Six Feet From Hell: Crisis (16 page)

It was the feeling of home.

CHAPTER 22

It was a sight that Joe thought he'd never see again. He had taken a moment to soak it all in, and he still hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off his face. The motley crew that sat around him were some of the most important people that he’d had the pleasure of being around. Larry, Jamie, and Cornbread had worked with him for several years before the apocalypse, Balboa was one of his best friends from his military days, and Rick – well, Rick was family. There were any number of reasons that Larry would turn down his plan, however. Primarily, he had a good thing going here in Tazewell. There was little reason for him to put that in jeopardy. He had plenty of other people that needed tending to, innocent people. They didn't have anything to do with the war brewing between Joe and the Captain. Unless they were bored and had nothing else to do, he doubted that he would be able to talk them into anything.

Joe finished explaining everything to Larry. The past nine years made for quite a long and sordid story. He started with their departure from Larry’s house nearly a decade ago and led up to meeting Jim’s people in Hazard, Kentucky. They sat and talked for nearly two hours, catching up on old times and reacquainting each other with problems both old and new. Larry had fewer issues with his people, but still had problems of his own to manage. His problems were pale in comparison to Joe’s. He didn't have an ex-military psychopath bent on taking over the country and killing anyone in his way, but he had complications nonetheless.

Curtis told about the Captain contacting Wagner and Mike with the satellite phones, and how the Captain had managed to put a spy in their midst. He gave Joe the story on how things had gone down after they left Camp Dawson. In return, Joe told Curtis about how the chopper was shot down, and how they’d lost Chris and Ogre outside of Lexington. Joe became briefly choked up having to talk about losing his best friend again. Time heals all wounds, but the fresh ones still sting. The Captain had managed to screw all of them over, each in different ways, except Larry. That opportunity hadn’t arisen yet, but it would only be a matter of time before the Captain showed up.

“So that’s the long and short of it, dude. I don’t know what the fucker has planned, but I really don’t want to give him the opportunity to do … whatever it is he’s going to do,” Joe said as he leaned back in his chair. After leaving the wall, they had all traveled back to the motel where Curtis had first woken up. The motel was the best way to keep all of Larry’s people in one area. It was an arrangement of security and convenience. The motel had over sixty rooms available, each one occupied. Larry kicked back as well, putting his calloused hands on top of his head.

“So what do you want from me?”

Joe was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you want me to do? I'm all for helping you out. I'm in. Just tell me what you need.”

“I … I'm not sure exactly.” Joe frowned. “What do you have to offer?”

“Well, we don’t have much in the way of guns or ammo. We try to reload as much of our spent brass as possible, but it wears down after a couple uses. We don’t have a way to melt it down or anything, so it usually goes to waste after a while,” Larry replied.

“Well, how many guns and rounds do you have?”

“Not enough to repel a force the size you say he’s got. Even if we had the ammo, the guns we have are mostly hunting rifles, shotguns, and some pistols. The rifles are great for long range, but once they get in close, some scatterguns and a bunch of revolvers aren’t gonna cut it.”

Joe scowled again. “Shit, well what the fuck are we gonna do, Larry?”

“The trucks,” Curtis said, having an epiphany. “The LMTVs are still wrecked on the road into this place. They are loaded down with rifles, ammo, ordnance, all kinds of shit. I don’t know if it will take out all of ‘em, but it will make one hell of a dent in ‘em.” He directed his question to Larry. “Larry, how far is that from here?”

“Cornbread, where did you pick him up at?”

“Springville. Out near the old VDOT station. I can show y’all where it’s at,” Cornbread answered. “Once again, I
really
hate to be the bearer of bad news, but how do we know that this ‘Captain’ asshole is even gonna show up?”

Joe grinned devilishly. “Because we’re gonna lure him out.”

Every man at the table exchanged glances; none of them, aside from Joe, knew exactly how they were going to do that. Each one pondered how exactly they would entice the Captain into town.

“How are we gonna do that?” Jamie asked finally.

Curtis finally realized how. “The sat-phone!”

Joe pointed to Curtis. “Bingo. We kill two birds with one stone. We go get all we can from the trucks. Once we do, we give that asshole a call – he won’t be able to tell Wagner’s voice from the rest of us – and he will come running for his precious supplies. We will set up this place to be as defensive as possible. We C4 the bridges leading into town, we put Claymores on the wall, facing out. We mine the roads. That fucker’ll never know what hit him.”

“Sounds like a solid idea,” Larry said slowly.

