Riding The Apocalypse (20 page)
Then the pain became secondary. I strained to focus my vision although I did not really want to see the damage caused by the fucking-motherfucking-cocksucking-ass—
I took a deep breath. I needed to calm down or I would never be able to remove the leather suit and assess my mortality. Not being able to immediately focus was agonizing in more ways than one, the damage was done but I had no idea what it was.
Finally, I regained my vision and I forced myself to focus on my now bare shin. There was no evidence that the monster had bitten me, only a little red spot where the built-in shin guard from Buell’s leathers had rubbed against me as that fucker gnawed on my leg. The bite hadn’t penetrated the leather.
“Thank you, Buell!” I yelled in jubilation. If I had not switched riding gear with him, my usual denim would not have saved me. I glanced at the rifle and blew out a relieved breath. I needed to be more careful, but at least I had learned that sneaking up on someone in the sand is not too difficult.
For anybody...or anything.
No excuses. I needed to stay focused, I reminded myself, though my throbbing head was doing an admirable job of this already.
I opened my tank bag and pulled out the towel usually reserved for wiping helmet-induced sweat from my brow. I placed it on my head wound with pressure, and winced as the pain shot through my head down my spine.
As I sat there, holding the rag on my bleeding head and trying to adjust to the ache and shock, I again thought of Emily. “It’s okay, Em, I am fine, I got this,” I said out loud, my voice was barely audible to my own ringing ears.
Then I heard a thumping that was outside of my head. I looked out over the water and witnessed a series of military planes and helicopters flying overhead, heading north along the coast. Just seeing the United States military in action made me feel better.
After ten minutes, I removed the cloth and uttered my obligatory
It’s merely a flesh wound
movie reference. That is my go-to line when I self-induce trauma, which happens more than I care to admit; just saying the line brought me back to myself. Back to the task at hand. I picked up the rifle and wiped the blood and brain matter off the shaft with the bloody rag I just used to stop my own bleeding. The thought of my blood and the monster’s mixing together on the rag repulsed me so much I threw the rag over the edge of the sand hill. Then I did my best impersonation of Hank Aaron and took two or three practice swings with the rifle, paying close attention to the tip of the gun as I swung. I witnessed blood and gray matter shoot out of the barrel at the end of each swing. I pulled back on the bolt, removed the round, and blew into the chamber, hopefully clearing as much of the viscous matter as possible. I am not sure if cracked bone in the barrel of a rifle would cause a backfire, but better safe than sorry. If forced to use this weapon, I doubted I would get a do-over.
Satisfied the rifle was clean enough to fire safely, I looked back through the scope at the ladder on the left side of the strip mall. It was about four hundred yards from where I perched, and there were numerous scattered monsters in the parking lot, though thankfully less on the left side of the building.
Thank God for small favors...I guess.
I secured the rifle on my back, using the strap, instead of tying it back on the bike. I took the pistol out, checked the magazine, opened the safety, and placed it in the side pocket of the tank bag. I decided to leave the pocket zipper slightly open to allow quick access. I was not going to be left without the use of the handgun again. “Phase One,” I said to myself and flipped down my visor.
Phase One? What the hell does that mean, Rem? Isn’t this like Phase Fifty, if anything? I shook my head, cleared the webs, and turned the key to the on position.
Dork.
After starting her up, I dropped the KLR in first and headed down the hill toward the side of the strip mall with the ladder. As I reached the bottom of the hill, I made a sharp right hand turn onto Broadway Street, which intersects with Del Monte, the street where the strip mall is located.
As I sped down the street I developed a following, so this was going to be quite the parade by the time I reached my destination. After getting as close to Del Monte Avenue as possible, I made a sharp left and cut across the gas station lot, right between the pumps, and onto Del Monte. I cruised down Del Monte on the wrong side of the road figuring I was okay, but again I miscalculated. A utility vehicle suddenly appeared from my left, pulling out of a supermarket shopping center and heading straight for me. I cut hard to the left, pulled in the clutch, revved the motor, and dumped the clutch back out. This chain of events caused the front of the motorcycle to lift off the ground in a wheelie-like fashion, and I jumped the curb to my left, narrowly avoiding the front end of the oncoming truck as I hopped onto the sidewalk. The horn blared as I passed the truck. I wondered if the driver was scared, angry, or wanted me to turn around. No matter, I was on a mission and for once had no desire to act neighborly.
I spent the next few moments playing slalom with the monsters on the sidewalk about a hundred yards from the parking lot. The nimble attitude of the KLR came in handy here, it was almost fun. I pulled into the farthest left driveway of the mall parking lot, intent on finding the ladder. There was a huge sign proclaiming
Riley’s Office Supplies and Distribution.
