A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (24 page)

“Reverse now,” Icky ordered his driver. The
impact had opened the U-Haul’s right side like a tuna can,
entangling the MRAP’s armored window covers and side mirror in the
torn sheet metal.

In the Dakota, Wilson scanned the windows and
doors of the darkened houses as he listened to the action on the
two-way radio.

Out of the blue someone in one of the other
vehicles began praying on an open channel—a civilian no doubt. The
muffled gunfire picked up in the background by the two-way sounded
far away and of no consequence—Wilson knew different.

“
Get off the radio… unless you need...
help... emergencies only
,” a soldier’s garbled voice
ordered.

The praying ceased.

From somewhere up front a series of heavy
concussions rolled like thunder over the convoy, causing the
picture windows of the McMansions on his left to flex and vibrate
as if made from cellophane.

The steadfast birds that hadn’t already taken
flight when the noisy procession invaded their sanctuary filled the
air at once.

Hurry up lady
, Wilson thought as he
felt his chest tighten, the first sign of a looming anxiety
attack.

The radio crackled again. “Stay in your
vehicles
and stay off of our
comms
. We will be on the
move soon!” General Gaines bellowed.

This pushed Wilson over the edge into a full
blown panic attack. To him it seemed like the imposing figure was
sitting on his chest and screaming directly into his face. Stars
danced before his eyes as he labored to draw a breath.

***

To Brook the world seemingly slowed down
around her as she sprinted up the walk. The explosions, gunfire,
and moans of the dead dissipated and her vision sharpened—side
effects of the adrenaline surging through her body.

“
Hey monster, here I am
,” she cried
out, trying to get the zombie’s attention, but before she had
gotten halfway up the stairs a shrill scream pierced the air.

Fear constricting her throat, she stopped
short of the landing and shouldered the M4. Her finger tensed on
the trigger as the ghoul came up with a bloody hunk of flesh in its
maw.

The girl’s screaming ceased.

The rifle pummeled Brook’s shoulder as she
fired round after round into the monster until it slumped atop the
child. Hot gun oil assailed her nose. She adjusted her aim and put
her last two rounds into the twitching kid’s head, then froze
momentarily, her eyes straining to detect any movement from the
entangled bodies.

Nothing.

She scaled the stairs and stepped around the
corpses and made her way to the open front door. “
Anyone
inside!
” she shouted.

Silence.

She patted her body armor searching for a
fresh magazine.

Nothing.

A cold chill arced up her spine when she
realized the M4 was empty and her remaining spare mags were fifteen
yards away in the U-Haul truck.
A lot of good they’ll do you
there, rookie
, she scolded herself.

A horn blared.

She turned and counted the dead.
Eight
. “Fuck.”

The horn again.

Brook jumped from the stairs, swinging her
rifle like a club. The creature blocking her way crumpled hard to
the walk, gray matter spilling from its split temple. She swept the
barrel up, poking another zombie out of her way, then ran full tilt
across the brittle lawn dodging the remaining walkers. Carefully
she picked her way through the bullet-riddled corpses splayed out
in the street, and exhausted and short of breath, slid in next to
the ashen-faced Wilson.

Disgusted with herself, she grabbed a
magazine from the bench seat and fed the M4.

Wilson remained quiet. He tilted his head
back looking wild eyed and tapped himself on the chest.

“
What
,” she said breathlessly. “I’m
too old to play charades.”

The psychologically imposed dam finally broke
and Wilson drew a lungful of carrion-scented oxygen.

“Bad news...” he took a few deep breaths
before saying, “the general... I think he knows you left the
truck... or maybe he heard your gunshots. Anyway he was just on the
radio... and he sounded really
effin
pissed off.”

Brook said nothing.

Wilson’s heavy panting was the only sound in
the cab.

“You look like
you
just finished the
marathon,” Brook said glancing sideways at the redhead. “
I
was the one doing the dirty work.
Pull it together kid
.”

“While you were
out
I had a panic
attack.”

Brook put on her nurse’s hat. “How often do
you suffer from them?”

