A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (19 page)

Gerald wore an intense look as he said,
“Those men in black are
evil
.” The old man spoke slowly, and
then drew out the word
evil
his voice gravelly. “At first
Bishop’s fellas were only pushy and demanding. But that all changed
when Chief Jenkins stood up to him... called him out in front of
his men. Bishop took it as an insult. But instead of hurting
Jenkins—he made examples out of Darby, Palmer, and Doreen.
Doreen—God rest her soul. She suffered
extra
.” Gerald pushed
his bi-focals up, pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled
forcefully before continuing. “The mongrels had a party with her
before they fed her to those creatures.”

The visual turned Daymon’s stomach upside
down. “Where did the flat-faced guy take Heidi and the other
girls?” he asked staring intensely across the bar.

“To the mansion... I’m sure of it,” Gerald
proffered.

“Will you do me a favor?” Daymon said over
the top of his glass, savoring the nose of roasted nuts and honey
wafting from the room temperature bourbon.

“Depends on what you’re asking of me,”
replied Gerald softly and slowly.

The singsong cadence of the old man’s voice
brought goose bumps to Daymon’s skin.

“I came from Driggs with one thing on my
mind...” Daymon intoned. “Find Heidi if it kills me.” He pinned his
dreads behind his ears and hardened his expression as he planned
his next words. “It appears this Robert Christian and his muscle
Bishop and Flat Face have opened up a whole new can of worms for
me.”

Gerald leaned in close enough to make Daymon
think he was about to be on the receiving end of a head-butt.

“Anything else you want to tell me?” Daymon
asked as his claustrophobia kicked in, causing him to lean back
thus widening his bubble of personal space.

“The one place that I
know
of where
you can have an audience with Robert Christian...”

To hell with phobias
. Daymon leaned
back in. “Go on,” he said.

Gerald resumed where he had left off. “One of
the other Essentials let it slip after one too many imbibed right
here in my bar that this Christian fella takes a daily meal in the
elk refuge, usually before noon, but sometimes after. It’s second
hand info—so take it with a grain. If you need to vamoose in a
hurry... a word of caution... the monsters seem to be coming up 189
from the southwest so the NA boys have the bridge by Hoback ready
to blow.
Do not
go that way. If you leave, take the pass or
go north past the airport. But be careful, there are NA baddies on
both roads.
Young man
... promise me you will think before
doing anything
stupid
where Christian or Bishop is
concerned.”

“Doing
nothing
is stupid. I ain’t got
a thing to lose—and
everything
to gain,” Daymon said, his
voice trailing off. “Thanks for the heads up about the Snake
crossing.” He downed the bourbon in one shot while the niggling
voice he chalked up to conscience warned him about drinking and
driving.
Who’s going to give an Essential a DUI anyway
,
crossed his mind as he shook Gerald’s hand. Then, a little tipsy
and armed with his new knowledge, he took a lingering look around
the empty honkytonk and tried to detect a little bit of Heidi’s
presence before venturing out into the sunlight.

The last thing he wanted to do now was draw
attention to himself. If he was going to find out what had happened
to Heidi he knew that he was going to have to start asking around,
either that, or set up surveillance on the house. Daymon shook his
head and racked his brain. Neither of those options were acceptable
since most people in Jackson knew him—and to those that didn’t—he
would stand out to like a sore thumb. He was one of those people
who if you had met him even once—however briefly—the chance that
you’d remember how to describe him easily topped one hundred and
ten percent.

Daymon was left with only one clear place to
start, and to rule out whether or not his girl was among the
crucified, he was going to have to return to the place he had
privately dubbed ‘
The valley of the crosses
.’ And to get
there he would have to take the Teton pass highway which he’d
decided to call the highway to hell. With that thought, the old
AC/DC song of the same name began looping through his mind.

Chapter 21

Outbreak - Day 11

Logan Winter’s Compound

Eden, Utah

“The radio has been awfully quiet. You think
we ought to check in?” Phillip asked.

His question was answered by several staccato
bursts of gunfire coming from the east side of the property.

“Let’s stay put lest we get ourselves shot
up,” drawled Duncan. “Let’s just watch our backs and not get
trigger happy.”