It was a pretty large office space, though judging from the
Distribution
part of the name, it was as much a warehouse as a retail store. That made sense, as this wasn’t exactly a prime location for office supplies. Thankfully, I was not in direct sight of the front of the store, but I still glanced up on the roof. There was no sign of Senator Asshole, so I still had hope for a covert entrance. I also hoped to make it there alive.
First things first.
I grabbed the front brake of my bike but my slippery blood-soaked glove nearly lost its grip. Leather does not absorb blood readily. I stopped about two hundred feet from the side of the building and idled the bike. As the monsters closed I just sat on my motorcycle, sweat pouring from every pore on my body, as I waited for the right time. I held the clutch in, revving the motor, drawing as much attention as I could from the undead marching band.
“Loud pipes save lives,” I said to myself.
I tried to stay calm and assess the moment. I had to wait as long as possible, draw them as close as possi—
“Now!” I screamed at myself as I dumped the clutch, which caused my rear wheel to spin so fast it lost purchase on the blacktop. I was then able to slide the rear tire on command, and spun hard to my right. As I made my maneuver, two monsters reached for my back from behind me. I narrowly escaped their grasps, gained traction, and started on the riding arc I planned to use to round up the undead. Giddyup. I rode in a half circle pattern around at least thirty monsters. I had successfully drawn the attention of the monsters who were lingering by the ladder, as well as many others. I finished my arc and skidded to a stop just under the ladder. I had run the old end around, and the monsters got caught watching the paint dry (yet another sports metaphor).
I grabbed the tire iron like an archer would grab an arrow from his quill. I shoved one end of the iron into the arc of the lock and pushed the bar as hard as I could toward the building wall, using the steel plate on the ladder as a fulcrum. The lock violently snapped open, and the body shot off the clasp in the direction of my face. My visor exploded into tiny bits of Plexiglass as the lock body struck it squarely. I was momentarily startled from the impact, but remained steadfast and thankful I hadn’t bothered to lift the visor when I got off the bike. Fortunately, by the time it broke through the visor, the force had dissipated enough that it barely scratched the brim of my nose.
I realize that my large Italian nose is not my best feature, but at least it is centered.
But even though it hadn’t been pretty, I got the damn lock off and now swung the unencumbered sheet metal guard open, exposing the lower rungs of the ladder. Reaching for the highest one I could possibly grab, I pulled as hard and fast as I could manage and began to ascend the ladder. Just then I felt the fingers of a monster graze my left thigh yet I struggled upward regardless, rising above the smelly, undead masses. I clambered up three or four rungs before I had the nerve to look down. There were already a dozen monsters below me and more were coming.
I pulled myself up the rest of the way and jumped over the edge of the building and onto the hot tar roof. I turned around, looked over the side, and saw what had to be at least a hundred monsters converging at the bottom of the ladder. Fortunately, they did not possess the dexterity or knowledge to navigate a ladder, so I was temporarily safe. I could not say the same for the KLR. As they crowded in, the monsters knocked over my beloved KLR and trampled the Kawasaki, paying it no mind. I pushed away a pang of sadness.
“I bet she still starts right up.”
After a moment of grieving for my KLR’s plastic bodywork, I turned and headed toward the rooftop of Riley’s store, hell bent on visiting my new Bestest Buddy.
The roof was scorching hot as the sunlight beat down on the black tar sheets. I noticed a corpse lying facedown with a bullet hole in his head about two buildings left of Riley’s store. Looked like Riley could shoot—which was not a good thing, considering my own shortcomings in that area. I drew my rifle and crept toward Riley’s on the roofline. I felt like Robert De Niro in
Godfather II,
creeping along the roof with a gun, going after his target, who also was an asshole if I remembered correctly. I slowed as I got a visual on the solar panels up ahead. Riley’s was the only business with the panels on the roof. Well-prepared for a blackout, coincidence? Well, he was a Democrat.
I looked out over the roof and into the horizon. I didn’t know if my eyes were playing tricks on me in the fading daylight, but it looked as if a section of downtown Monterey had streetlights on. I looked back to the door the senator had disappeared through earlier, and I crept toward it slowly. With my back to the wall to the left of the door jamb, I reached my hand out and tried to turn the knob.
“Damn it,” I whispered. This time the door actually was locked.
I slid my tire iron from my backpack strap and slowly placed it in between the door and the door frame at about the height of the handle.
“Shit, this is not right,” I said to myself quietly, setting the iron down. I shouldered the rifle for a moment, then instead pulled the handgun from the bag. I was definitely going to need the handgun for this, the rifle would be too awkward, especially for someone of my firearms’ skill level.
With the gun in my right hand and my right shoulder resting outside the door frame, I used my left hand to thread the tire iron into the gap between the door and the jamb and then jerked it toward me and the wall.
With a light pop, the door broke open. I peered in, my gun drawn and ready, and saw no one. I sidled in and softly closed the door behind me.
