American Revenant: Hometown Exodus (6 page)

Just as the zombie was close enough
for an unexpected lunge, Dean stepped forward and swung the axe hard, once
again using the spike point instead of the blade.  Axe protruding from its
temple, the creature crumpled to the ground. 

Dean stood there for a moment
examining the strap of his day-kit.  Ms. Bloody Dress had nearly bitten through
it, and he knew he would have an ugly bruise there later.  But she did not get
through to his skin so he refused to spend time thinking about it.  “No time to
waste,” he said aloud.  With one hard yank of the axe handle he pulled it free
and moved toward the south door of the church.

11

                Everyone at the school stood around the
front doors, waiting for the bells to start ringing.  They had nearly an hour
left to wait when Tam said “Listen.  Anyone else hear gunfire?”

                Everyone feel into silence, trying hard to listen
beyond the preternatural silence.  They heard a rapid popping in the distance,
coming from the direction they knew Dean was supposed to be. 

                “No, that’s not gunfire,” Sam said.  He
looked at his brother, “Firecrackers maybe?”

                “I think so.  But why fireworks?  Wish I
knew what the hell was going on.”  Calvin looked north, and hoped the best for
his little brother.  He knew the man was tough, but it was a different world
now; an anything goes world.

                “Ok, people, let’s do one last sweep of the
building.  Make sure we have everything.  All bedrolls need to be wrapped up
tight, any remaining food and water consumed or stowed.” 

                “Aye aye, Cap’n Tamara,” someone said.

                “It is 5:05, we all gather at the vehicles
in thirty minutes.”

12

                Dean was inside the church, standing
brazenly right inside the north door of the building.  He had guessed that
neither door would have been locked if church had been in session, and he was
correct.  He had opened the south door quietly, moved back up to the north door
and opened it, hiding behind the door.  Taking one pack of the firecrackers he
lit the fuse and tossed it as far as he could get it down the block.

                Reaction from inside the church had been
instant, and noisy.  Load moaning and groaning preceded the large pack of
zombies from the building.  They exited mostly through the south door moving as
quickly as their shuffling gait would allow, although Dean did notice that a
few of the gut-suckers did move faster than the rest. 

                The firecrackers burned up quickly, and Dean
lit another pack, throwing it as hard as he could over the heads of the pack as
it moved away from him.  He decided to risk it, and swung around the door,
pulling it closed behind him. 

                Two zombies were still heading for the south
door when he swung in, the big door slamming closed.  Both creatures looked
directly at him and began a loan moan that sent chills down his spine.  The time
for hesitation was past, and Dean knew it.  He ran forward and snapped a flying
kick into the first zombie, knocking it back into the second and putting both
on the ground. 

                He reached out and grabbed the big doors,
pulling them closed while the two undead on the floor reached for him.  Doors
closed, he turned and swung the SOG FastHawk hard into the skull of the zombie
on top, effectively pinning the second down, making it a much easier kill.

                After dispatching the pinned zombie, he took
a few minutes to look over the church.  He didn’t see any more dead up and
moving, but he remained cautious.  The church had become an abattoir.  Dead,
and horribly dead lay everywhere inside the building.  Propped up in pews, lying
in aisles, stuffed beneath the wooden seats; bodies were scattered throughout
the church.  He hadn’t noticed the smell before, being preoccupied with not
getting chewed on again, but it now invaded his sinuses and pushed down his
throat.  He felt his gorge rise; there was simply no holding it back.  He
vomited all over his shoes and a couple of dead bodies that had obviously been
chewed on.

                Dean checked his wristwatch; he had
forty-three minutes left.  After double checking the locks on both sets of
doors he settled in a corner of the small vestibule where the bell rope hung
and waited.  He had briefly entertained the idea of searching the church for anything
salvageable, but the thought of wading through that killing floor caused his
stomach to flip.

