Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (40 page)

My first instinct was to shoot them both, but that would get the attention of any other zombies in the area.
I didn’t want to do that. I looked quickly around for something that I could use to take them out quietly. In the third aisle, I saw garden and yard implements. I moved towards the shovels and stopped short. Lying a few feet to my right was a bunch of machetes on a shelf. I smiled wickedly as I reached down and grabbed one.

I flipped it over in my hand and caught it by the blade, then handed it handle first to Southard.
He took it with a wicked grin. Then I snagged another one for myself. Slinging the M-16 over my shoulder by the strap, I hefted the machete in my right hand. It felt good. I took a couple practice swings in the air and nodded. Southard did the same and just shrugged.

“Let’s go, Conan,” he whispered.

I just grinned, but led the way towards the fourth aisle and the feeding zombies. We were almost on top of them before they noticed us. I launched a vicious swing at the nearest one, hoping to silence it before it could shriek. I was amazed at how easily I sliced into it. I expected more resistance from the skull, but I cut deeply into it in a single swipe. Southard swung his in a downward swing, and nearly split the skull in half.

I pulled my blade
loose with a little effort, and the zombie dropped to the floor. Southard couldn’t pull his blade free; it had buried itself clear to the nose of his. What was worse is that it didn’t die. It was flopping around like a headless chicken. It thrashed so hard that it yanked the machete out of Southard’s hand and started smashing into the displays around it. It made so much noise that I heard shuffling feet coming our way from the back of the store.

“Dammit!” hissed Southard, yanking his pistol from its holster.

“No,” I said. “It’ll make too much noise.”

“What do you want me to do, beat it to death with a fucking post-hole digger?”

Three more zombies came around the back corner of the aisle and started shuffling our way. Southard still looked like he wanted to shoot them.

“Go find the manual pumps,” I said.
“I’ll deal with them.”

“You’re going to get yourself bit, dumb
-ass,” said Southard, turning to head off down the next aisle.

“Let me worry about that.
Just find the pumps so we can get the hell out of here.”

The zombies were still about fifty feet away from me, and close together.
I started to think that maybe Southard was right. I could definitely get the first one but if my machete got stuck like Southard’s did, I’d be toast. The one that Southard chopped was still flopping around, not dead but not really a threat either. I idly considered yanking out the second machete, but thought better of it. Then, I saw a display of hatchets about ten feet away.

“What the hell,” I whispered, and ran over to the hatchets.

I dropped the machete and grabbed up about six of the hatchets. Then I stepped back around the corner and looked at the approaching zombies. They were still a good thirty feet away, shambling towards me. I hefted one hatchet in my right hand and took aim. I drew back my arm and threw. The hatchet flew end over end and stuck in the chest of the lead zombie. It stumbled, but kept coming.

“Come on, Wylie,” I muttered, readying the next hatchet.

This time I took a wider stance and let fly. It didn’t stick, but still struck the lead zombie in the forehead. It fell in a heap and didn’t rise. Encouraged, I readied another hatchet. This time I threw with more force and flipped the end as I released. It flew straight and buried to the handle in the face of the second zombie. It fell and became a flopper, like the one Southard chopped.

The next two I threw missed the target completely.
As I readied my last hatchet, I hoped like hell that it worked. I didn’t want to have to shoot this one. Just as I was getting ready to throw, Southard came around the end of the aisle behind it with a sledge hammer in his hands. He took four running steps and smashed the remaining zombie in the back of the head. With a sickening crunch it fell on its face, not moving. The back of its head had been completely caved in.

“Let’s find your damned pump,” he said
, “before you go completely
Lord of the Rings
or something.”

“Hey, just give me a sword and a bow,” I said. “I’ll skip the cloak, though.”

I left the M-16 hanging by its strap and pulled out one of the Berettas. I kept it in my right hand and lay it across my left wrist holding the Stinger in my left hand. This way I could use the flashlight and the pistol was pointed down the beam of the light. Not as good as having a tactical light mounted under the barrel, but it would do for now.

I kept sweeping the area as we moved towards the back of the store.
Southard let me cover him and kept checking the shelves, looking for a manual pump. All the way at the back of the store, we found a shelf with manual pumps. The hoses were right down the aisle from them. With that accomplished, Southard hustled back down the aisle and grabbed a shopping cart. Then we went shopping.

