Floyd & Mikki (Book 1): Zombie Hunters (Love Should Be Explosive!) (26 page)

Mikki laid down on the bedroll first, staring up at the stars. Everything seemed so peaceful. She wondered if Zeke was up there someplace, lookin’ down at her. Wherever he was, he was in a much better place. People used to say that all the time before, but it was really true now. Soon she was asleep, snoring soundly, as Floyd kept watch. About four hours later, he woke her and then it was his turn to grab some sleep.

The sun had risen and was making its way into sky when Floyd finally peered out at the world through sleepy eyes. He yawned, stretched, and slowly got to his feet. He looked over the edge of the building.

“What the hell? Where did they all come from?”

“Oh, all over the place,” Mikki answered. “They cain’t really see well, so I reckon they must have one helluva sense of smell. But they ain’t started moaning or howlin’ or nothin’. They know somethin’s up, but they ain’t figured it out yet.”

“Dammit, Mikki, why didn’t you wake me?”

“Are you kiddin’? You had the cutest little smile on your face. Like you was dreaming of puppies or somethin’. I couldn’t wake you. Besides, I been watchin’ ‘em real close. They ain’t no threat, and it’s fascinatin’ the way they all seem to know each other without really communicatin’. They don’t really work together, but they seem to have some kinda collective consciousness.”

Floyd stood there with his mouth hanging open. He decided to close it. He was doing that far too often lately. He turned the alarm monitor off and started gathering up his motion sensors. When he came back, he said, “Well, I guess it’s time we started heading out. You got a plan on how we get out of here? You’re outta grenades, remember?”

“Oh, hell, Floyd. The truck’s right below us. We just blow away whatever creepers are around the truck and plow our way back onto the highway.”

“You know it’s never that easy, right? And by the way, you’re cleanin’ the body parts off the grill this time, after we’re outta here.”

“Why bother? You worried about what people will say at valet parking?”

“Because the stuff gets stuck in the grill, which reduces the air intake, and that reduces the engine cooling. Besides, that crap smells nasty when it starts to burn from the engine heat. You make a mess. You clean it up!”

“Yes, sir! Mr. Man, sir!”

“And will you
please
stop
sayin’ that!!!”

“Not as long as I know it annoys you.”

Floyd packed up the chairs and bedroll and the two scampered back up over the raked roof to the top of the caboose, moving as quietly as possible. Oh shit! That damn cat! No wonder every brain-eater for miles had moved into their location. Floyd could just barely make out the sound of the cat bouncing around in its bag as it slammed against the side window, me-oaning. Several dozen of its friends were all around the truck.

Floyd really regretted Mikki’s lack of grenades at the moment, and the two RPG launchers were in the cab. Not that they would have done any good. Mikki was just as likely to blow up the truck as anything else.

The Uzis would do the most damage for a crowd like this, but they were loud. That kind of noise would frenzy the creatures too much. Their best bet was to blow away as many as they could around the truck with the silenced shotguns before the brain-eaters knew what was happening. Death from above. He whispered the plan to Mikki, who agreed.

“Really?” Floyd asked.

“Yes, really. Why?”

“No argument? You don’t have a better idea to cause more damage?”

“No. You got a good plan. I agree. If I can’t blow shit up, let’s shoot shit up. Only one thing.”

“Of course, I knew it. What?”

“When we get in the truck…I drive.”

Floyd smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You get the creepers in the rear. I’ll take out the ones in front. Aim for the ones farther out, then make your way to the ones closest to the truck. That way, they’ll be lookin’ away from the truck, wonderin’ what’s happenin’.”

“Roger that.”

Floyd had to hand it to her. Mikki knew her zombies. They started firing into the crowd about 20 feet away from the truck. One shotgun shell, one zombie brain. The ones closest to the truck turned to see what had happened to the ones who had fallen and started heading in that direction—away from Freedom.