13

                “Ten minutes to go, everyone mount up!” 
Mike went through the group, helping people to pack themselves into the crowded
vehicles.  Each cab carried two adults and two children, no one was
comfortable.  The rest of the adults rode in the back of the trucks, mostly
sitting atop the supplies.

                Each adult was armed with only a sidearm,
except for Rick and Mike.  Mike carried the suppressed DPMS Oracle AR-15, while
Rick had appropriated the Accuracy International L115A3. 

                Everything they owned, and every person in
the group was now in a vehicle.  People with wristwatches kept glancing at
them.  Even though they knew it was coming, the sound of the church bell
surprised everyone.  The distant bell rang clearly, shattering the surreal
silence. 

                Jimmy started the engine of his vehicle and
looked over at his wife.  Tamara looked back at him, her usual sarcastic grin
gone, replaced by a grim, strained look.  “No worries babe, we got this.”  She
just nodded as Jimmy followed the other two trucks out to the highway.

                Sam drove the lead pickup, with Gordy
following in the box truck. The small convoy pulled out onto highway 79, then
took the next right at Bluff Street, they turned left at the end of the two
block long street onto Main.  From there it was a straight shot to Broadway. 
The final right turn on Broadway and the distance of about two blocks put them
at the marina.  The entire drive took less than five minutes.

                The trucks pulled into the lot and turned
around, facing out towards the road.  The loaded beds of the trucks were just a
few feet from the railed dock leading to the slips.  All five boats were moored
at the dock, with the three pontoon boats on the outer, non-slip side to allow
for easier departure, while the two jon-boats were in the first two slips on
the other side of the narrow dock.  No time or voice was wasted on giving or
taking orders.  Everyone knew which truck went to which boat.

Mike and Rick were the only two
people not unloading trucks or loading boats.  The two heavily armed men stood
watch, each man positioning himself so that they had a full view of the
surrounding area with an overlapping field of fire in the center. 

The few zombies they had seen in
the short drive had been at a distance, and all headed toward the sound of the
church bell.  The marina was clear of everything except the group loading the
boats.  No one relaxed, even for a moment. 

Three adults would handle the
piloting of a pontoon boat, which would leave eleven people divided between the
two jon-boats.  By putting three each of the lighter children in jon-boats with
adults they hoped to keep the weight down to a safe level.  The last thing they
wanted was a capsized boat because there were too many people aboard. 

“Mike, Rick, the boats are loaded,”
Gordy called out from behind them. 

Mike looked at his watch. 
“Eighteen minutes, not bad. Rick get on board your boat, I’ll fall back to mine
as soon as I see Dean coming.”

“I’ve got this Mike; I’m better
able to handle distance shooting with this than you would be with the .223. 
You need to get your pontoon out on the river.  I’ll join Jack and the others
in the last jon-boat.  No time for arguing, just go.”

“You got it, bro.  See you on the
water.”  Mike turned and ran for his pontoon boat, the second in line.  His
wife Lisa, and Lynn Fletcher would be on the same boat.  Though Mike trusted
every member of the group, he hated not having all three of his daughters on
board with him and his wife.  He knew that Annie, Tina, and Elizabeth would be
safe, but he also knew it was his duty to protect his girls.  It always made
him uncomfortable when he had to place that duty and trust into someone else’s
hands.

“Who’s driving?” 

“I will,” Lynn said, “I’ve spent
many an hour on the water with these kinds of boats.  I can handle it.  You and
Lisa want to take care of lookout?”

“Good deal, let’s start her up and
get ready to motorboat.”  Mike chuckled at his own joke.  Neither of the women
seemed to think it was funny.

Gordy powered up his boat, and Sam
did the same.  All three pontoon boats slowly moved to the outlet of the
marina, a wide area with levees on both sides.  They stacked up there,
waiting.  No one was to move into the river until Dean had returned.

Rick glanced at his watch for the
third time.  He knew that Dean was supposed to ring the bell once per minute
for twenty-five minutes.  It was now minute twenty-six.  The bell was silent
and Rick watched up the street. 

