Sometimes We Ran (Book 2): Community (9 page)

Jenny glared at Ryan. “Jesus Christ, Ryan. Can you stop thinking with your dick for five seconds?” We all started to laugh, and the tension melted.

“Better watch out, John,” Ben said. “I think our boy here has a thing for your Claire.”

Even in the semi-darkness of the old ice cream parlor, we all saw Ryan blush. “Just curious. I don’t get to meet many single women nowadays,” he said.

“Claire’s a friend. We kissed once in a busted-up store, but we stopped before it went any further.” I stood up to stretch. “And we haven’t met any other young, eligible bachelors since we met, so I assume she’s not seeing anybody. You two might be the last young adults in the world, so you might have a chance.”

Everyone shared a good laugh. “Okay,” Jenny said. “Let’s eat.” She pointed to me. “New guy has to cook. I think we should do Italian today.” She gestured to Ryan. “Hot Pants here can help you.” More laughs followed.

Jenny got up to set up a small table, and Ben went to the window to keep watch for any bad guys. I grabbed a couple of cans of beef ravioli, opened them, and put them on the camp stove to warm up. The stove was a little portable miracle. It looked small enough to fit in a backpack. A few weeks ago, I would have given my right arm for a stove like this on the road. Ryan found a few plates and utensils and set them on the table.

The smell of the ravioli wafted over me, and my stomach growled. I was more hungry than I thought, despite the strain of the day. I felt pretty good. Telling my story to my new potential friends had helped. A little weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Shared problems, I guess.

Ryan brought me the plates, and I scooped out several of the meat-filled delights for each of us. No matter what happened to us in the second half of our journey, at least our bellies would be full.

After a nice meal of canned ravioli and a little more juice, it was time to hit the road for the second part of our journey. We reloaded our weapons and grabbed a few more supplies for the trip. At the last minute, Jenny added a small first-aid kit in case the doctor was hurt.

“The radio went dead, so we haven’t heard from her in a while.” Jenny said, as she packed a few bandages into the case with the other medical supplies. When everything was packed to her satisfaction, she slammed the trunk. “All right boys. Time to go.”

We all took our places in the car: Ryan in the shotgun seat and Ben and I in the back. Jenny started the car. It might have been my imagination, but it started and ran a little rougher than yesterday. It might be the gasoline. One commodity that didn’t age well in the post-zombie world was gas.

This part of the trip was a little more hairy. Ben admitted that they didn’t get out much past Safety One. No one from Cannon Fields had been out further than twenty miles or so from the subdivision. This trip, and the one to rescue Claire and me from Double-Six, had been the farthest anyone had ventured out of the gates. Most of the missions away from Cannon Fields had been to nearby stores and malls.
We were venturing out into the unknown.

Ryan unfolded his map, but it was good only for seeing the route ahead. The yellow, green, and red marks that denoted good and bad places stopped at Safety One on his map. The rest of the route to the doctor was clear of any marks. We not only had to worry about the dead, but the living probably weren’t too friendly either. I thought back to our friends in the white truck. They could still be around, too.

We tried not to attract any attention as we went down the road. Jenny drove straight as she could through the wreckage on the highway. Sometimes, the cars and trucks were piled up so bad we had to detour down side streets or through parking lots. We avoided places where the zombies were likely to swarm. Hitting a few wouldn’t do the car any favors. All the while, we sat with our faces pressed to the cool glass on our side of the car. Jenny told us to be on the lookout for bad guys and deadheads. In some places, the zombies were the majority population. Like a pack of dogs, they chased our car down the road. Jenny would simply get in the clear, add a little speed, and drive away. The zombies would chase a little more, then give up.

That’s how we drove along. It felt like an eternity, but according to the little red numbers on the dashboard, we had been traveling a little over half an hour. Even though it was a cool spring day, I was sweating from concentrating on my side of the car. Claire should have been with me. She was great in situations like these, and she could spot trouble a mile away.

According to Ryan, we were getting close. “Won’t be long now. We should start seeing signs of civilization. The clinic is an urgent care facility.” He pointed up the road and to the right. “Big intersection in town up ahead. It’s a state road. The back of the clinic should be to the right.”

“Keep an eye out. I don’t want to pass it,” Jenny said. She didn’t take her eyes off the road.

The first part of our trip was almost over. All we had to do was get into the clinic, get the doctor, then get home. So far, the trip hadn’t been too bad. We had to smoke a few Yellow-Eyes and escape a few marauders in a white truck, but we did okay. I forced myself to relax and breathe, or at least try to stop sweating. For once, things might go smoothly.

I was able to relax for about a minute or so.