“Used to happen
only
when I had to
deal with an irate Fast Burger customer,” he answered through
clenched teeth. “The general sounded like one of them... times a
million... I
do not
want to be on his bad side.”

“That
excursion...me
leaving the
truck, that is to be kept between
you
and
me
,” Brook
said icily as she swapped out the empty mag. Then she took a quick
inventory; she still had four fully loaded magazines plus the one
in the rifle.

Kneading the steering wheel Wilson asked,
“Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t think—I just
acted
—that girl
could have just as easily been my
daughter
. She was in
danger Wilson...”

“Next time you decide on your own to
act
... ask me first. I had nothing but the baseball bat for
protection. You left me high and dry. Even
Pug
wouldn’t have
done that—”

Brook shot an angry glare his way.

Wilson sensed something in his peripheral
vision, then slowly panned his head to the right. The unpleasant
smell of cordite hit his nose first. Then the realization he was
staring down the barrel of the crazy bitch’s assault rifle made his
heart misfire.

“
Take it back
...”

Wilson pursed his lips in defiance, staring
down the business end of the rifle.

Brook kept the M4 tucked tightly against her
shoulder, Wilson in her sights.

The sounds of grinding gears and revving
engines filtered in as the two vehicles in front continued their
tug-of-war.

General Gaines’ voice emanated from the
two-way radio, ending the tense moment. “Dakota truck... we
do
not
have a visual on you. Come in if you copy. Dakota—come in.
Reply if you can hear me.”

“
Take it back
,” Brook hissed.

“You gonna answer the man—cause I’m not.”

With her free hand she snatched up the
blaring radio, threw it in the glove box, and slammed the door.
“Take it back...”
Then all of a sudden, as if a switch were
flicked, the fight seemed to leave her body. Her shoulders slumped.
She lowered the carbine and in a funereal voice whispered, “Pug
killed my brother.”

Wilson cast his eyes forward and tried to
process the information.

That is why she is so interested in
Ted
. “Sorry to hear that,” said Wilson. “I would have
never
implied what I did had I known about your
brother.”

Brook took a full breath and nearly retched.
Though the air in the truck smelled of death and fear-laced sweat,
it was the fact that she had just pointed a loaded weapon at an
innocent person who was no different than her that made her stomach
churn. “Sorry,” she croaked between coughs.

“No problem. Promise me two things
though.”

A pained look settled on Brook’s face. She
couldn’t believe that a few words had been enough to trigger that
kind of response in her. “Sure...
anything
... and I am
so
sorry for what I just did... it won’t happen again, I
promise.”

“That gets one of my requests out of the way.
Number two...
you
get to deal with the
general
.”

“I’ll take the heat,” she proffered. “I saw
my baby on that porch...” Though she didn’t fully believe her words
she added, “Gaines will understand.”

Wilson sighed in relief.

The MRAP and U-Haul gassed forward at once
and after a piercing screech finally separated.

“Go, go, go,” said Brook as she rolled her
window to the top.

“Thank God!” Wilson whooped. “We’re moving
again.” He urged the accelerator, leaving the small clutch of
hungry creatures grasping at thin air.

Brook kept her gaze on the crumpled unmoving
bodies as Wilson accelerated and the gray mansion shrank from
sight, then she said a prayer of thanks for not having to meet the
girl’s eyes when she delivered the mercy shots. One less face to
add to her nightmares, she thought mournfully.

As quickly as the
fog of war
had
descended on the convoy—throwing everything into chaos—it had
dissipated and the comms once again went silent.

All thirteen vehicles were on the move;
handprints and gore smears from the zombie throng traced their
sides, yet all of the civilians had made it through alive.

“
Outstanding,
ladies and gentlemen!”
said Gaines over the two-way radio in what Brook thought was
much
too cheerful of a voice for someone riding the tip of
the spear.

Wilson pried one of his cramped hands from
the wheel and removed his sweat-ringed hat. “That was
fucking
close.”

Brook pulled wet strands of hair away from
her face and tucked them behind her ears. “No shit,” she said in a
low voice, “they show up all at once... and their numbers.” She
shivered.