                Dean was supposed
to get out of the church, through a horde of hungry zombies, get on his bike
and push his way down Broadway as fast as he could.  Rick could only hope it
would work out as easy as thinking the words made it seem. 

All of the boats were ready at the
outlet of the marina, except the boat Jack was piloting.  Jack held the boat at
the far end of the dock, waiting for both Dean and Rick. 

Rick watched through a small pair
of binoculars hung around his neck, and he waited.  Two minutes; check his
watch, look through the binos.  Three and a half minutes; check and look.  Five
minutes; check and look.  Six and a half minutes; check and look. 

There he was, Dean was on foot
running through the Fifth Street intersection.  There was a small group of
zombies, but Dean was losing them quickly, the shuffling gait of the zombie
unable to match their fleet footed quarry. 

Dean had passed through the
intersection, continuing straight down Broadway.  His zombie pursuers had just
moved into the center of the intersection when a huge old dump truck came
plowing through, the bolted on plow blade smashing into, and tossing zombies
and zombie parts high into the air.

Rick could see through the
binoculars as Dean looked back over his shoulder at the roaring noise of the
huge truck, and the crushing of once-human bodies. 

“What the hell!  Run dammit, just
run.” 

Rick shouldered the AI L115A3,
bringing the long range scope to bear on the driver side window.  It was
difficult to track at this distance, especially with the beast of a truck
weaving back and forth over the street. 

Dean ran harder than he ever
thought possible, pushing his legs and lungs to do things he didn’t believe
they were capable of.  But the truck was gaining on him quickly and he knew it
was just a matter of moments before that gore splattered zombie catcher would
smash into him.  He didn’t spare a second glance over his shoulder, just kept
pushing for the riverfront.

He charged through the Third Street
intersection, the rising sound of the accelerating truck forcing its way past
the pounding of the blood in his ears.  Dean angled toward the small Land Title
building, hoping to make it more difficult to run him down. 

He intended to swing around the
corner of the Law office that connected to the Land Title building, making it
to the alley and possibly safety.  Gunfire ripped through the roar of the
truck.  Dean felt something punch him in the back of his left shoulder,
pitching him forward, face first into the glass door of the law office.  He had
only a moment to bring his right arm up partially shielding his face before he
smashed into the glass. 

“Fuck you, motherfuckers!” Rick
screamed.  He began to run, yelling “I need fire support, I need fire support
now!”  Jack heard him, and yelled to the other boats.  The pontoons had already
begun to move back towards the dock. 

Rick stopped at the levy wall,
leaning against the center where the flood gates would be slotted in during
times of high water.  He took a long deep breath, raised the rifle, sighted on
the driver side window and squeezed the trigger.

Dean was three blocks from the
marina, lying face down in shattered glass.  He had a bullet hole in his
shoulder and shards of glass in his face.  His head hurt like hell, every part
of him hurt like hell.  He rolled over in the glass to see the driver side
window of the truck bearing down on him implode.

The truck had swerved at just the
right moment, instead of scoring the driver of the truck he hit the man in the
middle.  The .338 Lapua Magnum exploded the head of the passenger, which was
enough to startle the driver.  The truck veered hard left moving fast enough to
rise up on its right side wheels, throwing the four men that had been riding in
the back.  Two of the men slammed into the side of a nearby building, one
breaking his neck on impact, the other’s skull splitting open down the middle,
like a ripe melon struck with a bat.

The driver tried jerking the wheel
to level the big truck back out, but it was too far overbalanced to make any
difference.  The open-bed dump truck tipped over on its side, noise like the
groan of a dying beast coming from the twisting frame.  It continued to skid
down the street, past Dean’s position, coming to a stop in front of the looted
Crescent Jewelers storefront.

Rick took off at a run, praying
Dean wasn’t dead.   He had made half a block when he saw Dean stumble away from
the law office.  Dean leaned against the door of the Designer Edge resale shop;
he tried to fight back when he felt hands grab his shoulders.