Jenny slowed down for yet another terrible accident. A truck had flipped over onto its side and crushed a few cars underneath its trailer. The accident had caused a backup of several dozen cars, which now clogged a small three-way intersection. Jenny carefully scanned ahead and began to weave through the broken vehicles. As we got near the intersection of the three roads, a white truck with a cracked windshield drove quickly into the road and blocked our path. It was our adversaries from earlier in the day. As we got close, I could see the damage to the grill and fender.

“Dammit! They found us,” Jenny said. She slammed the car into reverse and attempted to get away.
Unfortunately, she misjudged the distance and slammed into a nearby wrecked car.

“Dammit!” she said again. She moved the lever into drive and put the accelerator to the floor. The front wheels spun, but the car stayed put. We were hooked on some piece of wreckage. In the intersection, I watched in horror as two guys with rifles got out of the truck. They moved quickly to find a shooting solution. “They’re getting out,” I said with alarm.

“So are we!” Jenny yelled. In unison, all four of us got out of the car with weapons drawn. We took defensive positions: Jenny and Ryan stayed with our car, and Ben and I dove behind a nearby pickup. There was a slight pause, then the lead started flying.

The guys from the truck fired first. The bullets zinged off the ground and cars around us. Wild shots, not carefully aimed. Jenny and Ryan fired back. Their shots were just as bad, but it made the boys from the white truck dip their heads.

“How many?” Ben asked.

“I saw two.” I had to shout over the gunfire. Ben popped up, leaned his rifle on the hood of our cover pickup, and took a few shots. I sunk down and watched. I was useless without a rifle. I needed to get closer.

“Uh oh,” I heard Ben say, as he took cover. A bottle rolled between our two cover cars and exploded into flames. I was a few feet away, but I still felt the heat and smelled the gasoline. The bastards were throwing bombs.

I crawled to the front of the pickup and took a look. Two guys stood by their truck, one firing a rifle. He took turns, sometimes firing on Jenny and Ryan, then swinging over to Ben and me behind the pickup. Ryan and Jenny were firing back, along with Ben. All this shooting was getting us nowhere. This was becoming a war of attrition, and someone was going to run out of ammunition first.

Molotov Cocktail Guy was kneeling down, preparing another bomb to rain fire down upon us. He ripped, then stuffed, rags into a small bottle of gasoline. I strained my neck to see how many he had ready to go. I could see three on the ground. Someone had to take him out, or we were all going to burn.

I crawled out from behind the safety of the truck and tried to make myself as small as possible. I was going for a small car that was in handgun range of our adversaries. I kept moving in the open, trying not to give anyone a target. Bullets began to hit the ground around me as I ran. I glanced back and saw Ben firing at the white truck to keep their heads down. He knew what I was trying to do.

At least one of us did.

I have to be nuts.
I reached the small car and crouched down beside the passenger door. A bullet tore through one of the windows, and glass went everywhere. The car was temporary cover at best. I had to put a plan in action, or I was going to have a few extra holes put in me.

I crawled to the front of the car to take a look. The shooter was a younger guy in T-shirt, dirty jeans, and a trucker cap. Molotov Cocktail Guy was a heavy guy with a long beard in camo jacket and matching pants. He tapped the shooter on the head, picked up a bottle, and lit the cloth fuse. The shooter provided cover fire so Molotov Cocktail Guy could step out and throw the firebomb. As the bullets began to rain down on Jenny, Ryan, and Ben, he moved forward and started his throw.

Time to act. I took a deep breath, and prepared for battle. He was just a target that needed to be eliminated before he burned me or my group. It was nothing personal.

I popped up from my hiding place and fired at Molotov Cocktail Guy. I caught him in the stomach and shoulder. He was starting his throw, so he fumbled the bottle. It fell at his feet and burst into flames. Molotov Cocktail Guy was standing in the inferno, and he went up like a dry Christmas tree. In seconds, he was covered in flames. He started to scream, then ran in my direction. I shot him point blank twice in the chest as he ran towards me. Finally, mercifully, he went down, still burning.

The shooter had fallen to the ground. He got up and pointed his rifle at me. I started to duck, but I knew it was too late. I waited for the inevitable white-hot pain of being shot, but it never came.

The shooter’s neck and shoulder erupted in a spray of blood. He took a few more steps, dropped his rifle, and fell to the ground. The asphalt became stained with his spilled blood. I stepped forward with gun ready, and saw Jenny standing with her rifle pointed at my head. She must have been the one that made the shot. As I started to walk towards her, she pointed her rifle at my head.

I put my hands up. “Steady, Jen. It’s me, the new guy,” I said. She shook her head and lowered her rifle. Jenny, Ben, and Ryan ran over to where I was standing.

Jenny wasn’t exactly proud of me. “Hey, John. Next time you put some crazy plan like that into action, let us know okay?” she said.

