A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (38 page)

***

12:34 a.m.

Daymon awoke with a start only to find Cade
shaking his arm. That there wasn’t a gun trained on him brought
great relief. Maddox and Lopez had gone and returned and both
appeared to be in one piece. And from where he lay sprawled on the
sectional, he could see the candle nubs sitting in pools of melted
wax, their flickering light still playing off of the kitchen
walls.

“What time is it?” he asked blearily.

“Almost time to go,” Cade answered
cryptically.

While Daymon collected his things and stowed
them in the back of Lu Lu, the operators used the down time to
strategize, then spent the next thirty minutes paring down their
loadout. The rucks stayed behind along with most of the C4. Maddox
packed a few ounces in a cargo pocket just in case his lock gun
failed him. They each took a silenced SCAR carbine as well as their
personal sidearm—silenced also.

Daymon scaled the stairs, poked his head into
the living room and said, “Your chariot waits.”

Cade tried to restrain himself but failed
miserably. “Gentlemen... let’s get this goat rope on the road.”

Chuckling to himself Lopez said, “Where have
I heard that before?”

“We all learned from the best and I would
like to think Cowboy is here with us in spirit.”

Pointing towards the ceiling Lopez said, “I’m
going to
get some
for you tonight
Vaquero
.”

Daymon made a face and said, “Who is this
Cowboy
guy?”

“He was a
snake eater
of the old
school variety... but he got bit on our last mission.”

Cade’s eyebrows raised an inch as he shot
Lopez the look and said, “We don’t need to revisit that here and
now.”

Mad at himself because of the slip, Lopez
moved to the window. Seconds later the patrol Hummer reappeared
down on Cache Street.

“There is our window. Lock and Load fellas,”
Cade said as he slid down the fire pole.

***

The House - 12:55 a.m.

Paul powered down the window and squared his
face toward the black plastic dome housing the security camera so
the guard could positively identify him.

“Hi Paul,” Cliff said over the intercom.

Paul nodded. “It’s really me Cliff,” he said
with a trace of sarcasm.

The gate opened inward allowing the black SUV
entry to the compound. The Escalade’s tires rumbled on the
cobblestone drive which arced in front of the grand mansion. Lucas
leapt from the Cadillac the moment it came to a stop, dashed
through the unlocked double doors and scaled the stairs, his combat
boots drumming the marble.

When he reached the second level landing he
went straight to the security room.

“Cliff...” he said, shoving the door
open.

The disheveled man pushed his chair away from
the desk preparing to stand.

Lucas put a big hand on the guard’s shoulder.
“Where is Robert Christian?”

“He’s sleeping.”

Arching an eyebrow Lucas said, “Passed
out?”

“More than likely,” Cliff replied, reaching
for a Cheeto.

“Did he raise a fuss about us being gone for
so long?”

“No, but Bishop was pissed,” Cliff added.

“Where is Ian?”

After a moment of silence Cliff wriggled
nervously in his seat, took another second to adjust his ball cap
and said, “I think he went to check on the guys at the barrier.
That was a few hours ago though.”

“Gimme that,” Lucas said, motioning for the
guard’s sat phone.

He dialed Daly’s number and looked to the
ceiling as he waited for an answer. “Paul,” he yelled downstairs.
“Take the truck and check on Daly... he’s not picking up.”

Jumping at the chance to prove himself, Paul
sprinted up the grand staircase and made his way to the security
room; after making eye contact with Lucas he blurted
enthusiastically, “I got this.” Then he bounded down the marble
treads three at a time, took a Mossberg from the coat closet, and
rushed out the front door. Stopping for a beat on the circular
drive he checked to make sure the short barreled shotgun was loaded
then rounded the front of the black SUV and slid inside.

The luxury Escalade was nothing like the
rattletrap Chevy Stepside he drove daily before the outbreak. The
polished wood dash and plush leather coupled with the rig’s smooth
handling and soft springs gave him a deceptive sense of
invulnerability. He really wanted to fiddle with the navigation
computer, but seeing as how, for him, setting an alarm clock was a
challenge, he opted not to touch. He slowly navigated the
serpentine drive to the bottom of Butte Road, took a right, and
bypassed the Teton Pass highway, continuing south on 189 towards
the Snake River crossing seven miles ahead.

