Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue (7 page)

“Right.” I eased my foot of the gas pedal. My fear and anxiety was passing. We put the supermarket behind us and were on the way home.

Or so I thought.

The pissed off chainsaw noise rose up at the passenger window. The motorcycle man was back. He came out of one of the parking lots and zoomed up to the van. He was so close we could pass him a cup of coffee through the window.

“John...we got a problem over here,” Claire said. She became engaged in a staring contest with motorcycle man as we drove along.

“I see it. It's a small bike. Maybe I can outrun it.” I slowly pressed the gas down. Monique's diesel power plant responded with an authoritative throb, and we began to pull away. We were ahead for a moment, but then Motorcycle Man twisted his wrist and caught up. Our van had the horsepower, but the road conditions were the great equalizer. Claire and I couldn't get away without smashing into something and killing ourselves. Motorcycle Man loomed up in Claire's window. He took one hand off the handlebars, and pointed at the side of the road.

“He wants us to pull over,” Claire said.

“The hell with that.” I prepared to end this once and for all, and turned the wheel towards Motorcycle Man to knock him into next week.

Before I could bump the motorcycle and run, our pursuer looked ahead. He gunned the throttle on the little dirt bike, and the engine screamed as he pulled away. His long hair flowed out behind him in the wind. I slowed down and watched as he zoomed ahead to an upcoming intersection. Standing in the middle of the crossed roads were two zombies blocking our path. Motorcycle Man intended to take them on and clear the road.

Claire's nose was pressed against the windshield. “What is he going to do? His gun didn't work.”

I stopped the van just short of the intersection to watch the show. “He's nuts.”

The stranger drove straight towards the zombies in the intersection. They crouched as he approached, ready to give chase. It looked like a suicide run as he got closer. For a moment, I thought he was going to run the undead in the intersection over and grind them up with the knobby tires of his bike.

“Turn, you idiot,” I said, under my breath.

Just before man, motorcycle, and Red-Eye zombie were mashed up in some bizarre and horrible accident, the stranger made a sweeping turn into the intersection behind the zombies. The Red-Eyes twisted around to face him, but as he passed, they retreated and ran away. Our new friend began to herd them away from the road and into hiding.

“It's the noise. The zombies don't like the noise of the dirt bike. It confuses them,” Claire said.

“Son of a bitch. He cleared the road.” I put the van back in gear and hurried through the intersection. Our helper on the dirt bike came back to the road, and led the way.

And that's how it went. Like an escort for an aircraft carrier, the green bike with the strange man in the seat led Claire and I down the road. When a zombie popped up, he would ride over and lead it away from us. We went along like that for several miles. The stranger would disappear on his zombie missions, then catch back up when the undead went back into hiding and were no longer a threat. Once in a while, he would give us a wave.

Claire started waving back. “Don't encourage him. We still don't know who he is,” I said.

“Just being nice. Maybe he's not too bad.”

As we got closer to home, abandoned cars and trucks started to clog the road again. Motorcycle Man slowed a little, and weaved in and out of the wrecks. A few times, he avoided a nasty accident by only a few feet. Claire and I winced every time he had a near miss.

“How are we going to explain this guy to our people?” I said. “We can't let him inside.”

Claire took her eyes off the motorcycle going back and forth in front of us. “Maybe he's okay. He did help us.”

We made the turn off the state route for home. Our friend turned right with us, leading the way. I wasn't a fan of leading him right to the front gate. Cannon Fields doesn't have a good track record with strangers. Most of them just cause trouble. I had no idea why he was helping us. Usually, it was every man for himself out in the big, bad world outside the gates. Maybe our helper on the small motorcycle would move on, and leave us alone. We didn't need his help anymore. I pushed our van a little faster. We needed to slip inside, and leave this stranger behind.

Two Red-Eyes stumbled from the weeds, and into the center of the road ahead of us. On cue, our guide gunned the throttle and took off to scare them away. He bounced over the curb, hit the shoulder of the road, and gave chase. Like the other zombies, Motorcycle man's plan worked perfectly. The annoying wail of the bike confused the predators, and they scattered as he approached.

