Six Feet From Hell: Crisis (15 page)

CHAPTER 21

Curtis laced his boots slowly. He was glad to be dressed in his own clothes again, and grateful to Larry and Cornbread for taking care of him, but he was still anxious. They were obviously friends of Joe, a definite plus. But uncertainty nagged at him like the pain in his ribs. He didn't have a problem with waiting for Joe and the rest of the team to get there, but God only knew how long that could be, even if they
were
alive. He decided it was best not to concern himself with such things and just get on with living for the time being.

Curtis could see why Joe had taken a liking to the small town of Tazewell as soon as he exited his room. He walked outside onto a second-floor balcony, flanked on either side by Larry and Cornbread. As soon as he got outside, he realized where he was: an old motel. Doors and room numbers were on his left as he walked towards a staircase which led down to a derelict parking lot. Despite the hulking remains of former businesses and old, long-forgotten eateries and roads, the serene backdrop of the mountains was breathtaking. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced behind him. The steep incline of mountains and snow-covered hills were stunning, as if the town had been carved out of ivory.

Curtis couldn’t help but fall in love with the mountain town; it was a sight straight out of a Robert Frost poem. As he reached the bottom of the staircase, Larry gestured to a large diesel truck, the lone vehicle in the parking lot.

“The grand tour, eh? You guys mind telling me where we’re going?”

Larry grinned. “Well, I figured you’d be hungry, so we’re gonna head down to get a little bite to eat. It’s about lunchtime for the rest of us.”

“The rest of you? How many people do you have, Larry?”

“Ninety-seven, to be exact. Most of us have been here since the beginning, or just never left. We grow and hunt our own food, have our own water supply, and make our own power. We’ve even gotten decent at making our own biodiesel for the vehicles. We are a completely self-sustained community,” Larry finished proudly.

Curtis got into the truck, an extended-cab Dodge Ram, and settled in. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but Joe mentioned to me before that he was pretty sure you were gonna make a run to the hills, somewhere in Tennessee if I'm not mistaken.”

Larry put the truck in gear and shifted into four-wheel drive. He cocked his head to one side. “Well, yeah, originally I was gonna just run to some family that I've got in the Tennessee backcountry, but decided to stay. Tazewell is one of the best places I've ever lived in; I couldn’t just up and leave without a fight. And trust me; it’s been a hell of a fight sometimes.”

“Yeah, I feel ya there, brother. Sometimes I wish I woulda just rode off into the sunset on some big-ass yacht and waited until I ran outta food. A couple days or a week out on the ocean would’ve been a hell of a lot better than fighting every day on land.”

Larry made a right-hand turn out of the motel parking lot and slowly made his way through an abandoned intersection. The truck’s back end slid out a little as he made the turn and headed down the road. After topping a small rise in the road, Larry held out his hand, gesturing to a massive wall at the end of the road. It was about ten feet high and ran the length of the road that Curtis could see. “There it is; Virginia's own Great Wall,” Larry proclaimed.

“I’ll be damned …” Curtis said, in awe.

The wall stretched out a couple hundred yards to the left and right before it faded out of sight. The bulk of what Curtis could see was made up of semi-trailers and flatbeds. The exterior portion of the massive fence was reinforced with a combination of trees, boards, and steel. A mishmash of components, but effective nonetheless. The flatbed trailers and regular semi-trailers were alternated, the flatbeds making an excellent walkway and barrier. Curtis could see about ten of the flatbeds, every other one with an armed guard posted. He was impressed.

“
Whaddya think?”

Curtis’ jaw remained slack at the sight of the barrier. “Nice wall ya got there, Larry. Where in the hell did you find all these? And how far does it stretch out?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to take credit for it, but everyone pitched in on it. It took us the better part of two years to stretch it out as far as we have it now. It runs straight through the middle of town, along the easiest and straightest routes. I'm not sure how much we have, square mileage-wise, but it’s plenty of room for just under a hundred people to be comfortable in. The wall makes a turn with the road about a quarter-mile down that way,” Larry pointed to his left. “After that, it goes on for about a mile and a half, and then makes another turn to the left for another mile or so.” Larry grinned and stopped the truck. “Like I said, plenty of room. The train tracks cut the town in half; a good portion of the wall follows it.”