“I second that,” Carter proffered.

Three minutes later Lev’s voice came over the
radio. “We’re coming into the clearing. Do-not-shoot.”

“Copy that,” Duncan replied into the two-way
then he watched the tree line for signs of movement. Finally,
backpedaling, Lev, Chief, and Seth burst into the clearing.

“Where the hell are Gus and Sampson?” Ed, the
balding heavy set fellow asked.

Duncan looked at him and said, “Think good
thoughts.”

The three men sprinted across the clearing
with two dozen rotters in pursuit. Chief slowed to a walk, turned,
and dropped four of the advancing crowd.

By the time the trio reached Duncan’s
position they were all winded from fighting through the underbrush
while trying to avoid being surrounded.

“There are more of them in there but they’re
busy eating some bastard,” Seth blurted.

“Calm down,” Duncan said to the young man. “I
say we let ‘em get a little closer and then POW, we finish ‘em
right here.”

“Gus and Sampson are still out there
somewhere,” Lev said. “They’re between us and the road.”

“Don’t worry about the other two,” Chief said
soberly. “They were in their tree stands and should be safe.”

“Lock and load,” Duncan said, taking charge
of the situation. “Carter, Ed, Phillip... fan out towards the
bunker entrance. You three spread left... we’ll get the Zs in a
crossfire.” He waited until the rotters were right in the middle of
the clearing before yelling “Fire!”

After a fifteen second lead storm all of the
creatures were down.

“Reload,” Duncan bellowed. He felt like he
was taking place in a Civil War re-enactment. “Let’s see if the
gunfire tears the others from the feedbag.”

“Let’s make some noise,” Lev said. “Should
get their attention.”

Duncan started hollering.

The others followed suit.

Shortly after, the brush parted on the other
side and rotters started staggering through the shin high
grass.

“Wait.” Duncan paused.

“Now!” he said as he fired his borrowed
shotgun into the decaying clutch. Though not very effective at this
range, the scattergun still took some pieces off of the
shamblers.

As soon as the gunfire died out, Lev noticed
his Motorola begging to be answered. Relieved to hear Gus’s voice
leap from the speaker, he inquired about Sampson.

“Not good,” said Gus. “They got to him. I
need help with the fence... bring tools. And there are some more
walkers down here but I think I can hold them off for a minute.
Hurry though.”

A call from the compound came over the
two-way. “This is Logan. Has anyone seen the girls?”

“Negative,” replied Lev. “We’re going to the
road to help Gus. We have some fence to repair so Seth is coming to
the compound to get some tools.”

“Copy that. All right!” Logan shouted, unable
to hide his glee.

“What’s happening?” Lev asked

“The girls just snuck in the back door.”

“I’ll pass the word,” Lev added.
Lucky
you.

***

Cordite haze hung in the still air as Lev
walked among the fallen rotters finishing off anything that moved.
Sampson’s body was wrapped in a blue tarp and he would receive a
proper burial later.

Sitting with his back to a fence post, Gus
was still trying to come to grips with the fact that he had been
forced to put down a friend. Sampson was already turned when Gus
found him wandering on the road. It hadn’t been easy but he pulled
the trigger, an action that no doubt he would never forget.

Seth and Carter tackled the fence repair
while Duncan paced the fence line, saddled with the subtle feeling
that someone was watching him. “Lev... Gus... can I get your
ears?”

Duncan held court with the two men that he
suspected were the most capable of the group. “I have a feeling
we’re being probed. I don’t think this has much to do with the good
old boys you all offed the other day. However, we have just tipped
our hand as far as personnel is concerned.”

“What do you propose?” Gus asked.

“I think we should lay low for a couple of
days and then take the chopper up and go on a scavenger hunt. If
we’re going to hold this compound we
will
need more arms and
stuff that goes
boom
.”

Lev perked up. “We could find a National
Guard Armory. Good stuff there.”

“Would seem like a good a place to start but
the Guard was deployed early and suffered from it. Poor bastards
didn’t know what they were up against until it was too late.”
Duncan shook his head slowly. “Just an idea, we’ll have to kick it
around with the others. From what I understand that’s how things
get handled around here.”