Floyd and Mikki wasted no time. As soon as they dropped one, they set their sights on the next creeper head in line. Brain-eaters started dropping almost as fast as they could pull the trigger. With 32 shells in each drum mag, they had plenty of ammo to do the job. Soon they had cleared a fairly wide area around the truck. The hideous howling indicated the remaining undead were thoroughly confused.

Floyd and Mikki dropped down onto the truck and Floyd dove over the side into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him. Mikki stayed on the roof and grabbed the 50-cal.

“What are you doing?” Floyd called up to her.

“Insurance!” she shouted back. “Start the truck!”

Dammit! Floyd knew Mikki couldn’t just follow a plan! He turned the key and the engine fired up. With the disc still in the CD player,
Born to Be Wild
blasted through the radio again, starting over as Mikki opened fire. She cut a fairly wide path ahead of her, then crawled over the top of the cab to turn the gun around to the rear. After about a hundred rounds or so, she locked the gun back up and pounded on the windshield. Floyd opened the driver side door from the inside and Mikki poured herself into the seat.

“Now the fun begins!”

The girl really did enjoy all this way too much. She headed off down the road, sending a wave of creepers into the air on both sides of the truck.

“Mikki you’re goin’ the wrong way! We gotta get back on the highway that way!”

“Oh, sorry!”

Mikki slammed on the brakes, turned the wheel, and hit the gas, making a perfect 180. Heading back the other way, she plowed through a couple dozen more creepers before zooming up the on ramp to the I-40 West. She was really getting the hang of driving the truck. Soon she’d be doing doughnuts with no problem.

“Nice turn,” Floyd said.

“Thanks! Oh, I got ya somethin’.” She handed him a couple of bumper stickers that read,
The Highway Stations FM 98 and 99
. “Figured we could put ‘em on the truck later.”

“Where did you get these?”

“They got a radio station in Barstow. Top floor. Roof access was open and no creepers anywhere. And I got a whole new case of music CDs!” She tossed Floyd her backpack. Sure enough, inside was a large black CD folder of assorted highway hits the radio station used to play.

“You got these while I was sleepin’?”

“I got bored. And like I said, I didn’t want to wake you. You got the cutest little profile when you’re sleepin’, you know that, Floyd?”

Floyd didn’t waste any energy getting mad at her for taking such a risk, not to mention leaving him unguarded while he slept. That was Mikki. Pure, vintage, crazy-ass Mikki. Still, no one could cause mayhem like her when you really needed it. He wasn’t kidding about cleaning the body parts off the truck, though. That would be her job as soon as they stopped.

It only took five minutes to leave the Zombie Family Reunion behind. There wasn’t much in this part of California. The next town they would come to was Victorville, and it was miles away. A little nothing town that was virtually empty before the zombie infestation. Whoever Victor was, he apparently had accomplished nothing in life other than having a town named after him. And given the town, that was no big deal, either. They would blow right by it as millions of travelers had for decades before. To think that some idiot senator from Nevada had once wanted to build a high-speed rail here from Las Vegas. That kind of stupid was hard to find.

I-40 had turned into I-15 and the truck was now heading south. Closer and closer to New California Haven. Closer and closer to their destiny, whatever it might turn out to be. With all they had been through, individually and together, neither Floyd nor Mikki took anything for granted. They approached their arrival with as much suspicion and fear as hope.

As they entered San Bernardino National Forest, Floyd thought about stopping by Big Bear Lake. If someone like Ranger Martin was at the campground there, they might find a settlement of survivors. Then again, they might also find nothing but a bunch of big bears, and Floyd had already seen one of those. Up close and overly personal. Besides, he had promised Mikki no more unnecessary pit stops. He was as anxious, nervous, and cautiously optimistic as she was to find out whether New California Haven was a dream come true, a fantasy, or a nightmare.

“Stay on the 15 South,” Floyd instructed, as they came to a split in the highway.