We put in all five of the pumps they had and four entire rolls of hose.
I grabbed four boxes of hose clamps in various sizes and every roll of duct tape on the shelf. Then we grabbed all the machetes they had and a couple heavy handled axes. While I was headed for the door, Southard grabbed another cart and filled it with all the batteries he could find. He didn’t get picky, either. He took all the brands and all sizes. We could sort them later.

When I made it to the door, I could see a large crowd of zombies gathered around the burning liquor store.
Spec-4 and Sanders were sitting motionless behind their weapons, both looking very nervous. Southard and I exited the store as quietly as possible, and headed for the back of his Humvee. We had to be careful pushing the shopping carts to keep them from making too much noise.

Once we made it to the back, we started unloading our gear as quietly as humanly possible.
We were almost halfway through when we heard a
Shrieker
start in behind us. I spun around and grabbled for my M-16. Just as I had feared, a
Shrieker
from the crowd had noticed us and alerted the rest to our presence. The crowd of zombies began to turn and started heading our direction. The
Sprinters
immediately came straight at us.

“Light ‘em up,” I yelled.

Spec-4 and Sanders didn’t wait for a second invitation. Both SAW’s roared to life and started spitting death into the coming crowd of zombies. The first wave of
Sprinters
was cut to ribbons. Most of them weren’t killed outright, but were instantly turned into
Crawlers
. Many of them were now missing limbs. Southard began to unload the supplies at a frenzied pace.

I left the supplies to Southard and took aim with the M-203.
With a resounding
THUMP
, I sent a round into the burning liquor store. The resulting explosion sent burning alcohol and debris all over the crowd of zombies. Instantly, dozens of them were engulfed in flames. Sanders and Spec-4 kept up the withering fire from the SAW’s and the results were devastating.

“That’s it,” said Southard, slamming the back door shut.

“Let’s move!” I yelled, and shoved the shopping cart rolling across the parking lot towards the zombies.

I was back inside my Humvee before it quit rolling.
Spec-4 finished the belt of ammo she was using as I fired up the engine. I could see her reach down and grab another box of ammo, and begin reloading.

“Save the ammo,” I called up to her.
“We’re getting the hell out of here.”

I pulled it into gear and backed away from the front of the hardware store, then turned the wheel to come about.
Southard drove over the sidewalk and turned around without backing up. Once he was behind me, I headed for the parking lot exit. I couldn’t retrace our steps, since it would take us through the fire. So I found another way.

“Hang on, folks,” I
yelled into the mic. “The ride’s about to get bumpy!”

“The All-Father wove the skein of your life a long time ago. Go and hide in a hole if you wish, but you won't live one instant longer. Your fate is fixed. Fear profits a man nothing.”

-
Herger the Joyous

-From the
“Eaters of the Dead” by Michael Crichton

My plan meant going back across Glenstone, but it beat the hell out of the alternative. It was blocked for at least another block to the south, so I had to find another way through. Where we needed to go was to the south, and it looked like I was going to have to take a wandering path. There was no direct route, this time. Since this was one of the main arteries, it was going to be clogged with cars.

I shot across the road, going between the front of the lumber truck we’d passed before and an overturned potato chip truck.
We bounced into the parking lot of one of those car title loan places and I plowed over four zombies that had gotten in our way. Southard stayed right behind us. When I headed towards the back of the lot, I couldn’t see an exit. I was going to have to make one.

“Everyone back inside,” I yelled into the radio.
“This might get ugly.”

Spec-4 was inside in an instant, and I could see Sanders drop from view as well.
Then I headed straight at a six foot privacy fence that ran the length of the back of the store. With a crunch, we lurched over the curb and through the fence. Boards bounced off of the windshield and before I could see clearly, we were crashing through a child’s swing set. Fortunately for us, it wasn’t a good quality swing. It was cheap metal and crunched easily under the up-armored juggernaut.

Once we cleared the debris, I looked for an exit from the backyard.
Not seeing one, I continued straight through and crashed the privacy fence on the other side. This time we emerged into a backyard that must have been owned by Martha
Fucking
Stewart. There was landscaping everywhere, with lawn figures, shrubs and statuary. Two water fountains fed fresh water into a large Koi pond.

I mashed a lawn gnome into oblivion and took the head off of a large cement unicorn.
But try as I might, I didn’t quite avoid the Koi pond. The driver’s side front tire dropped into it, sending a wave of water up and over the hood. A gold and white fish landed on the hood and started flopping. The front wheel popped up out of the other side as the back tire fell in. I nearly got whiplash from the beating we took bouncing through.

