it up. Over."

  "Roger, Lieutenant. I suggest you get into position. Crop dusters are reporting a massive buildup coming your way that could overwhelm the barriers. Over."

  "Roger that, Mustafa. Krupp, you getting all of this? Over."

  "Roger, Lieutenant. I'll send refugees for another thirty then hunker down. Over."

  "Ten-four. Make sure everybody holds to their assignment until the fireworks stop. There's going to be enough flesh destroyed tonight as it is; we don't need any of it to be living. Out." Lisa wondered why everything she said had a sarcastic twang to it when all she was trying to do was be honest.

  A storage container was lowered into place, effectively sealing them off from the inside of the chute. Loaders and bulldozers exited through the sides as people and dogs pulled the Z's off and destroyed them until they could get those areas sealed up. Soon, the back end of the chute was filled with nothing but zombies, and she understood why Mustafa said they might be too much to hold back with a double stack of storage containers. They took the time and filled the bottom containers with sand or gravel to give it enough weight to stand against the pressure from the horde. Looking at the horde, she had a sudden realization and keyed her radio.

  "Shooters! Place your shots fifty to a hundred yards back from our location. If you shoot them at the base, they will pile up too quickly," Lisa commanded.

  Others saw the value, and echoed it throughout the ranks. Bodies were becoming so compacted that the pile writhed like a basket of serpents. She waved the shooters off completely unless there was a breakthrough and contented herself to simply watch the horde for a while. Maybe there was something that she could learn by watching the crowd.

  An accumulated gasping hiss almost blotted out the drummers who worked in perfect concert with each other as they pounded out a rhythm. Tap, ta-tap-tap boom! sounded as five drummers on kettle drums with double mallets came down hard on the synthetic skin. The powerful percussion sent a ripple through the mass of zombies, spreading like a pebble wave across a lake. It was rhythmic, obscene, and hypnotic. Lisa found her eyes locked in stunned amazement as the putrid horde writhed to the primal beat. Broken, battered, and dead, their bodies still responded to the earliest of man's musical inventions. Something so basic and primitive that the response to it was instinctual, ingrained into the very make-up of human anatomy.