“Me, Cornbread, and Jamie will go to the trucks,” Joe fired off. He pointed to his son. “Rick, you, Balboa, and Curtis will stay here with Larry and coordinate the attack. I want you guys to figure out what goes where. If we can get all the explosives, then we’ll need to know where the roads need to be taken out. Even if we can’t get everything, then at least we’ll have the guns and ammo to fend off most of the Captain’s men.”

“You mean Wyatt, right? Shit, Joe, even
you
are calling him ‘The Captain’ now? This fucker is brainwashing y’all and you don’t even realize it,” Larry blurted out. “Sounds like we are gonna do the world a favor by taking this asshole out.”

Joe laughed. “Yes we are, Larry. Yes we are.”

“Well, I want in then. I want to go with you guys to take this douchebag out,” Larry demanded.

Joe shook his head fervently. “Absolutely not. Your people need you to be here for them. As far as most of ‘em know, we are just some people passing through. I’d rather it stay that way. That way, if something happens, they won’t be any the wiser.” Joe clapped his longtime friend on the shoulder. “We will be fine. I’ll give you as many rifles and as much ammo as I can spare. Give it to your people and don’t tell them anything. Just give them some story about us helping you out, if you want.”

Larry nodded slowly. He was a bit dejected, but understanding. “Okay. Go get your stuff. It sounds like we both have got some work to do.”

CHAPTER 23

After borrowing Larry’s truck, Cornbread, Jamie, and Joe headed out to the crashed LMTVs. Rick stayed behind to coordinate their attack, as Joe had asked.

Joe gave them a basic rundown of what he wanted to do. The plan left very little in the way of alternatives. From the basic knowledge that Joe had about the Captain, he could surmise that he had several vehicles at his disposal. If he didn't have several to use, then he wouldn’t have sent an LAV to Beckley to take out the ZBRA unit. If he had that kind of firepower to waste, then what he actually had for personal use would be nothing to fuck with. Joe concluded that he would at least have armored vehicles and well-stocked troops.

Cornbread drove along Route 460, heading east towards the crash site. They drove fifteen minutes to get to where the LMTVs were located. As Cornbread approached the wrecked-out trucks, he immediately noticed a problem.

“Fuck me. Why can’t it ever be easy?”

The crash the night before had attracted a plethora of visitors, all of the zombified persuasion. Over two dozen of the undead milled around the two military vehicles, most of them turning their heads toward the pickup as it approached. The snowball effect on the undead was evident as one bumped into another, which bumped into another, causing a domino-like effect that moved them together, much like a flock of birds that turn as a group. The zombies turned their collective attention to the truck as it rolled up. Cornbread turned the truck sideways in the middle of the road, giving the men some distance and cover between them and the undead.

Cornbread got out first, racking his shotgun – one handed, of course – and took aim at the closest zombie. The ghoul was about twenty yards away, slowly shuffling its way towards him. The creature raised its skinny arms and snarled at him as it walked forward, a black river of drool coming out of its mouth. Cornbread aimed the Mossberg at the creature. Joe and Jamie disembarked the vehicle as he was sizing up his mark.

Joe chuckled. “You ain't never gonna kill that thing with buckshot from that far. You better take a few steps …”

Joe was cut off by the roar of the shotgun; the target’s head blew apart shortly thereafter. The skull exploded like a blackened, rotted watermelon – complete with the squelching sound. Joe jumped, startled not only by the boom of the gun, but by the fact that Cornbread had
managed to disintegrate the zombie at that kind of distance. Even the best twelve-gauge slug rounds were hard to aim at longer ranges, and they didn't do that kind of damage.

Joe took up a rest for his suppressed M4 on the hood of the Dodge and began taking out zombies one by one, occasionally interrupted by the ear-splitting boom of the Mossberg. After a couple of minutes of headshots and one magazine change for Joe, the area appeared to be clear. Joe walked over to the other side of the truck.

“What the hell kind of slugs do you have in that thing that does that kind of damage? That thing is one hell of a boomstick!” Joe said.

“Well, I reload my own shot shells just like everybody else. Problem is that I have plenty of shells and primer caps, but not enough wadding and buckshot, so I use whatever I can.” Cornbread motioned towards his obliterated zombie. “The one you saw there was a combination slug made out of hot glue with some BBs added in for a little weight. I use about anything I can get my hands on for slugs. I've used quarter-inch screws, brad tacks, and hell, I've even used candle wax to hold ‘em together.”

“Well, whatever you're using, it works. I might see what I can scavenge for you out of our stash; see if you can come up with some other ones you might want to try out,” Joe replied.

“Sounds good,” Cornbread said.

“C’mon, let’s get this shit loaded up and get the hell outta here before we draw more attention to ourselves. Grab the rifles and ammo first; everything after that can wait,” Joe instructed.