Wrecked cars along the road on both sides were becoming more frequent as they passed through the City of San Bernardino. Floyd could only imagine what it must be like ahead. The guy on the radio back at the campsite had advised entering through the 710 freeway, but there were several ways to get there and none of them inspired Floyd with any confidence. The most direct route was to take the 210 to the 605 South, 10 West, and the 710 straight down from there, but that would have brought them nearly to the heart of Los Angeles. Entering America’s second largest city with nearly four million brain-eaters was something Floyd preferred to avoid. He didn’t like the odds. Even Mikki would have to agree.

They still took the 605 South, but they continued to Highway 60 before heading west. The 60 wasn’t an interstate and was presumably less traveled. It had five lanes in each direction and led to the 710, while avoiding downtown Los Angeles altogether. Mikki made a crack about stopping by Hollywood to see how good all those movie stars looked as zombies, but Floyd ignored it.

Mikki had to dodge around cars more frequently now, and had plowed through more than a few wandering creepers, but eventually the 60 turned into the 10 West. Floyd told her it shouldn’t be far now. They passed a sign with a diamond on it that said, “Carpools only, two or more persons per vehicle.”

“Hey, Floyd! We can use the carpool lane! I wonder if zombies counts as a person?”

“Either way, let’s not have any in our vehicle.”

“Unless they’re hangin’ off the front grill. Haha!”

Mikki took the exit and slowed way down, following the signs along a long winding strip of highway that circled through a maze of elevated cement ramps. “Where the hell are we, Floyd?”

Fortunately, she managed to stay on the right path and spilled out onto the 710 south. They both breathed a sigh of relief. As they passed over the I-5 freeway, they could see smashed cars up and down the interstate below them for as far as the eye could see. Although it was clearer on the 710, they still had a hell of a time making it through. More than once, Mikki had to plough between two cars smashed together or back up to swerve around a pileup they couldn’t force their way through. Luckily, the freeway was pretty wide, and they slowly made their way ever southward.

After about seven miles, Mikki slowed down as they approached the Imperial Highway intersection. Floyd dryly commented, “Of course! Same shit, different day.”

A big sign over the freeway said, “Quarantine Area, prepare to stop.” That explained why there were so many cars on the road. For the past several miles, there had been a solid wall of cars in each lane, crammed bumper to bumper. They weren’t wrecked, but nearly every one of them seemed filled with creepers banging on the windows as Mikki drove easily by on the empty shoulder.

“They musta been bringing family and friends to get help, and turned while they were waiting in their cars,” Floyd observed. In front of it all were two big trailer trucks parked across the highway, angled to allow only one car at a time to enter. A couple of large National Guard trucks were in behind the big rigs and hundreds of bodies littered the area. No doubt, some people got impatient waiting. Floyd also noticed they were near a couple of residential areas, as well as a 10-story hospital.

Hospitals were the worst. First, because they were where everyone brought people who were sick, usually just before they turned. Second, because they all had to be wheelchair accessible and there were no doors on most of the wards. It was real easy for shamblers to wander up and down gently sloping ramps throughout the building, biting and infecting everyone else. Finally, even the non-thinking undead could make it in or out of the buildings through the automatic sliding doors. In the event of a power loss, the doors were set to open automatically or had push bars that even a zombie could trigger, so no one could be trapped inside. It was like a giant magnet for pulling the infected in, and then spitting zombies out. Add to this California’s proclivity for earthquakes, and you had hundreds of buildings and thousands of houses with collapsed walls or doors, freeing the loathsome creatures from their prisons.

“Hey, Floyd, you feel like a little off-roading?”

“Whatever gets us through.”

The elevated freeway had made its way back down to ground level, so Mikki drove off the road and through a grassy area around to the back of the roadblock. They were within a chain link fenced area and a crowd of creepers was pressed against opposite side of the wire.

“Holy shit,” she said.

“You took the words right outta my mouth. And can you do somethin’ with that stupid cat? It’s goin’ crazy in that bag, and I’m sure that’s what called all those brain-eaters down on us in Barstow!”