Amazed at the horsepower the truck held in
reserve yet skeptical of the Cadillac’s speedometer which indicated
a top speed of one hundred and sixty, Paul had to see for himself.
At least to a hundred, he thought as he pinned the accelerator to
the floorboard. He had the SUV barreling down the tree-lined
straightaway at well over ninety miles an hour when the headlights
illuminated the first wave of walkers. He jammed on the brakes,
praying they were as capable as the engine. The unloading g-forces
instantly pushed him against the seatbelt as the rig slewed
sideways, leaving two thick stripes of smoking rubber straddling
the yellow center line. Then, still moving at more than fifty miles
an hour, the fifty-eight- hundred pound Cadillac plowed through the
moving wall of flesh and bone.

Simultaneously, all eight airbags deployed
and every window on the passenger side erupted in a maelstrom of
razor-sharp glass pebbles. As the vehicle lurched to a halt rocking
on its suspension, the first moans of the dead reached his ears.
Their stench quickly invaded his lungs and in seconds the creatures
were pushing against the pliant side curtain airbags, thrusting
their upper bodies into every available opening, trying to get at
the meat.

He flicked open his pocketknife and lanced
the airbag pressing against his face. As the bag deflated to reveal
the view through the windshield, a chill cut him to the bone. Pale
faces and reaching limbs, rendered ghostlike in the headlight
beams, were all he could see.

Avoiding the clawlike fingers he threw
himself to the floorboard, grasped the nylon sling, and drew the
Mossberg to him.

The first living corpse through the passenger
window wore the all black uniform of an NA soldier. Paul pressed
his back to the driver door, thrust the barrel to the monster’s
chin, and squeezed the trigger.
So much for the interior
, he
mused as he watched the Z’s face melt away behind the hail of lead
shot. His ears rang from the concussive blast.

Four left.

Moans sounded from the back of the SUV as the
monsters wriggled their way through the rear quarter window.

The odds aren’t looking good Paul
, a
little voice whispered.
Better save one for yourself.

He popped up, aimed the shotgun over the
seatback, and pumped two rounds into the encroaching undead
duo.

“Take that fuckers.”

Two left. Save one for a rainy day,
the voice nagged.

He stilled one more snarling ghoul at point
blank range then turned the smoking gun on himself.

Fucked up angle Paul.

He struggled to pull the trigger.

Do it,
the voice chided.

The driver window spider webbed and a pair of
gnarled hands thrust through, wrapping his neck in a frigid
embrace. The Mossberg slipped from his fingers, and as he
instinctively reached up more hands gripped him and effortlessly
yanked his body through the window into eternal darkness.

Chapter 42

Outbreak - Day 12

Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Daymon hated how Lu Lu handled fully loaded
down. Stopping on a dime wasn’t going to happen and every anomaly
in the road threatened to bottom out the neon green Scout. Hell,
she usually handled like a moving van with only his buck-eighty
aboard—filled to capacity with the four army men and all of their
gear—what did he expect.

Cade rode in the passenger seat with Maddox
behind him. In the center of the back seat, Lopez, the smallest of
the team, got stuck riding “bitch” as Tice happily pointed out.

“Harder for the
demonios
to reach me
here,” Lopez said smugly.

Changing the narrative Cade said, “We should
scoot by the patrol with plenty of time to spare.”

“Maybe if someone feeds the squirrels,” Tice
quipped.

“Listen... she’s due for a tune-up and brakes
and... fuck it.” Daymon glanced at Tice in the rearview. “I could
go back to the firehouse and you all can ride to the mansion... two
to a bike.”

“Let’s keep it professional men,” Cade said
brusquely.

Tice grumbled something from the back
seat.

“Curious... what does the E on your door
mean?” Cade asked.

“Stands for Essential and as the only
firefighter to return to work after the rotten fuckers started
walking... I’ve been elevated by default to Essential status.”

“Copy that,” Cade intoned as he gazed at the
darkened storefronts.

“How far is the mansion?” Maddox
inquired.