Cornbread nodded quickly. The men approached the wrecked LMTVs cautiously. The two trucks had fallen together, locked in a deadly tangle of metal. The contents of both trucks were spilled over a fifty-foot-long swath of road. The armored trucks had gouged out large streaks in the asphalt leading up to their eventual resting place. Joe approached the pair of trucks and patted a cold hand on the front of it.

“It’s a shame we can’t get these things up and moving. I hate letting good equipment go to waste. We could really use these big fuckers.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. Can ya give me a hand here?” Cornbread motioned to Joe and Jamie. He had a rack of M4s laid over in front of him, and was attempting to pick it up. Joe and Jamie went over to help pick up the wayward rifles. The rack was largely undamaged, as were the rifles, surprisingly. A broken set of hand guards on one of the M4s didn't make it unusable, it just
needed a healthy set of replacements. Either way, they weren’t going to leave any of them behind.

Joe slung his rifle through his right arm, letting the three-point sling hold it in place in front of him. The rack had spilled out of the side of the LMTV, the roof ripped and the contents falling out. Cornbread grabbed the end on the road and hefted it up. Joe grabbed the other end and pulled it from the LMTV.

“I hope the Claymores and the other shit weren’t damaged. Those little bastards are …” Joe was interrupted by a dirty, bony, rotten hand grabbing his arm. Before he could make head or tails of what had grabbed him, a nasty set of jagged teeth clamped down on his wrist. The zombie that the teeth belonged to reached forth with its other clawed appendage and grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him down. Joe fell on his ass and dragged the living corpse out through the top of the truck, spilling both onto the pavement. The filthy teeth of the zombie dug further into his arm as Joe raised his right foot to kick the creature. His right boot met with solid contact on its legs, breaking one in half. The creature howled and released its death bite on Joe. Joe reached down with his now-free hand and unholstered his .45. He fired two rounds into the zombie’s head, obliterating it. He fell back in a heap, relieved.

Before Joe realized what was happening, Cornbread had his shotgun pointed directly at his head. Cornbread had a very worried and fearful look on his face. Joe looked up and pushed the scattergun away from him. “I'm immune, dude. I can’t turn, no matter what.”

Cornbread looked at his Mossberg, as if it had jumped away against his will. He swung the gun back to Joe’s head. “Look, I've heard the same shit before. People say that they won’t turn, and they all do. Nobody is immune from this shit.” As if to reiterate the point, he racked the shotgun – one handed, again – and aimed. “I can’t let you go back like this.”

Jamie swiftly grabbed the shotgun away from Cornbread. The big man turned towards him and scowled, and Jamie glared right back. “He's telling the truth. He can’t turn. He's been bitten more than once, trust me,” Jamie said as he offered Joe a hand up. “I can’t turn either. I've been vaccinated.”

More confused and dirty looks from Cornbread.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Jesus, man! Let me guess, you guys haven’t been vaccinated. Have you?”

Cornbread slowly shook his head
no
. “What do you mean ‘vaccinated.’ How in the hell is there a vaccine for this shit and we don’t have it? Where do we get it?”

Joe dusted the snow off him as he stood. He wasn’t surprised that his friends in Tazewell hadn’t had the vaccine for the Romero virus, but he figured that they would have at least
heard
of it. The Beckley ZBRA unit had some, but apparently not enough. It was odd that they hadn’t told Tazewell of its existence. Another miscommunication that could potentially cost lives. “Yeah, sorry I forgot to mention that earlier. Jamie is vaccinated, too. He has the ‘V’ on his arm. Show him.”

Jamie took off his jacket and rolled his sleeve up, showing the 3x3 inch ‘V’ burned into his arm. He rolled his sleeve back down. “I don’t know why you guys don’t have the vaccine, but if we can’t hold off the Captain then it’s not gonna matter. Let’s just get the rest of what we came here to get. Once we get back to Tazewell, we need get Joe bandaged up properly,” Jamie said, handing Cornbread back his shotgun. “C’mon, we got work to do.”

* * *

They finished loading all the supplies that the Dodge would hold. Aside from the anti-tank mines, they managed to get nearly all of the necessary ordnance. They had forty M4s, over two thousand rounds of ammo, fifty pounds of C4 with detonators, one .50 cal Ma Deuce with ammo, and several radios, including two of the SINCGARS systems. Both of the trucks were nearly empty by the time they finished, leaving little to be scavenged later. Joe had taken it upon himself to look for the sat-phone, finding it in Wagner’s LMTV. Luckily, the phone had been turned off when he located it. He turned it on and quickly back off again, checking to make sure that it still functioned. It worked just fine as far as he could tell. Now there was just one more thing to do.

It was time to lure the Captain out.