02 Flotilla of the Dead (27 page)

When he stepped out onto the loading dock Carl knew that time was of the essence now.  A veritable flood of zombies was approaching rapidly up El Segundo Boulevard.  The fire truck should hold them back for a while, but the supply of water was limited to no more than five minutes.  Carl decided that he needed to do something to stretch that window.  “Up for a joy ride?” he asked Karen Slade who was standing on the loading dock with a look of dread on her pretty face.  She shivered and nodded as she followed Carl towards the Suburban.

The Suburban pulled up next to the big earthmover and Carl called up to the operator, “Let’s try to draw them off!  Follow me.”  The big man named Joey nodded and started his engine as Carl sped across the parking lot towards the undead horde.  It would be close, but he hoped to cut in front of them at the intersection and lead them south on Aviation Boulevard.

The fastest moving undead were already crossing the intersection as Carl slammed into them and twisted the wheel to slash and bash them with the wicked steel blades welded onto the crash guard and bumpers of the big SUV.  Karen Slade drew in her breath sharply as the sharpened side mirror guard slice off the head of what has once been a young man.  His blood splashed the windows as Carl continued his turn into the next pack of undead, knocking some down to be crushed below the Suburban and sending the rest spinning away like bowling pins. 

As Carl completed his next 180 degree turn in the intersection he was pleased to see the big Cat rumble up next to him and begin crushing even more zombies.  Carl leaned on his car horn to get the attention of both Joey and the zombies massing around them.  He waved at the heavy equipment operator, twirled a finger to indicate another circuit of the intersection and then pointed south down Aviation Boulevard.  Joey nodded and drove forward into the pack with the bucket positioned to drive them to the pavement to be crushed by the giant earthmover.  Carl followed in its wake, swerving to take down the zombies that got around the Cat. 

“I need you be the bait, Karen,” said Carl as he pressed the button to open the sunroof.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Karen asked incredulously. 

“Just wait until we get out of the intersection and clear of the mob, then stand up in the sunroof,” Carl explained with a grin.  “Wave your arms and scream at them, anything to make them follow us instead of going towards the warehouse.”

“Okay,” she agreed as the plan became clear.  “I can do that.”

“Good,” said Carl as he cut down more zombies.  “Get ready.”  Carl followed the Cat as it completed its circle of destruction in the intersection and turned south.  As soon as they were clear of the horde Carl slowed the SUV and urged Karen to stand up. “Now!” he said.

Karen rose to stand on the center glove compartment to stretch through the sunroof.  There was plenty of zombie blood on top of the SUV and she was careful not to touch it as she drew her sword, swung it in circles over head, and let out a blood curdling scream.  It was so realistic, like a woman being killed, or raped, or eaten alive, that Carl taped the brakes and looked up to make sure she was okay.  She just glanced down and said, “That sound attracts them.  I saw and heard a lot of it from my apartment.”

“No shit,” muttered Carl as she let out another scream.  Looking in his side mirrors, Carl saw that the screams did indeed have a drastic effect on the zombies.  It was the sound of their prey in distress and it caused all of them to turn and run towards the Suburban with gaping mouths and outstretched arms.  “Brilliant,” Carl said softly and sincerely.  He had had been right to think that Karen would prove useful on this mission.  “Keep screaming, Blade!” he unconsciously used his nickname for her.  “We might be able to patent you as a zombie lure,” he called up to her.

“Fuck you, Stiller,” she hissed between screams, but went right back to belting out shrieks.    The seemingly endless stream of zombies that had followed them from the refinery turned right at the intersection of El Segundo and Aviation, away from the sporting goods warehouse and the rest of the convoy.  The plan was working.  Carl slowed to less than 20 miles per hour and let the fast movers close in a little more, causing Karen’s screams to sound even more authentic as she stared into the faces of the undead at close range. 

Carl sped up again at the last moment and pulled away, but the zombies kept running after them at a fast and steady pace.  Were they moving slower than when they chased Carl along the beach days before?  He wasn’t sure and this was probably a different group of zombies anyway, but Carl decided to clock their speed and remember it for future reference.  Keeping a steady ten yard interval between the SUV and the fastest zombies he was doing about 15 miles per hour. Shit! That’s a four minute mile and after chasing them more than a mile from the refinery.  Better than Olympic marathon pace. Good to know, but God help us.  A normal, fit and healthy person could outrun them in short sprints, but after a few hundred yards?  Forget it, at least with the fast ones. 

