Deadrise 2: Deadwar (11 page)

“Merry fucking Christmas!” Wild Billy screamed, tossing the grenade over Angel's head into the cab of the 4x4. Angel gunned the bike, pressing Wild Billy back into his seat of the sidecar. The two superzombies inside the 4x4 were scrambling to find the grenade, but to no avail. Just as Angel was pulling the bike up alongside the box truck, the grenade exploded, blowing both deadfucks to pieces. The blast reached the 4x4’s gas tank, which in turn exploded, turning the vehicle into a rolling fireball that swerved off road, crashing into the base of a hill. Wild Billy let out a long, whooping yelp of victory, a sentiment echoed by Smitty Tucker and all his surviving crew.

Smitty was pulled from his revelry by the passenger door opening, and the superzombie that used to be Augie began climbing in from underneath. It locked eyes with Smitty; it had Augie’s same missing tooth, and still had Augie’s jewelry on its fingers and in its ears. One hand was gripping the open door while the other reached in and sank its blackened claws into the cushion of the seat, trying to pull itself into the cab. It must have grabbed the underside of the truck after it crashed into the rear bumper, pulling itself along the undercarriage to reach the cab.

“CHICO!” Smitty pulled one of the five 9mm pistols he carried, took aim at the superzombie’s face and began firing. When his pistol clicked empty, half of the creature's head had been blown away, the remnants like a rotten egg leaking thick black ichor and foul fumes, but one of its eyes still burned fiercely, boring into Smitty like a drill. The superzombie gave a heave, pulling itself halfway into the cab. It let got of the open doorframe and braced its hand on the dashboard, its other hand still gripping the seat cushion.

Chico poked his shotgun through the access door, took aim at the hand gripping the seat cushion and fired, disintegrating the hand and upper wrist into a splatter of dead flesh, bone and black slime. It went off balance, teetering out the open door. Chico sprawled his upper torso through the doorway, lying on the floor of the cab between the seats. He aimed his shotgun at the zombie's chest and fired. The point blank shot blew a softball sized hole right through its chests and out its back, dislodging it from the side of the truck where it tumbled into a broken heap along the side of the road.

“That was Augie!” Smitty hissed through clenched teeth, wincing against the pain of his wounds.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Chico exclaimed, sitting in the passenger’s seat.

“It was! Those motherfuckers got to Augie and put one of those slugs into him!”

“Fuck.” Chico said with deflation.

Smitty growled in frustration. He held the truck at a steady 30 mph. He felt a boiling anger in his gut, and he wanted to press the pedal to the floor, to wash away his problems with the roar of the open road, just like he always had, but the truck was too battered to go any faster. Angel’s bike was fifty yards ahead of him. Even at that distance, he could read Angel’s pain in his body language. In the sidecar, Wild Billy’s face was in his hands, his shoulders slumped in sadness. Augie had been his best friend.

“Do you think those deadfucks remember their life from before?” Smitty asked.

“I don’t know? I try not to think about that kind of shit.” Chico was regaining his composure, and began reloading his shotgun with shells from his jacket pocket.

“Me either. But with Augie turned into a superzombie, I’m wondering if he can remember where we are holed up at?” The last thing they needed right now was for the Augiezombie to lead Green Rivers ten thousand plus horde of zombies to Rainbow Lake.

Up ahead, Angel was decelerating, bringing his bike along the driver’s side. Further down the highway, Smitty could see two large delivery vans approaching. The radio crackled from the floor between them. “Sgt. Gleason to Tucker do you copy?”

“The cavalry to the rescue.” Chico piped, loading the last shell into the chamber of his weapon.

“Answer the radio, give them a report.” Smitty settled back into his seat, trying to get as comfortable as possible, trying to forget about the pain of his bullet wounds.

“Maybe this will help ease your pain?” Chico offered an unlit joint in is free hand as he reached for the radio with his other. “It’s my special blend.” Which meant it was sprinkled with heroin.