I slowed a bit while our guide did his work. “Neat trick with the noisy motorcycle. We'll have to remember it the next time something jumps us.”

“Yeah. Almost looks like he planned it that way,” Claire said.

The dirt bike bounced and dipped on the rough surface of the shoulder. Motorcycle Man stood up in the saddle of the machine and waved at us. I couldn't help myself, and waved back. Claire joined me. Maybe she was right. He may not be a bad guy after all. I began to wonder if we could trust him as he steered the bike towards the road for the final stretch home.

And that's when his luck ran out.

It must have been something in the center of the road, a piece of junk from one of the cars or maybe a bit of broken concrete. Whatever it was, as he crossed out of the shoulder and back on to the road, he hit something, and bike and rider were sent flying. I jammed on the brakes, sending the van into a little slide as he flew past us in the road.

Our mystery helper stayed with the bike for a while, but gravity won the fight. After the first roll, bike and man separated and went in different directions. Claire and I watched in stunned silence as he rolled several times and slammed into a small sedan at the edge of the road. The bike, throttle stuck wide open, danced and bucked for a few more feet. It smashed into another car near its rider. Plastic and other motorcycle debris flew everywhere. The road went silent.

“Oh, no,” It was all Claire could manage to say. She put her hand to her face to cover her mouth.

It looked bad. Our helper on the motorcycle lay still against the car, as if he were dead. I went into internal debate mode. In better times, I might have stopped to check on him, but these days you have to weigh that decision. The countryside was full of undead monsters that will eat your guts out. Sometimes, it was best to go home. I made my choice, and put the van in drive. I wanted to go home. We couldn't risk being jumped by Red-Eyes on a rescue mission. It was what we had to do.

“What are you doing?” Claire said. “We have to check on him.”

I carefully drove past the prone stranger on the ground, trying not to look. “We can't risk it. There could be a hundred zombies out there waiting for us. We could risk our lives and he could be dead,” I said, trying to convince Claire. In reality, I was trying to convince myself.

Claire wasn't through. “This isn't you, John. You're not this heartless. This is not the choice you want to make, is it? He tried to help us out.” She took hold of my arm, but didn't try to stop me yet.

I drove along a little more, and the front wall of Cannon Fields came into view. The brown stucco, now a little faded with time and the elements, stood out against the forest of green trees. It represented safety, warmth, and the waiting arms of our loved ones. I couldn't risk it for a stranger even if he did help us.

I drove on. “Can't do it, Claire. We don't know who he is, or who his friends are. We have to think of ourselves. You know that.”

Claire pulled out the big guns. “When we were dealing with Pine Grove, you said we were in this thing together. You said we had to take care of each other. Don't you remember?” Her big blue eyes pleaded with me to stop.

I hit the brakes. “I did say that, didn't I?”

“Yes you did,” Claire said. “Can we go back?”

I put the van into reverse, and backed up to the accident scene. “I swear to God, Claire. If I get turned into a zombie, I'm coming after you first.”

I parked the van next to the accident scene and the fallen stranger. Claire and I took a quick look around. Nothing was moving, and it was quiet. The Red-Eyes were probably watching, so we had to make this quick. “Listen. If he's hurt too badly or dead we have to get the hell out of here, okay?” I said to Claire. She nodded in agreement, as we turned to open our doors.

As we got to the back of the car, the news didn't get any better. There was blood spilled on the asphalt, and there was a mark on his head where he had hit the car. I took off my glove, and tried to find a pulse in his neck. A strong beat throbbed beneath my fingers. He was alive, but hurt.

“He's breathing,” Claire said. “Any clue who he might be?”

I moved him out from under the car as carefully as possible to prevent further injuries. A quick search of his person revealed no wallet or identification. That wasn't unusual. People didn't carry any ID these days anyway, as it was good to remain a little anonymous. A quick search of his person turned up only a knife and a set of keys.

A noise came from the side of the road. It was a low growl, followed by the soft thumping of feet on asphalt. A Red-Eye was on the hunt. We had to hurry.

Claire looked around. “Can we move him?”

“I hope so. Help me get him into the van,” I said.