Of course not all of them were that fast.  As usual, the parade of zombies stretched far to rear, back towards the refinery.  The old, the weak, the overweight and the lame were much slower than the leaders of the pack.  Carl could only hope that the herd mentality they seemed to display would draw the slower ones around the corner to follow the rest.

Carl reached over and picked up his hand-held fire department radio that was tuned to the same frequency as the fire truck back at the warehouse. “I think they are all following us, Peter,” he radioed the driver of the big Panther fire engine.  “Don’t attract their attention if you can avoid it, over?”

“Copy that, Carl,” replied Peter’s voice.  “It looks like all of them are following you.  We are sitting tight.  Loading of the truck seems to be going well.  But we heard a woman screaming.  Is everything okay?”

“No problem,” Carl yelled over the sound of Karen’s screams.  “That’s just our new zombie call.  It seems to attract them like flies on shit.”

“Ten-four,” Peter replied.  “I’ll let you know when we are ready to bug out.  Will you be coming back this way?”

“Probably,” Carl decided. “The Cat can plow right through the herd and we might as well thin them out as much as possible, unless we can actually lead them all away from the refinery for good…  I’ll let you know what we decide when we reach Rosecrans.  Over.”

“Roger that and standing by,” Peter confirmed.  Carl set the radio down and contemplated if they could actually lead all the zombies away from the refinery and then ditch them somewhere.  It might be possible, with more planning, but they had not explored any of the roads ahead.  Carl knew that there would be major traffic jams.  The Cat should be able to clear the roads, but could it do it before all the zombies caught up?  And would the zombie-proof features of the Suburban stand up to a mass assault by the undead?  Carl sort of doubted it.  Their only real advantage was mobility. 

Already the Cat was pausing to clear a multi-car wreck from the road.  It only took a few moments, but there would be more and worse ahead.  Carl sped up, passed the accident scene and pulled up next to the Cat.  Slowing, he reached for the microphone on the dash mounted radio and switched on the PA, saying, “Joey! Let’s speed up a bit and lead them down to the intersection with Rosecrans to see what’s there.  If it looks bad, we’ll turn around and flatten these bastards on our way back!”

Joey nodded and gave Carl the thumbs up sign before accelerating down the open straightaway.   The SUV kept pace with him and Carl motioned Karen to stop screaming and get back inside.  She was breathless as she dropped into her seat.  “That sucked,” she croaked in a suddenly hoarse voice. 

“No, that was some excellent acting,” Carl complemented her performance.

“Acting, Hell!  I was scared out of my mind,” Karen said with a grin.  “I’ve never seen so many of them before and you let them get way too close for comfort!”

“Just making sure the slower ones could hear you when they got to the intersection,” Carl explained without a hint of remorse.  “Looks like it worked though.  Next time you can probably just use the PA system, but I’m not sure if I could take all that screaming in here.”

Karen leaned over and punched him in the shoulder, none too lightly.  “Screw you, Stiller,” she said, but there was still a hint of a grin on her face.  

As they pulled up to the intersection of Rosecrans it was clear that the road was impassable.  The entire intersection, much of it covered by railroad bridges, was clogged with crashed and abandoned vehicles.  Looking both ways on Rosecrans, Carl couldn’t see any hope of getting through quickly, even with the Cat leading the way.  It was a shame, really, because Carl knew from studying a map that there was a Trader Joe’s across the street and a Costco only a block or two away.  He had put them on the list for future shopping trips, but that might be a moot point, if they were moving to the new safe haven. 

Carl was about to signal Joey to turn around and head back when he noticed a big red fire truck at the edge of the traffic jam.  It appeared to have come to the scene of a major accident and never left.  Not surprising, considering the people who the firemen came to save had probably eaten them.  What caught Carl’s attention was a water-cannon mounted above the driver’s cab of the big pumper truck.  This water cannon was small compared to the monster on the Panther, but it would put out a hell of a lot more water than any sprinkler.