“Maybe.” Smitty said with a smile, putting the joint in his lip and reaching for a light…

CHAPTER 13

Tuesday, August 7, 2001

Mountain View, WY

5:52 PM

General Jenkins stood outside the front entrance of the lodge, smoking a cigarette, waiting for the Mountain View security chief to come down. For the past two days a delegation of Council members consisting of Patty, Matt, Dr. Reilly and Jenkins, as well as Alphas One, Two and Three, had been staying at Mountain View, bringing their leader, Hughes, and his people up to date on what had happened to the world. They had taken the news of the Krylok invasion rather well. After all, once you had come to terms with the fact that the dead were coming back to life, was an alien invasion really that much more of a stretch? Now they were trying to decide how best to continue forward.

Jenkins had ordered Captain Turner to mop up the fifty or so deadfucks scattered in the nearby towns of Urie and Lyman. They were handled easy enough, but Jenkins was more concerned with the Sentinel that had once been a member of Smitty Tuckers crew of Freebooters. Smitty had assured him that the Augiezombie had been terribly mutilated and would not be one hundred percent operational. He doubted it could access the biker's memories, but a superzombie running wild in the region, with ten thousand plus deadfucks in Green River at its disposal, was a bad situation no matter how you sliced it. So far the security patrols out along I-80 had reported no sign of advancing zombies from Green River, but Jenkins knew that wouldn’t last. Sooner or later that Sentinel would start herding them southwest along I-80, towards home.

“Let’s do it.” Came a gruff voice over his shoulder, and Jenkins turned to see the security chief, Boone, had finally presented himself. Boone was a middle-aged, nondescript man with a crew cut and a clean shave. His eyes were a shade of grey, and his teeth stained yellow from coffee and cigarettes. He wore standard military fatigues and combat boots, with a combat utility belt clasped around his waist. An AK-47 was slung over one shoulder, a pistol and a machete on either hip. In one hand was a thick Manila folder while in the other was a tin cup of coffee. Pre-plague, Boone had been a rightwing, militant white supremacist, who saw the world through a prism of vast secret societies conducting clandestine warfare with one another for control of the world. The realities of the walking dead had quickly forced him to reassess his racial bigotry; after all, when the dead were rising up and devouring the living, a live human being, no matter their skin color, was a blessed sight. But he still held a deep suspicion for the United States Military Industrial Complex, or any vestige of the old United States Government, as both were the central villains in most of the conspiracies that had governed his life.

“General…” Jenkins added, giving Boone his hardest, coldest stare. The defiance in Boone’s eyes flickered then withered and died.

General sir…I…I…” Boone stammered, unsure of what to say.

Boone usually had a lackey or two that tagged along wherever he went. Tonight they were going to take a Humvee to the security checkpoint the Militia had setup out on I-80.

“None of your men are coming along?” Jenkins asked, cutting the tension and changing the subject as they began walking for the parking lot. It allowed Boone to regain his composure and his submission to Jenkins will was complete.

“Not tonight. I want to speak with you privately.” Boone said quietly, conspiratorially.

Jenkins had suspected Boone would try something like this. When Jenkins had first met him two days ago, Boone had expressed concern with Hughes leadership of Mountain View. Tonight, during the discussions, Jenkins had seen Boone casting Hughes odd looks, often glancing to Jenkins as if to tell him
see what I mean?

“Captain Turner and his driver will be accompanying us. Will that be a problem?” Jenkins asked, equally conspiratorial.

“That’s up to you. How much do you trust them to hear?”

“My men are loyal to me.” Jenkins said confidently.

“Very well…” They spoke no more as they continued walking down the path to the parking area, where the Alpha One Humvee was parked. Captain Turner and Corporal Durbin stood idly about, chatting and smoking. As they walked up, both the Major and the Corporal snapped to attention.