I landed on top of a group of lawn gnomes that were arranged around a flower garden, crushing them all under my wheels.
I was amazed that despite committing mass
gnome-icide
, the stupid fish was still on the hood. I turned the wheels hard to the left, narrowly avoiding a concrete brick retaining wall leading to an elevated herb garden.

“Holy Crap!” yelled Southard over the radio.

“Yeah,” I called back, “Yard rodeo time.”

“Try not to kill us all,” replied Southard.

“Copy that,” I replied. “Follow me and try and keep up.”

“10-4,” he replied. “Lead the way.”

I accelerated towards a gate on the west side of the little house.
I headed right for it, and kept my fingers crossed that there wasn’t a car on the other side. I blasted through the gates, emerging under a carport. Thankfully, there wasn’t a car in it. Unfortunately, there were four or five bicycles. I rolled over them just like a monster truck. I could hear them crunching and scraping on the way under the Humvee. I bounced out of the driveway and back onto the street. Southard was right behind me, only he clipped the support beams on the carport and dragged it with him.

“Now
THAT
is a fucking short-cut,” said Sanders on the radio, excitedly. “Woo Hoo!”

Spec-4 just looked at me and smiled, settling back into the front seat.

“You ok?” I asked.

“I’m fine.
Has anyone ever told you that you’re insane?”

“All the time,” I replied, with a big shit-eating-grin.

“I can see why,” she said, laughing. “Where’d you learn to drive, in a Demolition Derby?”

“Hey,” I said, grinning.
“We made it through, didn’t we?”

“You are
SO
lucky that there wasn’t a car under there,” she said.

I couldn’t help myself.
It popped into my head instantly. I couldn’t resist quoting one of my favorite movies,
The Thirteenth Warrior
.

“Luck will sometimes save a man, if his courage holds.”

“That’s deep,” she replied. “Did you make that up?”

“Nope,” I replied.
“It’s from the Thirteenth Warrior.”

“Never heard of it,” she said.

I feigned a pain in my chest.

“What?” I asked, in mock surprise.
“You’ve never heard of one of the greatest movies I ever saw. Next you’ll be telling me you didn’t like Conan.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I love him.
I used to watch him every night after Leno.”

I gave her the evil eye and she started laughing.
I started to say something else, but movement caught my eye. I could see a crowd of zombies near the intersection with the SPD cruiser.

“Oh shit,” I said. “We just came through here.
Where the hell did they come from?”

“I don’t know,” said Spec-4.
“We’d better not go that way.”

Instead of answering, I swerved left and took the first road I came to.
It led into a residential area, and I hoped it was clear of zombies. Sanders stayed right behind me, as usual. Thankfully, it was clear of cars and zombies.

“Whoa,” he said, on the radio.
“Where the hell did all of those damned zombies come from?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Just stay behind me and hope for the best.”

“Ok, but let’s try to avoid yard farming for a while,” he quipped.

“Agreed,” I said.
“I don’t want to see what’s behind any more fences unless we have to.”

“You do realize this street goes to the National Guard Armory, don’t you?” asked Spec-4.

“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. Let’s hope it’s cleared out.”

We continued on for a few blocks, only seeing the occasional zombie.
When I bounced through a dip at an intersection, I heard a scrape followed by something crunching out the back of the Humvee.

“What the hell was th
at?” I asked, craning my neck to see behind me.

“Hey, Wylie,” said Southard.
“Your Humvee just shit out a tricycle.”

“So that’s what’s been scraping,” I replied.

“Yeah, you’ve been dragging it since we destroyed that carport,” he said, chuckling.

“Nice,” I whispered. “But, technically
you
destroyed the carport. I only took out the gate and the bikes.”

“Up yours, brother,” he replied.

Up ahead, I could see another intersection. Beyond that, was the compound that surrounded the National Guard Armory and the Reserve Center. What I didn’t see was a large numbers of zombies. The place looked deserted.

“Do we keep going past the armory or risk trying Glenstone, again?” I asked Spec-4.

“Glenstone’s gonna be clogged with cars,” she said. “I say we try the road past the armory.”

“What about that crowd of zombies we saw the other day?”

“Maybe the Blackhawk took them all out,” she said, hopefully.

“Or maybe they all wandered off looking for something to eat.”

“That’s a possibility, too.”

“Ok,” I said.
“Forward we go. Keep your fingers crossed.”