Mikki pulled the bag off the back hook and tossed it onto the boxes in back of the cab. Then she threw a bedroll on top of it to muffle the noise. “Better?” she asked. Floyd just grunted.

Mikki hit the gas and climbed up a small mound, jumping onto another part of the highway and steering back towards the roadblock from below. “You’re goin’ the wrong way,” Floyd warned.

“The hell I am!” said Mikki, with a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye.

Floyd knew that smile. He knew that gleam. He knew they were about to get into some seriously big trouble.

“Mikki, whatever the hell you’re thinkin’ of…
don’t
, OK?”

“Oh, relax Floyd! I know what I’m doin’.”

“Don’t tell me to relax! Every time you tell me to relax, we get stuck in the middle of some serious shit!”

“Fine!” Mikki said, reaching for her helmet. “Don’t relax! You just stay here in the car like a good little boy, all nice and safe. Mama’s goin’ shoppin’!” Before he could respond, Mikki had donned her helmet and slammed the truck door behind her.

“Shit!” Floyd cursed.

He pulled on his helmet, grabbed Clyde and an Uzi, and exited the truck. He knew at once where Mikki was going. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was headed for the nearest National Guard truck. Its big ass was pointed right at them and the doors were wide open.

“Yeehaw!”

Even with their mics turned off, Floyd could hear Mikki screaming through her helmet.

“Jackpot, Floyd!”

She turned around holding a huge box of grenades. She cracked open the lid and it was full. “They got a ton of MREs in there, too Floyd. And a ton of ammo, but nothin’ that’ll fit what we got.” Mikki headed back to the truck as Floyd grabbed a case of MREs. The area seemed clear at the moment, but he still hurried.

He wanted to grab another case before they headed out, if possible. Theoretically, they wouldn’t need any of this, being so close to New California Haven. Theoretically, they would be safe and secure in a zombie-free zone within a few short hours. Theoretically. Floyd had learned to love and trust that word over the years. Never was a word so appropriate for so many situations that suddenly turned to shit without warning.

Mikki was ecstatic as she set down the heavy box of grenades to inspect her prize. There were 10 stuffed into each Styrofoam layer and there were four layers. She would ditch the box later after she painted their logo on each of them and gave some to Floyd.

Throwing open the back door to the cab, she bent down, grabbed the box, and lifted with her legs, quickly throwing the box up and over on top of the other boxes. She heard a brief, terrified, loud, and mercifully short, “
Meo
—!!!”

Mikki froze. She looked at the hook where Munch’s bag usually hung. It wasn’t there. Then she remembered she had thrown it on top of the other boxes earlier.

She lifted the edge of the grenade box and saw the bedroll. She lifted the bedroll to see the bag, flat as a pancake. She pulled the bag out, opened it, looked inside, and closed it right away, tying the drawstring tight.

“Oh, shit!” she mumbled to herself.

Just then Floyd came up behind her and dropped his case of MREs on the ground by the truck. He saw the look on her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Mikki began. “I kinda sorta…maybe mighta…squished the cat.”

“Say what now?”

She held up the flat bag and Floyd’s eyes opened wide. “I forgot I put her in the back seat, and when I threw in the grenade box, it kinda…squished her…flat!”

Floyd burst out laughing uncontrollably. He literally fell over and sat on the box of MREs, leaning his back against the truck. Several times he tried to speak, but couldn’t stop laughing long enough to form any words. Eventually, he managed to squeak out, “You mean, you
munched
Munch?” Then he erupted into another fit of howling laughter, doubling over and pounding his fist onto his knee repeatedly.

Mikki was not amused. She looked at the bag one last time, then tossed it away. She opened the grenade box, pulled out a tray of 10 grenades, jumped into the passenger seat and began painting her logo on them with red nail polish. She did her best to ignore Floyd and forget what she had just done.