“You guys definitely have your shit together. I'm impressed,” Curtis said as he got out of the truck. He wanted a better look at the massive structure that the town of Tazewell was surrounded by. He strolled to the end of the street and gazed down the road to his left. Sure enough, the wall ran the length of what looked like an old road. At the end of the street, he could barely make out the turn in the barrier curving around to the left and continuing on parallel with the train tracks.

A radio squelched inside the truck, followed by unintelligible sounds and a panicked voice. In the distance, Curtis could hear several individual gunshots followed by a pause, then automatic gunfire. Larry flung the door open and popped up over the top of the windshield.

“Did anybody else follow you? We got company and they don’t look like they're here to talk!”

“No, I swear! One of my guys is dead at the tunnel; the other was shot by your people on the road.”

“Get in! We need to head down towards the old salt dome!”

Curtis got back to the truck as fast as his injured legs would take him. He climbed up in the Dodge as Larry threw the truck into drive and took off. He felt a pang of guilt. These people had made an excellent living in spite of their abysmal surroundings. They had taken on the elements, Mother Nature, and the undead, and still made a habitable place to stay. If it weren’t for them rescuing Curtis and taking him in then maybe they wouldn’t have the problem they were facing now. The Captain had clearly become tired of waiting for Wagner to contact him and had initiated an attack on the town. Curtis buried his head in his hands.

It was time to fight once again.

* * *

Rounds ricocheted off the semi-truck as Joe tried to get a better position to return fire, but every time he moved, a high-powered rifle round would snap by. They had started to take fire immediately after parking the truck and getting out. The first couple salvos fired had obviously been warning shots, but the last few were intended to kill, or at least maim.

They had parked the truck just outside of Tazewell after seeing that the town was surrounded by a ten-foot-high wall. They immediately began taking fire. Joe had suggested driving on past the town, but the bridge less than a hundred yards away had been destroyed. The wall was directly in line with them, as the road they were on was slightly higher up than the off-ramp. Joe couldn’t get his head up long enough to see who they were shooting at. They were trapped in a turkey shoot.

And they were the turkeys.

Rick hadn’t got out of the truck yet, ducking down and back in after the first shots. His rifle was laid across the sleeper. It was of no use to try to get a shot off with it. He needed a clear field of fire and a couple seconds to judge the range and movement of the target. It was precious few seconds that he wasn’t going to get. Instead, he grabbed Jamie’s rifle and returned fire through the window.

Jamie put the engine block between himself and the gunfire. Unless their friends up on the massive wall had a .50 caliber rifle or bigger, he would be safe. He clutched the only weapon that he had at his disposal, a borrowed .45 from Balboa. Balboa sat to Jamie’s right, unable to use his bad arm to help in aiming. And the shots needed to be spot-on.

Joe blind fired another three-round burst from his rifle. “Any ideas?”

Jamie turned and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe we could try and negotiate with ‘em.”

Another round blasted into the hood of the truck, splintering fiberglass and pinging loudly off the engine block. Joe frowned vehemently at Jamie.

Jamie shrugged again, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, maybe not.”

A lone zombie shuffled off to their left, wandering down a small hillside. The single ghoul stumbled and fell into a ditch line about fifty feet away. It crawled up onto the road, and attempted to get up. As soon as it did, Joe fired a single shot in its head, dropping the creature.

“We better make a move soon! We’re gonna draw a fuckin’ crowd here!” Joe hollered as he swung his rifle back towards the massive wall and its guards. Joe went to fire another couple of shots. As he did, the bolt locked to the rear, signifying that he was empty. “Shit! I'm out, Jamie.” Joe sat his rifle against the side of the truck. Silence followed for a short few seconds.