Claire grabbed an arm. I took the other one, and we struggled to put the injured man in the van. He wasn't heavy, but it was awkward trying to maneuver him into the back of the van while trying not to slip. We had got him halfway in when the situation became critical. A young Red-Eye zombie hopped up on the trunk of a nearby car. It watched us for a few seconds, and then with a terrible hiss it struck. It jumped down to the ground, and grabbed Motorcycle Man's boot, and started to pull. Claire and I were now in a deadly game of tug-of-war. I took my hands off the injured man's arm and fumbled for my gun. The Red-Eye drew closer. It drew back its lips to reveal a mouthful of black teeth.

In a single motion, Claire took her bat off the ground, gave a mighty swing, and hit the Red-Eye in the wrist. The zombie squealed and pulled away. Claire pursued, and struck out again. The Red-Eye ducked this time, and her bat hit the trunk of a nearby car with a metallic thunk. The blow nearly tore Claire's arm off, and she sank to the ground in pain.

With Claire out of action, it was my turn. I pointed my gun at the attacking zombie and fired. The bullet tore through his shoulder, and he slumped to the ground in a pool of dark blood. I ran to Claire, currently lying under a car. She was holding her left arm at the elbow.

“You okay?” I asked, rubbing her injured arm.

“Yeah. Might have torn my arm up,” she said. Hopefully, it was just a temporary injury.

Two more Red-Eyes, further away down the road, popped up and started running toward the van. We were about to be swarmed. The zombies picked up speed as they anticipated a tasty meal. Without a word, Claire and I finished stuffing the stranger into the van, slammed the rear doors, and ran for our seats. We got inside just in time. The two Red-Eyes surrounded the van and began slamming themselves against the side. Claire flinched as they approached the window, showing their ugly faces. I put the van in gear, and took off, pedal to the floor. The Red-Eyes gave chase for a few feet, then gave up and ran back into hiding in the woods.

When the side-view mirror was finally clear of undead, I slowed down and breathed a little sigh of relief. Two close calls on the same trade mission was enough. “That's enough fun for today. Let's get the hell home,” I said.

Claire flexed her left hand. Missing the zombie's head with her bat might have injured her. She went from flexing to shaking the hand. “My arm's tingling. I don't know what happened. I hardly ever miss.”

“The doctor will fix you,” I said. “That was quite a shot.”

I pulled Monique up to the fence of Cannon Fields and put my hands at the top of the steering wheel. There was a simple system at Cannon Fields. We had no radios, so vehicles coming home stopped in the driveway at the front gate. The snipers in the trees looked at the driver through their scopes. If the driver's hands were at the top of the steering wheel, everything was cool and the vehicle was let inside. Hands in lap signified the vehicle had been jacked, and it stayed outside. After a quick identity check, a guard opened the gate and I pulled through. We were safe at home. Now I just had to explain the half-dead guy in the back of the van.

“S
o let me get this straight,” Michael said. “He was just some guy on a motorcycle that crashed, and you decided to bring him inside the gate?”

He stared at the stranger through the glass wall of our quarantine area. It used to be a conference room, but when the infirmary had been set up, it was re-purposed. We put strangers in there for a few days to see if they turned. Sidney had rigged up a bungee cord lock system to keep things inside the room. He pulled on the cords to check their strength as Michael spoke.

I was with Doctor Connelly, who was checking out Claire's hand and shoulder. After her swing and miss on the Red-Eye, she complained of numbness and pain in her arm. Claire winced in pain as the Doctor manipulated her arm to check for damage. An injury while trying to survive these days could be bad news. She already had a bad hip from a previous scooter crash. She didn't need a arm to match.

Mike and Denise pulled themselves away from the glass window and made their way to Claire's bedside. I could tell it was going to be a serious discussion by the angry look on Michael's face. I was concerned about Claire, and in no mood to get in a heated discussion at the moment.

Michael came up to Claire's bedside and confronted me. “You need to explain why you brought him here. What were you thinking?”

He was a little too close and in my face. I took a half step back, fighting the urge to punch him in the head. “He was hurt. The Red-Eyes were circling, and he was next on the menu.” I looked at Denise. “Was I supposed to leave him on the ground?”