I dropped to a knee as I realized I was on a steel grated catwalk above what appeared to be a storage attic. There were boxes all over the attic, stacked on 3/4 inch plywood sheets. The plywood sheets were laid across wood joists holding the Sheetrock for the ceiling below. I didn’t think that was going to pass the fire inspection next time and had a good mind to report Riley to the fire department.
“Yeah, that will fix ’em,” I whispered, and laughed nervously to myself. Where was Buell’s sense of humor when I needed it?
From my crouched position, I could not see which way the catwalk led, my view was obstructed by boxes of varying sizes and heights. There were three fluorescent tubes casting a soft light above the supplies and the catwalk. The lights gave off enough illumination to see ahead twenty feet or more. I noted many more lights mounted on the ceiling that were not illuminated. My guess was they were saving the solar juice and conserving resources. Smart move saving energy, even with solar. Not every day is sunny, especially along the coast.
I slowly made my way down the metal steps, careful not to strike the safety rails with my rifle. Within five minutes I reached the floor of the attic area and glanced around. It was uncomfortably warm here, and with the leather suit, I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. The wet leather was also becoming slightly constricting. I stopped, unzipped the suit down to my navel, and again took a knee. Damn, in the movies fatigue never seems to figure into drama. I took a break, drank some water, and let my suit air out.
Feeling refreshed, I trudged on. I crept, gun drawn, to a small foyer at the far end of the attic where there were two doors, one left and one straight ahead. At one time I had been an avid Dungeons and Dragons player, and in the dungeons I always followed the left wall or opened the farthest left door when I was not sure where to go. It was a habit, and I felt it had served me well as I sought to escape the trolls, ogres, and other creatures that permeated the game. No reason to stop now, zombies, trolls, it made no difference. Left door first. I verified it was locked and then repeated the technique I used to enter the roof access. When the door swung open I saw that, rather than a room, it was a vertical shaft with an iron ladder going straight down. I pulled my small Faraday flashlight, shook it to make power, then shined it down the shaft. I spotted a landing about two stories down. That would be too low for the loft, and the rungs were filled with dust, showing no one had used it for some time. So Riley wasn’t down there, or at least he hadn’t used the ladder to get there.
“Okay, Rem, take that ladder if you can’t get the other door open,” I whispered softly, trying to psyche myself up for door number two. I genuinely wanted to see this safe harbor Emily mentioned, and I had a feeling Riley was there. Hopefully he was still a bit tipsy on that crappy Jack Daniel’s. I am not proud, and I will take any advantage given to me.
The gun felt heavy in my hand. I decided to take the 9mm on this trip because it had a larger capacity to hold ammunition than my dad’s old gun. The magazine holds up to thirteen rounds, and my dad’s six-shooter might have left me at a disadvantage.
Surprisingly, door number two was unlocked. Note to self: try all doors first. I cracked the door open and peered through, glimpsing a dark hallway leading to the right. As I entered the hallway I noticed there was one small recessed light in the ceiling of the hall, giving slightly more illumination than a night light. Twenty feet down the dimly lit hall, I encountered a door with a sign that read
STAIRS.
Wisely, I placed my left hand on the knob and twisted. I opened the door while my right hand aimed the gun, ready to shoot.
Nothing.
Just a small landing, a fire extinguisher on the wall, and stairs leading down and to the right. I sat silent for about two minutes, just listening, rubbing the sweat out of my eyes with the backs of the leather wrist pads. Then I quickly scooted down the stairs and through a small hallway that opened to a large room.
Before me was a beautifully furnished loft above the showroom floor. From where I was standing, it appeared to overhang the entire back end of the store. I quickly estimated the loft was about forty feet wide by twenty feet deep, the whole length of the sales floor. After scoping out the loft for movement, and listening for any sound, I cautiously crept to the edge and looked over. I saw nobody on the sales floor, neither monsters nor people. There were a few monsters banging on the front glass, but they lacked the power to break the windows. That must have been some pretty strong glass. I wondered if the thick glass in the lobby, like the solar panels, was a coincidence.
I doubted it.
I noticed there were sliding iron gates outside the window, but they were all open, which seemed odd. I speculated this happened faster than Riley planned. Judging by what Emily told me, he may not have been prepared. I turned back around to survey the loft. There was a bed, desk, computer, treadmill, and a large LED television mounted on the wall over the doorway to the stairs. There was another door directly to the right, which I assumed led down to the sales floor, unless jumping was the only way to get down from here. The loft was not well lit, so I had to be careful not to bump into anything as I nosed around. As I moved toward the desk at the far end of the room, a sudden bright light shocked me into attention. I dropped and waved the gun back and forth, 180 degrees, pivoting on my right knee as I swept the newly illuminated loft.
Nobody.
