The Beginning of the End (Book2): Road to Damnation (22 page)

With Kane guarding the
MRAP, his brother was free to explore the supermarket. He descended
the hill with the grace and expertise of a Green Beret. If someone
would have been watching in the distance, they might believe he was a
lone military man. He leaped over a row of cedars and dove into a
drainage ditch. From his back pocket, he removed a small monocular.
The Jeep was empty, and he assumed the occupants had left in a hurry.
Traveling for days, he had commandeered numerous vehicles, and he
could not recall leaving the doors or trunks open on any of them.
They must have made a quick get away, or they were off on foot now.

He crawled out of the
ditch and jogged across the parking lot toward the Jeep with his
revolver at low ready. When he got to the vehicle, he moved around to
the back and took a knee. He assessed the parking lot again. No one
had seen him. He peeked in the Jeep. It was empty. He moved around
and opened the driver’s door. The keys were in the ignition. He
turned the key, and the vehicle started right up.

“Hmm, interesting.
The Jeep runs perfect, and there’s almost three-quarters of a tank
of gas. You must have acquired yourselves another vehicle. Perhaps a
larger vehicle you found in the parking lot to carry more supplies.
That’s what I think.”

The evil brother was
more relaxed now and made his way toward the store. He paused at the
three burnt bodies, “What happened to you, chaps? Is that your Jeep
or was the owner the one that did this to you?”

Kane’s brother tucked
the revolver in his waistband and rested his hands on his hips,
slowly spinning in a circle taking in the whole scene. Something
caught his eye, next to the supermarket exit. He headed over to
investigate. Dark rubber streaks coated the worn pavement. He rubbed
the fingers across the tire marks. A thick black residue tarnished
his hand. “I think you left in a hurry. It appears you went south.
Where are you going in such a hurry?”

He broke into a sprint
toward the MRAP. He was yelling as he ran, “Brother, I have some
good news. I’ve found them!”

The three men entered
the elevator heavily armed and stood there before hitting the button
for the Parking Level. Sawyer pulled the mag from his M4 to make sure
it was full. He had four more velcroed to his MOLLE vest. He racked
the weapon and flipped off the safety, glancing over at Daniels, “Are
you ready? All locked and loaded?”

Daniels shook his head,
giving Sawyer the affirmative.

“What about you,
Bunker? You sure you know how to use that thing?”

Bunker reached behind
him feeling the large ammo pack on his back. He moved the barrel of
the gun, from left to right, “I think I’m all set.”

Sawyer tapped the P
button on the elevator, “Ready or not, here we go. Bunker,
remember, short bursts with that thing and try not to hit the
Tahoe’s. Those rounds will go right through them.”

“They will?” he
asked, looking at the six barrels.

“Hell yeah,” Sawyer
bragged, “those 7.62’s will go halfway through the engine blocks
before they stop.”

“Just imagine what it
will do to those zombies,” Daniels said, in a nervous, shaky voice.

The men watched as the
elevator floor buttons lit up as they cycled down. The P button lit
up, follow by an electronic sounding ding.

“Here we go, boys!”
Sawyer screamed.

The doors slid open and
dead were everywhere. So many, the men couldn’t step out of the
elevator. Daniels and Sawyer fired their M4s. A single shot to each
zombie's head was enough to drop them. The two men cleared enough
dead they were able to step out, giving Bunker the room he needed.
Their gunfire was attracting dead from every direction. Bunker froze
against the back wall of the elevator wall with fear. Daniels looked
back when he realized Bunker hadn’t moved out of the elevator car,
“Fire that damn thing!”

Bunker found his wits
and stepped out of the elevator, next to the two men. He rocked the
barrel from left to right and pulled the trigger screaming,
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”

He was confused when
nothing happened and slapped the side of the gun.

He pulled the trigger
again, this time, there wasn’t even a click, “It’s jammed.”

“It’s not jammed,”
Sawyer exploded, “you need to rotate the barrels. Lift the red
safety cover and flip the toggle switch.”

Bunker looked down at
the switch. Come to think of it, maybe Beck had shown him that.

Starting the barrels
only took a fraction of a second after proper instruction. He rocked
back and forth again and pulled the trigger. The rhythmic rattle of
the M134 reminded Daniels of the sound Ty’s bicycle made when he
stuck a baseball card in the spokes. Only the sound was much louder.

The recoil of the heavy
gun pushed Bunker back on his heels. Before he knew it, he was back
inside the elevator using the back wall for support. He released the
trigger and stepped back out, “Daniels, push against my back and
stabilize me.”

Daniels moved behind
Bunker, held the ammo pack, and planted his feet on the floor.

“Shoot!”

Bunker pulled the
trigger, moving across the parking garage. Bits and pieces of zombies
flew everywhere as Bunker mowed down ten, twenty, thirty, at a time.
Black ooze coated the floor and ceilings. Sawyer stopped firing and
watched as the NATO rounds tore through the rotting flesh. Bunker
screamed his war cry again, as the massacre continued.