“We can kick it over later,” Chief said.
“Right now I need help burying Sampson.”

Chapter 22

Outbreak - Day 11

Grand Junction, Colorado

Hicks crabwalked slowly to the right. The
knife, perfectly balanced, felt like a natural extension of his
hand. This would be no normal knife fight—if there even was such a
thing. There would be no incapacitating attacks to the
torso—wouldn’t work on the dead, he reasoned. He figured he would
only have one chance: go for the head once the lumbering monster
got close enough.

The creature to his right wore a heavy two
piece uniform with the words GROUND MAINTENANCE stenciled front and
back in an easy to read black font. An impossible to miss gaping
chasm had been chewed into the heavy set man’s neck, the obvious
cause of his first death. The ghoul had nothing beneath his chin
save for bits of dried yellow trachea and streamers of glossy
flesh. Hicks could easily make out vertebra and burnished cords of
muscle rippling as the Z’s head bobbled with each ungainly stride.
The thing’s blood had sluiced out and dried in a crazy tie-dyed
pattern staining the bright yellow uniform; it almost looked like
it should be at a Phish concert scoring a joint instead of lurching
around hungering for human flesh.

In addition to Tie-Dye who emitted raspy
groans as he approached, two more zombies angled silently in from
Hicks’s left.

The first creature, a middle-aged woman who
in her human life had obviously been a tanning bed addict, had
wisely dressed for a hot summer day: plaid Bermuda shorts, a tight
black tee shirt with garish golden lettering that said Viva Las
Vegas stretched taut across her fake boobs, and a pair of scuffed
and bloody high backed sandals wrapping her dainty feet. Mister
ultra-violet spectrum, fake or not, hadn’t been kind to her in life
and he hadn’t given her any slack in death.

Bites marked her leathered hands and arms.
The deep craters, ringed with purpled ridges, proved she had tried
in vain to ward off a ferocious attack before finally succumbing to
the virus and joining the ranks of the dead.

Trailing ten feet behind and to the left of
the female version of Wayne Newton staggered the hairiest Z Hicks
had ever seen. Wearing nothing but a blue Speedo banana hammock,
the groaning creature angled for an attack, its bare feet slapping
out a steady cadence on the super-heated tarmac.

Hicks, taken aback by the out of place
oddity, nearly dropped his blade. He presumed the nearly naked
walker had left his last pool party, enticed by the plane crash and
ensuing inferno, then come in through the shattered fence along
with the rest of the Zs.
A fiery spectacle the mindless fuckers
couldn’t resist
, Hicks thought as he crouched, bouncing lightly
on the balls of his feet, prepared to engage Tie-Dye first.

***

Sweeping his SCAR carbine to the left, Lopez
delivered final peace to one badly burnt walker, its partially
melted flesh sagging in places revealing pink fissures and
contrasting white bone underneath. Through his scope he witnessed
his three round burst cleave the Z’s head in two. Gray brains
blossomed in the air, and as the blackened monster became one with
the scorched tarmac it appeared the demon was being welcomed back
into hell.

He dropped the spent mag and back-pedaled,
jamming a fresh one in the well as a phalanx of similarly burnt
creatures vectored his way. “Get a move on Hicks!” he bellowed into
his mic before letting loose with half a dozen three round bursts,
most of which found their mark, dropping four more of the advancing
crowd. His final salvo, however, went wide and found one of the
massive plate glass panes fronting Grand Junction’s north concourse
several hundred yards distant. The quarter inch thick glass which
had been tempered to deaden the high decibel shriek of a jet engine
would normally have been able to withstand a single errant 5.56x45
mm NATO round without shattering completely. Against three
simultaneous bullet strikes, each hitting only a fist width apart,
it stood no chance.

***

Inside Grand Junction Airport

Taryn’s full attention had been locked on the
soldiers and their strange helicopter when the wall of windows
directly below and opposite the office exploded inward. The ensuing
implosion of glass shrapnel peppered the opposite walls, sending
minute kernels bouncing across the carpeted floor like so many
shiny spotless dice.