“Think you can drive this SUV back?” Carl asked Karen as he looked in the rear view mirror and estimated how long it would take for the fasted zombies to catch up to them.  Less than a minute…

“Why?” she replied with an edge to her voice.  “What are you thinking?”

Carl didn’t answer immediately as he pulled up next to the fire truck and threw his door open. “I’ll tell you in a second,” he called over his shoulder as he pulled himself up to the driver’s door of the fire engine.  Leaning in he confirmed that the key was in the ignition, but would there be any charge in the battery?  Glancing back, he saw the zombies closing in fast.  He would only have one chance at this.  He noticed Karen moving into the driver’s seat of the Suburban and giving him an incredulous look, but what gave him enough hope to continue with his idea was seeing the big Cat turn back towards the zombies and rumble towards the leaders of the pack.  That should buy him at least a few more seconds.

Carl climbed into the fire engine and turned the key.  Nothing happened.  In the mirror he saw that some of the zombies had made it past the earthmover.  His time was up.  He made time for one quick look at the dashboard as he started to open the door again and his eyes fell on a switch labeled “Emergency Power”.  Even as he was moving out the door his right hand turned the switch.  Suddenly the lights on the dash lit up and he noticed the reflection of the flashing emergency lights above the roof of the cab bouncing off the cars in the traffic jam.  The fire engine had a back-up battery!

Rolling the dice, Carl closed the door again and waved Karen away.  The Suburban burned rubber as it backed up and then fishtailed back toward the approaching zombies, slicing through them as it sped up to catch the Cat.  The first of the zombies arrived at the fire truck moments later.  Carl moved around the cab quickly, locking all the doors in the front and rear seats.  By that time the undead had spotted him, probably attracted by the flashing lights of the truck too, and were clamoring over the exterior of the vehicle.  Several of them were pressed against the side window as Carl settled back into the driver’s seat.

Carl turned the ignition key again and the big diesel engine turned over, and over, and over, but didn’t catch.  It wouldn’t start.  Carl scanned the plethora of gauges until his eyes fell on one marked fuel.  It read empty.  He realized immediately what had happened.  The firemen had arrived at what they thought was an accident scene and left the engine and lights on as they got out to assist apparent victims.  At some point they were attacked and never got back to the truck.  The fire truck would have sat there idling until it ran out of fuel and stalled, then the lights would have kept flashing until the primary battery died.   Carl had found the reserve electrical power, but the fuel tank was empty.  Now he was surrounded by zombies pounding on the windows. 

Carl tried not to panic.  He wasn’t dead yet, but had certainly put himself in a bad spot.  Trying to ignore the demented faces glaring in at him, he looked past them and saw the Suburban and Cat driving back and forth a hundred yards away, ripping zombies apart as they tried to stem the tide of bodies headed towards Carl.  He could also hear Karen screaming into the PA and this time her shrieks sounded even more authentic – so much so that some of the fiends surrounding the fire truck actually turned back towards the rampaging SUV.  Carl was grateful for her efforts, but willed her to drive back to the safety of the convoy.

Gathering his thoughts quickly, Carl returned his concentration to the interior of the truck.  There must be something he could do.  Suddenly the passenger side window spider-webbed as a particularly strong zombie connected with its forehead.  Time was running out fast.  Carl looked back to the fuel gauge and studied the surrounding instruments and switches.  It was much more complicated than any vehicle Carl had ever driven.  He almost gave up in confusion, but he was an engineer, damn it!  Then, as if a light-bulb had been switched on, his eyes fell on a switch marked “Reserve”.  He flipped it quickly and was pleasantly shocked to see the fuel gauge pop up to ¼ full.  There was second, smaller, tank of fuel available!

Carl pumped the accelerator and engaged the ignition again, and again, and again.  He knew that diesel engines were a bitch to prime and ignite after running dry, but this simply had to work!  He kept trying to start the engine as the cracked passenger window finally shattered and a large zombie began to climb inside.  Controlling his fear, Carl kept turning the ignition with his left hand as he drew his 9mm pistol with his right and shot the zombie in the head point blank.  Its body collapsed, half in and half out of the window, which had the advantage of blocking others from entering the same way, as long as it stayed there, but the moans of the other zombies echoed through the cab, grating on Carl’s weakened nerves.