“Five minutes,” Daymon answered. “The turnoff
is just this side of 22 which goes through the Teton Pass. My house
is on the other side in Driggs.”

Cade popped the cover from the dome light and
removed the bulb which he put in the empty ashtray. “Kill the
headlights before you get to the turn off.”

“There’s lots of tree cover and it will be
dark as hell. I might not be able to get us to the
House
without driving off the road. Please tell me you’ve got another
pair of those goggles.”

“No need. We’re going in
quiet
... on
foot,” Cade said.

“What about me?” Daymon asked as he stopped
Lu Lu at the end of Cache. Then out of habit he looked both ways
and wheeled her left passed the Silver Dollar Cowboy bar—stole a
long last look—and then accelerated down West Broadway.

Chapter 43

Outbreak - Day 12

Butte Road

Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Mansion Guest House - 1:30 a.m.

“What is taking that kid so long?” Lucas
wondered aloud.

“He’s been bugging me to drive thath beast
since we got it from sha dealer,” Liam slurred.

“You better take it easy on the scotch
Liam.”

“Why... we’re all gonna die shoon anyway,”
Liam said. Then, ignoring his hypocrite brother’s advice, he tilted
the Dewars bottle in the air and took a long pull.

“Not in
my
plans bro. I’m leaving in
the morning with or without you. Mom is not around to give me shit
for not babying your ass.”

Glaring at his brother, Liam struggled to
rise from the leather pub chair and dropped the half full Dewars
bottle on the cream colored carpet. Instantly a medicinal smell
filled the air as the scotch glugged out, leaving behind a wet
amber stain.

“Don’t get up Liam... get some sleep why
don’tcha,” Lucas shook his head sadly. “I’m going to the mansion
and check on R.C. and then walk the grounds for a second.”

“Suit yourself.”

Suit myself. That’s exactly what is going
to happen at dawn
. Lucas mused.
And if you want to come
along then you better sober up and get your shit together.

Chapter 44

Outbreak - Day 12

Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Approaching Butte Road and I-189 Interchange
- 1:35 a.m.

The old Scout’s headlights fought a losing
battle against the dark. Overhanging trees and a waning moon made
sure the fight was anything but fair.

“This gutless wonder have another gear?” Tice
asked from the backseat.

Looking over his shoulder Daymon fired back,
“You’re still more than welcome to walk.” Then as he turned his
head forward, he registered a gaunt face in his peripheral
vision.

Cade’s shouted warning came a split second
too late as the Scout clipped the walker, sending it airborne
towards the guardrail.

Instinctively Daymon worked the brakes.

“
No. Do not stop. Drive through and kill
the lights
,” Cade bellowed as he flipped down his goggles and
powered them on.

Daymon tromped the gas, and as he swerved Lu
Lu around the throng, pale hands reached from the shadows, slapping
the windshield and side glass leaving behind gory traces of blood
and rancid dermis.

Suddenly, in a loud and excited voice, Cade
inexplicably ordered Daymon to stop and pull over.

Daymon ground the SUV to a halt a safe
distance from the pack of walkers they had just blown through. “Why
in the hell are we stopping Sarge?” Daymon asked incredulously.

Rapid fire, Cade detailed what he was seeing
through the NVGs. “There are more Zs on the road in front of us.
Twenty plus bodies. Distance, seventy-five yards.”

“
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck
...they’re between us
and the turnoff. This ain’t no Hummer Sarge... I know she
will
not
go over top of them,” Daymon said as he reached for the
stubby shotgun.

Shaking his head, Cade put his hand on the
shotgun, “We do not want to announce our presence. We do them
all
quietly starting with the Zs we just passed.” He looked
at Daymon and patted the cylindrical suppressor affixed to the
business end of the SCAR, flipped the 3x magnifier into place and
folded the stock to full extension. He stepped from the Scout and
sighted on the Zs on their six. Working the SCAR’s trigger he
delivered silent death as one by one the encroaching walkers
crumpled to the blacktop.

Daymon hauled himself from Lu Lu, opened the
rear hatch, and came back around wielding a wicked looking
crossbow. “Quieter than yours,” he whispered to Cade.