A faint voice carried over the silence. Joe strained his ears as much as he could without sticking his head up. The slightest breeze rustled, carrying the sound again. Joe’s brow furrowed as he listened. It was a familiar voice, saying his name. Finally, the voice carried again, this time much louder.

“Joe! Jamie! Get out from behind that damn truck and get out here!” The voice called out.

Joe grabbed his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. He knew that voice. A voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. A voice that he thought he'd never hear again. It was Larry. He stood up and marched across the road with his hands raised, just in case it wasn’t his lifelong friend.

“Joe, wait!” Jamie shouted. His heart raced as Joe stepped out with his hands raised. Jamie stepped out around the front of the truck and kept the .45 he still clutched at low ready. Balboa followed him out slowly as well.

“Put your damn hands down! You look like a fuckin’ retard!” Larry called out from the top of the wall.

“
I'm
the retard? You're the one shooting at me, jackass!” Joe fired back. He stopped at the base of the wall and looked up at his longstanding friend. Larry had aged considerably, as the rest of Joe’s team had. He sported a full beard that made him look like he could stand in for Billy Gibbons. He held a hunting rifle over his shoulder and wore a dirty set of Carhartt overalls and a black Carhartt jacket to boot. Joe imagined that he was being gauged in the same light as he was sizing up Larry. It had been nine years since he’d seen his close friend and former boss. Clearly, Larry was doing quite well nowadays. He evidently had an entire town walled in from the undead.

Joe was impressed with the fortification that they had managed. It was made out of a combination of rail cars and trees. The train had clearly been left on the tracks and well placed for the barricade that it made. Train tracks split the town effectively in half, so it was not a major task putting it to good use. The gaps in the fortification were completed with felled trees. All in all, it was a menacing sight that brought up memories of old English castles with a drawbridge and moat, and it looked like it could repel whatever invaders happened upon it.

“Why don’t you throw us down a ladder or something? It’s awfully fuckin’ cold out here and I'm sure if you’ve got the whole Camelot Castle thing going on, then you're bound to have somewhere we can stay,” Joe asked.

Larry laughed. “Yeah, I've already sent one of the guys after it. I think it goes without saying, but I’m gonna ask anyway. How the fuck did you end up here?”

Joe returned the laugh as Jamie, Balboa, Rick, and Kane came up behind him. “It’s a long story. One that I will gladly tell you about; after we get inside and get warm, of course.”

“Fair enough. By the way, I've got someone up here that will be glad to see you.”

Joe frowned for a moment, taking a moment to realize who Larry was speaking of. “Holy shit! Curtis made it! Is he OK?”

Another figure popped up on the makeshift catwalk. Another face that Joe was more than ecstatic to finally see. It was Curtis. The Alabama native looked as if he was bruised and beaten, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Joe breathed a deep sigh of relief. Larry patted Joe’s esteemed colleague on the shoulder. Curtis smiled and waved at Joe. He was just as reassured about seeing Joe in one piece.

Larry’s personnel returned shortly with an aluminum ladder. Larry and Curtis lowered it down to Joe and the rest of his crew. Joe motioned to the guys, and Jamie clambered up the ladder first, followed by the remainder of the team. Rick carried Kane slowly up the ladder. The German Shepherd gave him a reassuring and thankful lick under the chin. Even the dog sensed a moment of relief, wagging his tail as they reached the top of the wall.

Joe was the last to ascend the stairs. As he scaled the stepladder, he could hear the growls and moans of the undead behind him. He paused halfway up, listening to the cadaverous sounds in the distance. On the other side of the wall was protection from the ghastly creatures, an asylum from the monsters. It represented what most had forgotten over the last nine years. The wall embodied a normal life, one devoid of the stresses and worries of struggling merely to survive. It was what Joe had missed after leaving Rural Retreat and while being stuck at Camp Dawson. It was the feeling of belonging somewhere finally.