I shot through the intersection and headed towards the armory.
I didn’t think that I’d be coming anywhere near this place, again. About half way across, I saw movement to my right. I stole a quick glance and saw a large crowd of zombies, less than a block away. There had to be almost two hundred of them.

“Holy Cow!” yelled Southard, through the speaker.
“I’m glad you didn’t turn right.”

“Me too,
” I replied, blowing out a breath.

We continued on up the hill, passed the remains of the two jogger zombies I ran over the last time.
I continued accelerating as we climbed up the hill. As crested it, I could see the remains of close to a hundred zombies littering the ground. It was obviously the handiwork of the Viper 2-1’s mini-gun. Unfortunately, they hadn’t gotten them all. Milling around the corner was another hundred or so.

“Oh shit!” said Spec-4.

“Hang on!” I yelled, and turned sharply.

I slid left and back onto the grounds of the armory.
We shot back in the same gate that we’d used last time. I knew that there wasn’t another gate, but I could think of one way out. No one was going to like it, though. I accelerated hard and headed towards the back of the compound. I was heading straight towards the old Pythian Castle.

“Wylie!
What are you doing?!” yelled Spec-4.

“Hang on!” I yelled.

My radio crackled to life. It was Southard yelling at me.

“You crazy son of a….”

I didn’t hear the rest, but I’m pretty sure I knew what it was. I hit the chain link fence at almost fifty miles an hour. For just a second, I didn’t think we were going through. With a terrible shriek of tearing metal, we shot through dragging about fifty feet of chain link fence with us. It wrapped around the half dozen zombies that had been gripping it on the other side and shredded them like they were in a blender.

With a shudder and a bounce, we cleared the fence and shook free of the length of chain link.
Southard bounced through behind us, merely driving over it. He’d escaped the worst of the damage and followed me through the hole. I shot through the parking lot and skidded to the right, down the driveway. I slid in the gravel and fishtailed a few times before straightening out. This brought me right out to the street, and I headed left.

Up ahead and on my left hand side, was another one of
Springfield’s three bible colleges. I can’t ever keep them straight. I had expected more zombies to come pouring out of the school, but it looked mostly clear. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks for that one. I could see Glenstone was just as blocked here as it had been by the hardware store, maybe even a little worse. I knew it was only going to be worse the farther south we went.

I started going through my mental map of
Springfield, trying to find a way through without driving down Glenstone. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Without any other side streets going south, I was going to have to improvise. Unfortunately, that meant more yard farming. That wasn’t going to be a popular decision.

I looked to my right and found an empty driveway.
I slowed down just enough to make the turn and slid in the gravel. I ignored Southard’s ranting on the radio, preferring to concentrate on getting us through this in as close to one piece as possible. Fortunately, the back yard wasn’t fenced. At least it wasn’t fenced on this side of the yard. I sped between a shed and the back of the house and slid into the backyard.

If zombies could be surprised, this one would have shit his pants.
It didn’t see me until I blasted through the sheets that were hanging from the clothesline. I saw it for a brief second, and then it was bouncing away over the roof of the Humvee. The sheet flew off in time for me to see another privacy fence less than ten yards away. It was too late to try and stop or swerve, so I hit it at about a 45 degree angle.

Wood exploded as I crashed through the fence and into another yard.
This one was thankfully devoid of landscaping. There were two redneck looking zombies with severe damage to their arms and legs. They were trying to corner what looked like a large brindle pit bull. It was probably the only time in my life I have ever rooted for a pit bull. I swerved to my left slightly and clipped the two zombies, then continued on towards the front of the yard.

I saw the dog running like crazy, out through the hole we’d made.
Southard narrowly avoided running it over, but stayed right on my heels. I had a choice of either aiming for a large double gate or another section of solid fence. Having learned my lesson about gates corresponding to carports, I opted for the solid fence. It was a decision that probably saved our lives.

I smashed through the section of fence and emerged next to the house.
I could see what had been beyond the gate. It was a huge pick-up truck with a brush guard on the front bumper. If I had hit that at the speed we were going, it would probably have killed both of us. Southard kept up with us as I bounced out of the yard and into a street. I turned hard to the right and headed south.

My goal was to make it to
Fremont Street. I knew it cut across the expressway and would take us out where we needed to be. From there, I had several options to choose from. Either way, it would bring us out pretty close to Kubichek and Sullivan. That still didn’t get us to a gas station but we didn’t have to stop, just yet. We had time, but Kubichek, Sullivan and that SPD officer might not.