The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented (7 page)

Tom
started their way, not wanting them to discuss for too long. The gestures
stopped and the nearest one in the cab spun his head around, watching Tom
approach. Before getting halfway there, both the two in the cab hopped out.

“Hey
guys.” Tom said.

The
driver came around the front of the truck, hand resting on a holstered pistol.
His too tight, grey t-shirt was stretched to the max, gut hanging over his
belt. He looked absolutely exhausted. “How’d you fair?”

“I
made it…barely. City’s a disaster.”

“Yeah,
we were gonna wait it out, but…but it just keeps gettin worse.” He looked back
toward the city. “You seen the risen ones? Not the fast ones, but the
others?”

Tom
nodded. “There’s one in the women’s restroom in there.” He gestured toward
the station. “I left her. Shots really draw them.”

The
guy that was riding shotgun, started opening the fuel tank on their truck.

“You’ll
need to turn the pumps on manually. Right behind the register. Like I said,
don’t use the ladies room.” Tom said.

The
man reached back in the cab and pulled out a beat up AK-47 before heading for
the station. His dirty jeans looked like they hadn’t been washed in days, but
Tom would not be surprised if they were brand new yesterday. His rifle hung
limply in his left hand, unready.

“Hey!
Watch yourself in there!” Grey shirt yelled.

These
guys were loud and disorganized. Tom knew he needed to get away from them as
soon as possible.

As
if on cue, a couple of the guys from the other truck came walking over and stood
next to Grey Shirt. One of them, wearing a white shirt with arm pit stains,
stood eyeing the M4. The other guy stood for a bit and then turned back toward
his truck.

“You
like your AR-15?” Pit Stains asked, still staring at the weapon.

Rather
than bring up that it was actually a M4, Tom nodded and said, “It’s solid.”

Everyone
turned toward the station when they heard several rapid shots from within.

Grey
shirt started to say, “What the f…,” but stopped short when the man with the AK
came out the entrance.

“Blam…girls
room doesn’t need no sign anymore.”

The
shots were muffled by the cinder block construction, but Tom still wondered how
far away they could be heard. As if in answer, several screams of rage could be
heard in various directions. None came from the immediate vicinity, but they
would be coming fast. He spun around and started for the Unimog.

“Hey!
Why don’t you join us?” Someone from behind him said.

“Yeah,
we could use some extra firepower and your sweet ride.” Another chimed in.

Not
liking the way this was going, Tom continued on toward the Unimog. “I think
you guys have enough of both.”

The
click of a hammer being pulled back could be heard.

“Maybe
we’ll take it.” One of them said.

Tom
stopped and raised his arms out to his sides. “You sure you want to go this
route.”

More
screams and growls could be heard, much closer now. There was a sudden boom
from in front of Tom. Anticipating something like this, he immediately dove on
the ground and rolled underneath the Unimog. From the other side he could see
the legs of the truck guys. Far to the right of them, near the corner of the
station, lay a body, too far away to be one of the thugs. The legs from the
guys were moving rapidly, but not really getting anywhere, panic setting in.

Tom
stood up on the far side of the Unimog and quickly scanned his periphery. Hank
was using the chaos to make a sprint for the mog. Seeing several demented
coming through the back alley, Tom raised his M4 and began firing rounds.

With
this, absolute chaos erupted. More howls of rage, very close now, even inside
the parking lot. Between the booms of the M4, Tom could hear shouting, and pops
from gunfire on the other side of the Unimog.

“Grab
the pump handle.” Tom shouted to Hank as he approached. Knowing his spare
magazines remained inside the cab, he continued to count his shots, nearing bug
out time. With multiple targets coming from a variety of directions, he had to
avoid getting firing lane lock. He continuously scanned the full perimeter,
picking off the closest targets one by one.
26…27…

“We
gotta roll!”
28…

Hank
was already dropping the pump handle and climbing in the passenger side. Tom
could see dozens of demented racing toward them. Saving one final round, he
sprinted around the back of the Unimog, watching for immediate threats. On the
far side, the thugs were firing in all directions, trying to keep the demented at bay.

Just
before Tom reached his door, he saw both trucks accelerating away from their
pumps, ripping off the breakaway fuel lines. Two of the thugs were left
standing next to the fuel pumps. Both of them had small pistols and
were firing rapidly at the oncoming hordes. Stained armpit guy ran out of ammo,
flung his pistols at the nearest demented, and made a break for the station.

One
of the demented came sprinting around the front of the cab, his face filled
with hatred. Tom barely had time to swing his rifle around, pulling the
trigger just as its forehead reached the muzzle. With a boom, it dropped to the
pavement. Tom climbed into the cab, throwing his rifle between the seats, and
slamming the door behind him.

Halfway
to the station was a cluster of demented ripping at what Tom guessed was
stained armpit guy. Firing up the engine, he accelerated away from the pump.
He looked over at Hank to make sure he was doing alright. He was grinning.

“Boy…self-service
is a pain in the ass.” Hank grumbled.

Still
jacked up, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tom replied, “Good work,
timing was great.”

“I
was about to drop the pistol guy, but then that demented came ripping around
the corner.”

Looking
in the mirror, Tom saw a second cluster of demented taking down the remaining
thug. Tom tried to dodge through the stragglers still coming into the parking
lot. A few demented speed bumps later they were out of the parking lot and
onto the street.

“What
do you think about the freeway?” Tom asked.

“Looks
okay from here.”

Pulling
up the ramp and onto the freeway, they were happy to see that Hank was right.
There were a few scattered cars here and there, but for the most part it was
fairly wide open. Pressing down on the gas pedal, they were able to get up to
the full cruising speed of about 45 mph. The one downside to a Unimog becoming
extremely evident now.

Keying
the intercom, Hank relayed to Rachael that they were both alright and were
rolling on the freeway now.

“Sounds
good.” Rachael replied, the relief evident in her voice.

Hank
sat reloading their weapons, using several boxes they had kept up front for just
this reason.

“Can
you load just 29 in my mags?” Tom asked.

“Whatever
you need princess.”

Tom
started laughing, and then Hank was laughing as well. It was the post battle; I
can’t believe I’m alive laugh. It felt so good to both of them, the laughter
not dying away for several minutes.

Wiping
tears from his cheeks, Tom was finally able to reply. “Maybe I’m just
superstitious, but I have better luck with jams if I don’t max out the
springs."

“Yeah…wouldn’t
want to max out princess’s springs.” Hank retorted, starting another fit of
silly laughter.

Looking
in his mirror, Tom breathed a sigh of relief seeing the green “Welcome to
Troutdale” sign receding into the distance. On another day, he would have
stopped to enjoy the blood red sunset behind him, however knowing it was caused
by the smoke of a burning city only put a knot in the pit of his stomach.

Would Spokane hold the same fate?

After
passing by dozens of cars on the freeway with nobody in sight, Tom said, “Where
did they go? I haven’t seen any people.”

“I
was kinda wondering the same thing. I’ve seen streaks of blood on some of the
cars and on the pavement, but no people.”

Both
men sat quietly, running through the possibilities in their heads. Tom
occasionally glanced out his side window, trying to peer into the darkness of
the trees as they streamed by, wondering if that is where they went. Seemed
possible that their ravaged brains sent them out in search of every noise they
heard.

Not
getting anywhere, and tired of the silence, Tom said, “Did you ever see the
demented chasing animals?”

Hank
looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Can’t say I saw any animals.”

Tom
had not been looking for them, but now that he thought about it, he had not
seen any either. More questions with no answers.

Hank
was the first to start the small talk. “So what do you do…or did you do?”

Not
wanting to admit out loud that the world he knew was all but obliterated, Tom
said, “I’m a trainer. Not workout stuff, more on the survival side.”

“So
you teach people how to build fires and purify water?”

“Some
of that…also tactics, evasion, preparedness…”

Hank
grinned, “ahhh, knew I picked you for a reason.”

“Picked
me? What the hell are you talking about? If I remember right, I saved your
butt.” Tom jabbed back.

Hank
let out a chuckle. “All part of my master plan.”

“What
about you? What’s your story?”

“Not
much story. Lied to get in the army when I was fifteen. Spent a lot of years
getting paid to go camping and shoot guns.”

“See
any combat?”

Nodding
his head, Hank said, “Multiple vacations in the tropical paradise of Vietnam. Several
years of hell is what that was, and to top it off, I was able to enjoy a spit
parade when I got back.”

Tom
shook his head, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s
all good, wouldn’t change a thing.”

After
driving for nearly an hour, mostly in silence, they came across the first real
roadblock. Along the way there were abandoned cars and trucks, but they were
easily avoided. This was a large tractor trailer that had spun sideways and
flipped onto its side, landing up against both the cement median and the steep
embankment.

“Ain’t
that a bugger.” Hank said.

“You’re
a world of help.” Tom leaned on the steering wheel. “I think we have two
options. One, we hook on with the winch and see if we can drag the trailer
back out of the way. Two, we drive back to the last exit and go around.
Either the old highway we’ve been seeing or take the westbound side.”

“It’s
getting fairly dark. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to stay inside the
mog.” Hank said, while slapping the dashboard in front of him.

With
that, Tom maneuvered until he had the Unimog facing the other direction.
Keying the intercom he said, “We hit a dead end, we’re turning back. Should be
an exit a few miles back.”

About
twenty minutes later, they found the exit they were looking for. During the
return drive they had all agreed to take the old highway rather than get back
on the freeway.

They
quickly decided it was a good choice. With far fewer cars along the back road, they were
nearly able to just drive, without dodging around.

The
only thing Tom did not like was the narrow road, bringing the thick dark trees
right in next to them. The headlights and cab mounted lights threw a bright
swath of light on the pavement, but to the sides was a different story. The
woods were a huge part of his life, and this was the first time since he was a
kid that they looked creepy, if not downright scary.

Hank
sat looking out his side window. He had not said a word since they had turned
around. Hank’s scratches from the woman were bright red and swollen. Every
now and then he would absent-mindedly scratch at them.

“How
are the scratches?” Tom inquired.

“Fine…they
itch a bit, but they’ll heal up.” Hank sat thinking, and then turned toward
Tom with a concerned look on his face. “You don’t think it’s like the movies
do you? Now I’m gonna become one…turn or whatever they call it?”

“I’ve
been thinking on that and I don’t think so. I think we already have
it…whatever IT is.” Tom turned toward Hank. “We're already infected or at
least most of us are.”

“How
do you figure that?”

Tom
sat trying to gather his thoughts, still unsure. “Like you said the other day,
it can’t be solely caused by the flu shot. Those are spaced out too much over
time for this to happen so quickly. What I wonder is why are all the dead
coming back…not just the demented.”

Hank
nodded and waited for Tom to continue, sensing he had more to say.

“After
hours of driving through Portland, we saw hundreds of demented and probably
thousands of the risen, as that one guy called them. No bodies anywhere, so
either they are dragging them off, everyone is getting bitten by
an infected, or the infection has already spread. I should clarify some. I
think the infection has been spreading for a while, we just don’t know someone
has it until they go crazy, or die and come back.

Hank
shook his head. “I don’t know, sounds plausible, but I think we’re still
missin something.” Continuing to scratch at his face, he turned back to his
window.

Looking
down at the instrument panel, Tom noticed a small red light next to the fuel
gauge. They were on Empty and Tom did not know how long the light had been on.
These things were not made for highway cruising, and their fill-up was cut short
by the idiots in the trucks.

Not
wanting to panic Hank, he asked, “Have you seen any town signs? How far till we
get somewhere?”

“I
think I saw a Hood River sign back a bit, said 14 miles.”

Tom’s
stomach knotted up with this reply. He tried to coast down each hill, hoping to
eke out every last drop. The mile markers came few and far between, making
every mile feel like an eternity. The more he thought about being out of gas
far from town, the more dread sunk in, tightening his chest, and making his heart race.

Nearly
to the top of a small rise it happened. The Unimog sputtered a bit, fired back
up, sputtered again, drove a ways, then sputtered to a stop. Tom screamed out
and slapped the steering wheel a few times, trying to move them on sheer
willpower.

“Can
we switch to the other tank?” Hank asked.

“I
did…back in Portland, when we were working through the back streets. Planned to
top them both off, then the moron squad dropped in.”

Tom
keyed the intercom. “We’re outta gas.” Silence hung in the air, like a weight
on all of them.

The
silence was broken with a sudden bang at his door. Startled, he whipped his
head around to find Rachael’s face pressed up to the glass, staring in at him.
He unlocked his door, and she squished in next to him.

“Sorry,
I was getting creeped out back there. Now what?”

Tom
replied, “I’ve been counting mile markers, and we’re no more than three miles
out. I’ll walk and bring us back some fuel.”

“There
will be cars on the road, can we siphon some?”

Hank
chimed in, “They’ll have gas. We need diesel.”

“She
does have a thought, I could at least grab one to drive in to town and bring
fuel back.”

“We
should stick together.” Rachael said, panic rising in her voice.

Hank
nodded his head in agreement.

Looking
out at the darkness surrounding them, Tom wondered if they should sleep here
until morning. The only thing that scared him more than the darkness was the
thought of waking up to hordes of undead surrounding their camper, pounding on
it and moaning in rage.

“Let’s
grab some gear and roll then.” He replied.

Worried
they would draw attention with flashlights, instead they relied on the light
cast by the sliver of a moon in the sky. It was not alot, but once their eyes
adjusted, they could follow the road without a problem. Although, following the
road was not what worried them.

The
sounds of twigs snapping somewhere back in the woods sounded like gunshots in
the still night. At times, Tom thought he heard grunts and crunching noises,
but his mind could easily be playing tricks on him.

In
the distance he could just make out the silhouette of a small car, the rear end
sticking up out of the ditch, on the edge of the road. Signaling the others, he
motioned for them to stay back. In a half crouch, he moved in on the car, rifle
up to his shoulder. He did not see anyone inside, and circled around to the
driver’s side, keeping his rifle trained on the windows.

The
front of the car had slammed into the hillside, crunching the bumper in, but
otherwise it looked okay. Tom shouldered the rifle and pulled out his pistol.
Using his left hand he tugged on the door handle, easing it open while keeping
his pistol in front of him. Nothing inside.

Laying
his rifle on the passenger seat, he climbed in and set the pistol on the dash.
Keys were still in the ignition. He gave them a turn…
click
. Tried
again…
click
. Checking the controls, he found the lights had been left on. The
driver must have been an early morning commuter that flipped, crashed, and
apparently walked away, leaving the lights on, but managing to close the door.

Or I’m the second person to try this
,
Tom suddenly thought to himself.

With
that, he grabbed his pistol and rifle, and hopped out of the car. Turning a
quick circle, he scanned all around, prepared for someone to be rushing him.
Only Rachael and Hank could be seen in the distance. He waved them over.

“Car’s
dead…there might be someone ahead of us.” He whispered.

Rachael’s
head snapped down the road. Hank simply nodded.

“Let’s
keep moving, just keep your eyes open.”

Moving
together, with weapons at the ready, they headed down the road. The darkness
clung to them, constantly reminding them of the undead and demented that
roamed. A breeze was beginning to pick up, stirring the leaves. With the
rustling, it was difficult to make out sounds around them.

“Stay
sharp.” Tom whispered.

More
crackling noises could be heard, sounding close. Rachael began to panic,
picking up her pace.

Tom
knew he needed to calm her. “Stay tight. Shout it out guys.”

The
breeze suddenly shifted, blowing in the stench of urine and feces. It was
coming from directly behind them. There was a sudden scraping noise, metal on
pavement.

Rachael
was breathing hard, nearly in a panic.

Tom
remembered the NV illuminator on his rifle. Clicking it on, he peered through it,
viewing the world in a strange green light. Scanning back the way they came, he
felt a surge of panic. There were at least two dozen things following them. Demented
or undead he was not sure. Their eyes glowing a bright green, nearly white, as
they shambled forward.

The
nearest one, a huge man, was dragging a metal pole or maybe a fence post along
the pavement, bright sparks flying in the air. The night vision made them
appear like white hot embers. Tom continued to walk backwards, watching in
horror as more joined them from the woods. The sound was drawing them like
moths to a flame.

Spinning
around, Tom checked the road in front of them, finding some shamblers working
their way onto the road. His heart was pounding in his chest, the blood
rushing through his veins. The beating was so loud in his ears, it felt like it
was echoing through the night, drawing more of them.

Continuing
to walk, he took a few steadying breaths. “We have to move.” He started an
even trot, weapon out. He could hear the soft patter of footsteps as Rachael
and Hank followed.

Immediately
in front of the group were a couple undead staggering straight at them. Wishing he
did not have to do it, Tom squeezed the trigger. The boom shattered the night,
sounding like a bomb going off. It was immediately followed by growls,
shrieks, and screams of rage.

Squeezing
the trigger a second time dropped the next immediate threat. With the quiet
broken, Tom yelled, “Move!”

Not
needing extra encouragement, the trio made a mad dash down the road. Rushing
across the pavement, they could hear snapping branches and loud rustling from
deeper within the dark trees. Behind them the volume continued to ramp up.
Tom glanced back to see several dark forms rushing toward them, sparks leaving
a glowing trail behind the largest form.

They
were coming fast, too fast for Rachael and Hank. Tom turned and dropped to one
knee. The huge man was in a full charge. Placing the dot of his magnifier
right on his green-white head, Tom pulled the trigger, black sparkles sprayed
out the back of the demented's head as the bullet ripped out the back. Not even waiting for the body to hit the
ground, he spun to his next target, quickly squeezing the trigger as it centered
on the forehead.

Trying
to control the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tom focused on
counting his shots, and maintaining a steady rhythm. Even in the cool of the
night, beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. The panic was gnawing at
him, the urge to flee, nearly overwhelming. With each shot, a demented would
drop to the pavement, only to be replaced by another.

There
was a sudden patter of footsteps to Tom’s left. Before he could get his rifle
around, something slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. The weight of
the demented pinned his rifle to his chest.

Between
the weight and the stench of feces, Tom could barely breathe, panic swelling
inside him. He could imagine the mass of demented sprinting his way, like a
swarm of angry hornets. His mind flashed to the two thugs that succumbed to
the surrounding hordes, torn to pieces he was sure.
I can’t die like this.