I again sensed movement and glanced to my right. What I saw was an amber light on a motion sensor. I realized the douche had probably programmed motion sensors to automatically dim the lights after not sensing movement for a predetermined time. I hated how clever he seemed. I wanted him to be a dumb, adultering politician with no common sense, but this pad was pretty cool.
Asshole.
I looked at the desk and saw miscellaneous paperwork with numbers and what looked like inventory counts of office supplies. Nothing out of the ordinary—no paper that said,
I am the asshole who is responsible for the spread of this disease, and Remy needs to shoot me,
or anything to that effect.
Too bad.
“Hey!”
Startled, my eyes shot up from the desk with my gun following the same line of sight. The door across from where I entered was open, and there, in the doorway, stood Senator Riley, looking as startled as I was.
“What the hell are you doing in my store? This is trespass—”
“First of all, shut the fuck up, Mike, and, secondly, I am holding a gun, so I am going to ask the questions, got that?” I spoke with the gun pointing directly at his face. All of the shit I had been through seemed to flash before me as I looked at him. Not to mention Emily.
I was somewhat gratified to see the senator did not look his usual dapper self. Riley’s hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a brush for a while. His spotty beard reminded me of that magnet man toy where you used the pen-shaped magnet to move around the guy’s beard and hair. He was not dressed in his usual formal wear either. Apparently he felt riding out the Apocalypse in an office supply store was a dress-down occasion and so sported a pair of jeans and a
Riley’s Office Supplies
T-shirt. I looked at him standing there, and wondered what the hell Emily saw in him. He was not ugly, but he was certainly no Brad Pitt. But then again, she had also dated me so obviously looks were not as crucial to Emily as some women. But still, I am better looking than him, no?
Riley was at least twenty-five feet away, and my odds of actually hitting him were slim, but the effect of me pointing the gun had him frozen in his tracks. For all he knew, I was an accomplished marksman. Just that thought brought a wry smile to my face, which probably served to make Riley even more nervous.
“You are that motorcycle guy I saw out in the parking lot, huh?” he asked nervously.
“What gave it away, genius, the leather pajamas?” I replied sarcastically. Wow, I was coming up with some quick, rapier-like replies. Might I be good at this? “Listen, Mike, I have some questions I need—”
Riley lunged back into the hallway and rolled out of sight. Quickly taking aim, I pulled the trigger and watched as the shot exploded the flat screen television above the door jamb. Damn it, I should have practiced, I thought as I gave chase. Buell told me to sight lower to adjust for the kick. I guess I am not
that
proficient at this.
I ran toward the stairs after him, catching a glimpse of Michael stumbling down the stairs. I followed him to the main floor and saw Riley break for the showroom. He ran toward the front sales desk, slaloming in between the display computer desks. I fired twice, not even considering the repercussions of my actions.
If I had hit him and killed him, I would not get the answers I wanted; I would never know why he did what he did, or what his plans were for the future. While on the road, Max, Buell, and I had briefly discussed what we thought might be his motivation for all this and between us three we came up with nothing concrete. But we did realize we all wanted to know why. Why would Riley risk a thriving political career, and possibly the presidency, just to be in bed with Dr. Evans on a plot to spread a worldwide pandemic of benefit to no one whatsoever? It made no sense to any of us.
But the repercussions of my horrible marksmanship were actually worse than killing him and not getting answers. My second shot shattered the glass behind him, and within seconds there were monsters moving toward the opening.
Riley crouched behind his desk. Seeing his manicured fingers creep to open a filing cabinet near him, I fired instinctively.
“Fuck!” I heard him scream as he recoiled his hand behind the desk. I also saw a handgun pop straight up from the cabinet drawer and land on top of the desk, spinning like a top in place. Hot damn, I had literally shot it out of his hand. I wished Buell could have seen it.
Before it stopped spinning I yelled, “Reach for it and I will blow off your other fucking hand, Mike!”
“It’s Michael!” he yelled back as he reached for the gun, ignoring my threat.
I was not as lucky with my aim the next time, and he grabbed the weapon as my errant shot opened another monster entrance in the glass doors.
Why not shatterproof glass? Maybe he is not so smart after all?
There were dozens of monsters pushing on the glass, breaking down the transparent barrier, and more coming from the parking lot. The glass was breaking behind the senator in a chain reaction. The gun damage had weakened the window but it was the sheer number of monsters banging on it that would eventually bring the strong glass down.
Riley fired a few rounds and sprinted across the storefront, using various desks and supply displays to shield his path. I returned fire three more times, achieving nothing but opening more entrances for the monsters and wasting rounds while doing so.
Yep, I am clearly not adept at this.
After seeing my later attempts to hit him, Riley decided to try his luck against my marksmanship. I guess he surmised this was a better plan than trying to outrun the swarm of monsters pushing at the window, as well as the others canvassing the parking lot.