The sound of exploding
rounds ended and the only noise left was the rotation of the barrels.

“You’re empty. Shut
her down.” Sawyer ordered.

Smoke rose from the end
of the glowing barrels. Daniels stepped out from behind Bunker,
admiring the carnage, “Holy shit, you got them all.”

“Ha, ha, I smoked all
those bastards,” he cheered.

“That’s not all you
smoked,” Sawyer said pointing at one of the Tahoe’s.”

All of the windows were
shot out of the vehicle and fuel was pouring out from the bottom.

“Shit,” Bunker
gasped.

“Let’s not get all
freaked out yet,” Sawyer said, “the other Tahoe is parked on the
other side of the lot. You might as well drop the gun. That’s all
the ammo we had for it. There’s no sense in lugging that thing
around.”

“What am I going to
use if we run into anything else?”

Sawyer pulled his
Beretta 9mm from his side holster and handed it to Bunker, “You’ll
have to use this until we meet back up with Beck. Then we’ll grab
you an M4.”

The Beretta felt small
after carrying around the M134. It was nice not to be lugging that
thing, but Bunker felt very vulnerable again without his big gun.

The three double-timed
it to the far end of the parking level. From a distance, the Tahoe
looked okay.

“It looks pretty
good. You’ve got both sets of keys right?” Daniels asked.

Bunker wondered why
they’d need both sets of keys, but thought he’d come across as
stupid if he asked.

They were almost at the
vehicle, and it looked good. Somehow Bunker had missed it. They
hopped in, and Sawyer drove. He stuck in the first key and tried to
turn it. Nothing happened. He tossed it over his shoulder and stuck
in the second key. The engine started right up.

Bunker let out an,
“Oh,” under his breath.

Daniels glanced over at
him smiling, “You couldn’t figure out why he had two sets of
keys, could you?”

Bunker sat there in
silence, ignoring Daniels.

Sawyer let out a light
chuckle and pushed the black communicator on his throat, “Beck
we’ve got the Tahoe. Can you hear me? Beck, come in. Come in,
Beck.”

Sawyer thought he heard
a reply, but it was covered with static.

“I don’t think my
com-link is making it out of these cement walls. We’re going to
have to run inside and get them.”

Daniels looked over
from the passenger seat, “You just get us to the back of the
building, and I’ll find them.”

Sawyer pushed on the
gas and crept over the bodies. The zombies that turned the earliest
were more rotted and just squished under the weight of the vehicle.
The newer zombies were still firm, and it felt like they were driving
over cut logs. On a few occasions, the Tahoe’s tire would drive
over a zombie’s head, and the weight of the vehicle would make it
pop like a brown paper bag. When that happened, black slime would
spray against the wall and release a toxic smell.

“Oh, that’s so
gross.” Bunker cringed.

“Trust me,” Sawyer
said, “they’re already dead, and they don’t feel a thing.”

The exit was in view
now. Only one zombie stood between them and freedom from the parking
garage.

“How are you going to
handle this,” Daniels asked.

Sawyer laughed out
loud, “Bunker just killed two hundred zombies. Do you really think
I’m worried about one?”

Sawyer stepped on the
gas, and the men felt the acceleration push them into their seats.
Sawyer moved the vehicle over enough that Daniels thought he was
going to miss the dead man entirely. He cracked the driver side door
open a bit and joked, “Batter up.”

He continued to speed
up and at the last second pushed the door open striking the zombie.
The creature burst like a water balloon.

Sawyer cheered, “Ten
points,” as he slammed the Tahoe door closed.

Bunker leaned forward
and whispered in his ear, “You’re still only in second place.”

The men all broke out
in laughter, as they pulled up to the building entrance.

Not realizing we had
missed our new adversary by less than thirty minutes, we left Glens
Falls with meds for Chevy and a second Humvee. The new vehicle we
acquired was large enough to lower our car count to two, rather than
three, thanks to Thurman’s summer job explorations.

Less of a convoy meant
less chance of someone spotting us.

After the strategy
meeting, we decided to take I-87 to the outskirts of the city and
then hop on the back roads there.

My first instinct was
to avoid the highway altogether and hide out on back roads until we
got close to New York City. But Thurman brought up an interesting
point, which probably saved our asses. He suggested staying on the
highway as long as possible, reason being, the back roads would lead
us through the middle of every town between here and New York City. A
mistake I almost made that may have cost us our lives. So the final
plan was to avoid people and towns at all costs.

Chevy was riding
shotgun while Mom, Sidara and Sage sat in the back. Charger was
curled up back there somewhere too, probably next to Mom.

Cowboy was in command
of the second Humvee and Sophie navigated. Herman, