The Hunt Chronicles (Book 2): Revelation (19 page)

“They’re comin’ in!” Gardner shouted. 

Zombies, mostly from the left side, started to make their way through disruptions in the fire.  At first, it was just a few, but as the zombies crowded over the flames, they began to smoother the small fires.  In moments, they started pushing on each other, shoving their undead brethren through the flames and to us.

Some of the zombies caught fire, but they were also soaking wet, and the flames didn’t spread too far and quickly died down.

Gardner fired first and I quickly joined in shooting the closest zombie on the left side, while Gardner kept to the right.  None had made it in the funnel yet, and the others started to stumble and fall over the zombies we were putting down.

Boomer was at my side, growling and barking at the incoming dead hoard. 

I hit my mark two out of three times, which was pretty damn good for a moving target eight inches wide.

They were getting closer though, and Chad and Enrique were doing their best to push them back and over the obstructions.

“Changing mags!” Gardner shouted.  I switched from my side to his, shooting the closest zombie.  Seconds seemed like minutes as I covered the entire room while he changed magazines.  By the time he was done, my AR-15 was empty.

“I’m out!” I yelled as Gardner took over.  I pressed the release and the magazine fell to the floor.  My other hand brought up a new magazine and I hit the bolt release, chambering another bullet.  

“I’m good!” I screamed over the moans of the zombies. 

Gardner acknowledged and I took back over my zone.  Chad was doing a good job on my left, keeping the few that were climbing over the barriers back.  In one quick motion, he leaned over and picked up my empty magazine.  Fish had ingrained into our heads that, if at all possible, we should retrieve our empty magazines.

“Bravo, move to pick us up in the alleyway,” Fish called through the radio.  “DJ, stay put until we’re safely outside.”

“Roger,” DJ acknowledged.

“On our way,” Cecil responded.

A few moments passed and Fish jumped back onto the radio.  “Cecil, ETA?”

“We’re having problems,” Cecil replied.  “We slid into a car.  Damn thing has us hooked.”

“How the hell did that happen?” DJ asked in frustration.

“Between the rain and Zombie guts everywhere, the tires couldn’t keep hold,” an irritated Cecil replied.  “We’re caught on the back of a pickup truck.  Stupid thing is dragging behind us and now we’re stuck in the middle of the road.”

“Damn it!” Fish swore.  “Alright, DJ, you’re going to have to circle around back.  We’ll just have to hold the line until you get into the alley.”

DJ spoke over the airways, “If I move, Fish, you’re going to have about a thousand dead-heads breathing down your neck!  Go out into the alley way first.”

“And we could be running into another thousand out back.  This way you can clear the road with Big Red.”  Fish came up next to me and shot two zombies that were getting close to the funnel.

“I have a plan,” a new voice chimed in over the radio.  It was Gonzales.

“You keep Charlie in place, Gonzo,” Fish ordered.

“Sorry Sarge, already moving.  Give me two minutes,” Gonzales shot back.

“I gave you an order, damn it,” Fish cursed, but there was no response.

Just then, three zombies made their way over the barricade in front of me and Chad.

“Cover me!” I yelled to Gardner, and he took over the middle, shooting any zombie that made it to the mouth of the funnel.  Fish joined in and together they kept the lanes clear.

Dobson, who had given up trying to light the Molotov cocktails, was firing Fish’s .45 at the zombies entering the store.

Chad surged forward, spearing a female zombie in the throat and pushing her back. 

I shot one of the other ones while Boomer leapt forward and grabbed the ankle of the third.  He pulled back, causing the zombie to fall backwards onto its butt.  Chad quickly retrieved his small sledge and smacked it three times in the head.  I shot another zombie crawling over the barricade as Chad and Boomer retreated back to the line.

“Damn it,” Fish swore, coming up behind me.

He shot an additional four zombies with his M4, not missing his mark once.

I stole a glance back and saw three tired and weary figures emerging from the back room.  There was a woman and two men.

The woman had long, messy and tangled black hair, mixed with slivers of grey.  Her face was dirty, as was all of theirs.  She carried some sort of submachine gun that I didn’t recognize.  The uncomfortable way she held it told me she wasn’t experienced with firearms.

Behind her, one man was assisting another one who seemed barely able to walk.  The one helping had sandy blond hair, a grimy face and wore a pair of glasses with one of the lenses smashed.  He too was covered in filth and unarmed.

The sickly looking man had dark brown skin.  He was wearing a similar uniform to Major Dobson and it was in the same condition.  He was about my height, but broad and in shape.  A beard covered a wide jawline, and his neck was twice the size of an average man.  The nametag read Pitman, and he was coughing and wheezing.

“Is he infected?” Gardner asked Fish as he shot at a pair of zombies coming down the funnel.

“The woman says no, but we’ll sort that out once we get out of this mess.  Hold the line.”  Fish turned around and checked the back door.

I continued to cover my lane, changing mags two more times before the radio came alive with Gonzales’ voice.

“XO,” he said to DJ in a strained voice, “you have about twenty seconds to get that red piece of shit out of the way.”  There was a loud noise in the background of the radio.

“What the hell do you… holy shit!” DJ cursed over the radio.

Big Red thundered forward and cut east out of view. 

Seconds later, a large dump truck sideswiped the front of the cigar shop, turning every zombie in the general area into mush. 

“Get moving!” Fish shouted and kicked the back door open.

Gardner and I covered everyone’s escape into the alleyway, shooting the few zombies that were still moving in the store.

I heard a loud screech and the roar of the dump truck as it circled around and did another pass, flattening another hundred zombies that were starting to move toward the cigar shop opening.

Gardner and I exited through the rear of the store and met up with everyone else.

Fish slammed the back door shut while Chad and Enrique pushed a large green dumpster to block it.

Twenty zombies were clambering around the alley.  They were a welcome sign compared to the thousands on the other side of the cigar shop.

“Clear the area,” Fish ordered, and we went to work, putting the zombies down.

Enrique chose to use his vicious lawnmower blade sword, chopping four of the undead down.  The rest of us used our rifles, cutting them down in seconds.

“Jenna,” Gonzales said over the radio, his voice hollow, “pick me up.”

“And that’s why I wanted Gonzo,” Fish whispered to me and then keyed his radio, “DJ, ETA?”

“Twenty seconds,” DJ responded and we heard the roar of Big Red’s engine as it rounded into the alley. 

The door from the cigar shop started to open, the trash can scrapping on the pavement as it was pressed outward.

“Hold that door!” Fish ordered

Chad and I ran over and pushed bin hard against the backdoor, slamming it in place.  The weight on the other side became too much, though, and we started to lose ground.

Big Red screeched to a halt, spraying puddled water over us.  The big fire engine barely fit in the alleyway, and had already taken down a few cable lines that were strewn overhead.

“I can’t believe we’re still alive,” Chad panted.

“Trust in Fish,” I grinned.  My shoulders and legs were becoming heavy as the strain of holding the trash bin began to take its toll.

Boomer started to bark.  I peered down the alleyway and saw a hoard of zombies following in Big Red’s wake.  They were almost done loading everyone on to the fire engine when Fish called for us.

“Get your asses movin’!”

“You heard the man,” I said.  “One, two, three!”

On the number three, we both bolted for Big Red.  The back passenger door was wide open and we leapt in.  By the time we had shut the door to the fire engine, the trash bin had been pushed wide enough for the first of the zombies to come out.

“We’re outta here!” DJ bellowed, and Big Red lurched forward.

I glanced around the cab as DJ drove the truck back onto the main road leading out of town.  Gardner and Enrique were on the back of the truck with Major Dobson.  The two men and one woman we had rescued were scrunched in the back seat with me and Chad.  Fish was sitting in the front with DJ and Boomer.

“Alright,” Fish growled as he spun around to face us, “you three, climb out on the back.  Christian, bring your mutt.”

The woman glared at Fish and put her arm around the sickly man whose nametag read ‘Pitman’.  “Excuse me?  It’s pouring rain out there and this man is sick!”

“Exactly,” Fish grinned.  “Get his sick ass on the back of the truck before I drag him there.”

“What the hell’s going on?” DJ asked as he maneuvered the big truck.

“This guy might be infected,” Fish told him, gesturing to Pitman.  “Keep Big Red slow and steady on the ride back.”

“I told you he’s not infected!” the woman declared.  She had an icy tone when she spoke.

Pitman appeared to be in a daze.  He partially opened up his eyelids, and I could see red veins etched across the whites of his eyes.

“Can it, broad.  Open up that back hatch and get on the back of the truck.”  Fish grabbed a 9mm pistol from DJ’s holster.  “You mind?”

DJ shook his head no.

I glanced down at the submachine gun that the woman had previously been holding.  It was lying on the floor of the cab.

The three of them made their way through the hatch that led to the back of Big Red.  Fish followed behind them.

“Come on Boomer.”  I got up and climbed through, following the rest into the rain.

By the time I steadied myself on the slow moving truck, the situation had already gotten tense.

“What the hell is this about, Master Sergeant?” Dobson said angrily.

“He’s crazy,” the woman said.  I had a feeling she didn’t know when to shut up.

“Enough!” Fish barked.  To my surprise, he raised the pistol at Dobson.  “Hand over the .45, Major.”

Dobson glance behind him and he saw Gardner slowly start to raise his M4.  Gardner was a good soldier, but he looked confused at what was transpiring.  In the end, though, he would follow Fish’s lead without question.

Dobson smirked.  “All this way, just to be threatened by our own people.”  He held the .45 out and Chad snatched it out of his hands.

The four people we had rescued now stood huddled in the middle of Big Red.  Chad, Enrique, and Gardner were on one side of them, and Fish, me and Boomer on the other. The rain had lightened up, but even at the slow speed DJ was driving, it had a little sting to it as it whipped across my skin.

“Lay him down and step back,” Fish ordered.

The woman growled, “I told you—”

“Major, tell this woman to shut her trap,” Fish growled.

“Doctor Tripp…” Dobson started to say evenly.

“Who is he to tell me anything, you Neanderthal?” she asked Fish.

“Gardner!” Fish said, and without a word, Gardner flicked his selector switch from safe to semi-automatic.  He didn’t aim the rifle at any of them, but he did take a step forward and got in a readied stance.

I started to tense up.  This was getting out of control.  I knew Fish.  He would have already killed the sickly man if he was sure the guy was infected.  If this woman would just be quiet…

“Oh, so you have good little soldiers?  I’ve almost died a hundred times in the past two months.  Think that kid scares me?” she gestured to Gardner.  She took a step forward.  “I don’t care who you—”

“Julia, please!” the man in glasses said, glaring at the woman.  He was still holding Pitman.  The man turned and started to lay sickly man onto the deck of Big Red.

She seemed about to interject when Fish spoke.

“Look, I really… really hate explaining myself,” he scowled, “but we have almost eighty people in our charge, many of them children.  If I thought this man was infected for sure, I would have put him down before we ever got on to the truck.  As it is, I’m not bringing him into our compound until he checks him out,” Fish gestured his thumb toward me.

“Me?”  I whispered to him.

He spoke to me out of the corner of his mouth, “Not you, dumbass, your dog.  He detected Judy changing, right?”

Judy, the survivor Fish and I found in a house we were scavenging, was infected.  It took her hours to change.  About halfway into her change, Boomer had become apprehensive, and refused to be near her.

“I—I guess,” I stammered.