“At ease…” Jenkins said. “Let’s get rolling.” They all piled into the Hummer, with Durbin at the wheel, Turner riding shotgun, and Jenkins and Boone in the back. Once they were out of the parking lot and winding up the drive, Jenkins raised his voice.

“Ok listen up! Boone and I are going to be discussing some things that are to remain in this vehicle. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir.” Echoed both the Captain and Corporal.

“Say your piece, Boone.”

“There are several of us who are unhappy with the way Hughes is handling things.”

“Why haven’t you spoken up?” Jenkins asked.

“You’ve talked with him. You know how paranoid he is. To question his methods or motives will only turn his paranoia on you.”

“And everyone just falls in line?” There was half a smirk on Jenkins face as he was reminded of the conversation he and Mac had while forming the Militia, and the docile civilian sheep of Rainbow Lake, and the way they had submitted to his will and put their lives in the hands of the Council, who were but extensions of his own power.

“He has a grip on the people. A Cult of Personality.”

Jenkins understood fully. “Does he eliminate those who oppose him?”

“Not openly. Not yet. But they are definitely cast to the bottom of the pecking order; the last to eat or bathe, or receive medical attention.”

“Are there enough of you to overthrow Hughes?” Jenkins asked bluntly.
Are there any of my own that conspired to overthrow me

“If there were we would have done it by now. There are only a handful of us. He has twenty armed men at his disposal who will kill on his command without a seconds thought.”

“Why you? You seem to have it made here. You’re the security chief, basically Hughes right hand man.”

“I won’t lie… I have taken advantage of my position. But threatening to kill anyone who tried to go with your people? What the fuck is that? Who is he to tell me that I can’t try to find a better place for me or my family?” Boone was simmering with rage.

“Does he suspect your loyalty?” Jenkins asked.
Who would challenge me? Lucas? The Sheriff? Mac?

“No. Not yet.” Boone replied.

“Why?”
Let the bastards try! I will put a fucking bullet between their eyes!

“Because I don’t question what he says. I carry out his orders and keep him safe. But I know there has got to be a better way. Just look at what your people are doing. I know you guys are out raiding other towns for supplies. I wanted to do the same thing, but Hughes forbade it. He said it would lead the zombies back to Mountain View. Listening to your account of the siege on you lake, or the battle of Evanston, you’ve proven what I suspected: The zombies can be handled in large numbers using a well-armed, well-coordinated attack plan. We do not have to stay huddled here in this lodge like frightened sheep, waiting for a nod from Hughes to try and better our situation.”

“So what are you proposing?” Jenkins asked.

“Back our play, General.” Boone looked Jenkins straight in the eye as he spoke. “We both know that you are the true power in Rainbow Lake. You control the militia. And you know the old adage, ‘He who has the most guns, wins.’ If you back us, the rest of your Council will fall in line. Even if they don’t, what can they really do about it?”

Boone spoke the truth. He was the true power at Rainbow Lake. The Council was a sham that existed by his leave.
And they better never fucking forget it!

“What do you want from me?”

“After Hughes is Dead, support our leadership.”

“And in return?” Jenkins didn’t know what to make of this, but he may as well play it up for all it was worth.

“In return, we will let as many of our people as want to relocate to your community. And we will work with you as a partner to secure the area and eliminate the zombie horde in Green River.” Boone was basically handing him everything the Council had been pressing for the past couple of days, if only he would support the elimination of Hughes.

“Besides Hughes, how many other people would have to be killed?” Jenkins asked.

“Then you will support us?”

“I am considering it. Now answer my question.”

“That depends on them I guess. A few are on our side already, and I’m hoping that my involvement will flip the rest, but we still may have to kill five or ten men before the coup is a success.”

“Five or ten men…” Jenkins said, trailing of into silent consideration. They drove along in silence for several minutes.

“We’ll be at the checkpoint in five minutes sir.” Corporal Durbin said from the passenger seat.