I put my gun away. “Sorry.” I felt a blush rise up into my cheeks. Being scolded in front of Ben and Ryan was a little embarrassing.

Ben looked me up and down. “You are one crazy white boy. You know that?”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “I must be.”

Ryan stood and looked at Molotov Cocktail Guy. The flames had subsided, but he was still smoking. The choking smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air. Ryan looked a little green. Ben and I joined him.
“You’re not just crazy, man. You’ve got ice water in your veins,” Ben said, quietly. “This guy could have tossed his little surprise in your direction.” He kicked at the crispy corpse. “Glad you’re on our side.”

I looked at Molotov Cocktail Guy’s face. It was tortured and twisted by the pain of burning to death. His beard and hair had burned off, along with his clothes. Another wonderful way to die in the world of the undead.

“You do what you have to do. One of the first things you learn out here on the road,“ I said. Ben nodded slowly in agreement as we stood around the blackened corpse. I turned to Ryan, who looked like he was about to throw up. “Still think this is going to be an easy trip?” I said. He didn’t answer, and walked away.

“Hey guys! This one is still alive,” Jenny called.

We joined Jenny and stood around the other bad guy. He was young, maybe about twenty years old or so. Jenny’s shot had hit him the shoulder, and messed up his neck as well. It was a mortal wound. His blood ran like a river out of severed arteries. He looked up at us with hate in his green eyes. Jenny had placed a cloth on the wound, but it wasn’t helping. Our young friend was going to die.

Jenny leaned down. “Who do you work for? Who sent you?”

The wounded boy spat blood in Jenny’s general direction. “Screw you, bitch,” he wheezed through his ruined throat.

Jenny leaned closer, this time with her revolver in her hand. “That’s not very nice. Now, tell me. Who do you work for?”

He didn’t answer. He only smiled. After giving us each a thousand-mile stare, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he died.

“Damn,” Jen said under her breath. “Now we don’t know anything.” She started going through his pockets. “Ben, John…check out the truck. These guys has been eating a little too well to be some bandits on the road. Ryan…stay with me and keep an eye out for their friends.”

Ben and I jogged to the back of the unmarked white truck, and opened the back door. Almost as soon as the door rose to its full height, a nauseating smell of dead bodies and rotting meat hit us in the face. Ben and I recoiled in horror at the smell.

“Man, what a stink. What the hell are these guys carrying?” Ben said, holding his nose.

We stepped back to the door, with our hands over our noses to ward off the offending odor, and looked inside. The floor and walls were slick with blood and gore. Bits of meat and fat littered the floor. The truck had been modified with racks and shelves.

And meat hooks.

Rows of sharp, nasty-looking hooks dangled down from metal brackets on the walls of the truck. They were big, silver, industrial-style hooks for hanging sides of beef. The truck had been converted to a slaughterhouse on wheels.

“They must have been killing and eating deer, or maybe cows or something, right?” Ben asked. I peered into the smelly truck and saw shoes and clothes piled at the front. Unless cows and deer wore sneakers and jeans, these guys had been eating something else. My lunch from Safety One threatened to jump ship. These guys had not been slaughtering cows or deer in their truck.

It was humans.

“Good Lord. What the hell?” Jenny said, as she walked up. Ryan just stared at the bloody hell inside the truck.

Ben and I were away from the door trying not to lose our lunch. “Cannibals,” I managed to say between dry heaves. The truck confirmed one rumor. Food had run low. Survivors, not just the Red-Eyes, were eating other survivors.

Ryan and Jenny backed away from the truck. “No way,” Jenny said, as she came to my side.

“Yeah. It has to be.” I straightened up, and tried to compose myself. “Shoes and clothes piled up in the front.”

Jenny rubbed her eyes. “You hear about stuff like this, but now that I see it…,” she trailed off.

I stepped further away from the slaughterhouse truck. The smell was overpowering. “It’s a real picnic out here, huh? We were just the next items for lunch.”

Jenny looked around nervously. “Let’s get the hell out of here before more of these butchers show up.”

We put the bodies in the truck after retrieving anything of value. They weren’t carrying much, just a few personal items. The boy’s rifle was still good, but he was out of ammo. We threw it in the backseat of our car, but we had no magazines that fit. Jenny started the truck and parked it in the accident to camouflage it from anyone coming to investigate the scene. We tried to pick up all our shell casings, then hurried back to the car.

During the firefight, Jenny had backed the car into another sedan. Our car was slightly damaged, but it still ran okay and was mobile. It was simply stuck on the other car. As Jenny alternated between drive and reverse, Ben and Ryan jumped on the crumpled trunk to free our car. After a few minutes, it popped free, and we were on our way to find the doctor.