“You think they were residents?”

“Some of them, but I’d bet this place has
more than two gates and one of the others must have been
compromised.”

“Where do you think they came from?” Wilson
wondered aloud.

“They looked pretty beat up—road weary sort
of—they could have come from anywhere... but my guess is Colorado
Springs or Pueblo,” Brook proffered.

“There’s over a hundred thousand people in
Pueblo if I remember correctly,” Wilson said, arching an eyebrow.
“Not as many as Denver by a long shot, but that would still be one
hell of a horde.”

Picking up speed, the trucks in front drove
through the crumbling stucco archway and past the twisted and
blackened gates of Fountain Valley Estates, and as the trudging
dead disappeared in the rearview Wilson said a silent prayer.
“What’s next on the map?” he asked, apprehension apparent in his
voice. “Hopefully there aren’t any more
residential
areas.”

“I’ll check—you get to keep your eyes on the
road,” Brook said as she tried to figure out where they were on the
laminated plastic map. Then as an afterthought she added sincerely,
“Good driving back there Wilson.”

Beaming on the inside from the accolades,
Wilson took Brook’s advice and as the white aspens flashed by
focused solely on the winding road.

***

Civilians’ Billets - Schriever Air Force
Base

“Three, four, five,” Ted muttered under his
breath.

Ever since the immaculately dressed young
airman had delivered the news of William’s sudden death, he had
spent nearly every waking moment equally divided between mourning
his partner and formulating his final exit plan.

That he hadn’t been able to see Will’s body
infuriated him. Pneumonia was the suspected cause of death he had
been told. They were going to come find him so he could pay his
respects...
but
. Why did there always have to be a
but,
Ted thought at the time. Oxygen fire, he had been told.
The infirmary had burned hot with Will’s body still inside. Too
tired from all of the running and killing and death of the last few
days, he took them at their word. Done fighting anything and
everything, he had slipped into a deep depression.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen... that’s how
they do it
, he thought to himself as he tightened the knot.
Then he glanced up at the two-by-fours and covered his ears. “This
is getting old,” he shouted, barely able to hear his own raised
voice. The tent shook slightly. The thin canvas ceiling did little
to insulate the droning roar approaching from the east as yet
another noisy airplane skimmed the base on approach to the nearby
runway.

He had dropped three obvious hints that he
wanted to be left alone. Finally, after a blatant lie that involved
Yoga and his impending nudity, Sasha and her constantly running
mouth vacated his tent.

Finally alone and able to think clearly, Ted
mulled over his options, and in between bouts of uncontrollable
crying and inconsolable rage he made up his mind.

He penned a brief note which stated in no
uncertain terms that he wanted to be left alone and affixed it to
the outside of the front door.
That should keep Sasha away
,
he thought to himself. Then he picked up the worthless tangle of
keys. He had been kidding himself when he stuffed these in his
pocket, he mused. The faithful old blue Subaru, with only nine
payments left, sat wrecked in the middle of I-25 near Castle Rock.
And as far as his condominium at the Viscount Arms which he owned
free and clear—without William—he was never,
ever
going to
return to that tomb.

He removed the clear plastic photo fob from
the wire key ring and discarded the rest on the adjacent bunk.
Will’s face, though sunburned, radiated the happiness they had
shared on their ‘honeymoon’ trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. He
held the tiny faded picture in his palm and for the first time in
more than a week felt something other than despair or loneliness
touch his heart. That something was fleeting and ethereal—try as he
might, no matter how hard he stared at the silver dollar-sized
photo, he couldn’t replicate the emotion.

You can’t do this Ted,
he silently
chastised himself.
You’re a shrink, Ted... you know better
Ted
... his conscience went on. Trying to ignore the mental
prattle, he scaled the folding chair and cinched one end of the
rope to the tent’s ceiling supports with a strong double knot.
With my rotten luck my fat ass is going to bring this whole
place down on top of me
, he thought morbidly while he looped
the noose over his head. A sudden notion rippled through the
curtain of grief shrouding his rational thought.
What if there
is no God and no Heaven? What if I never see Will again?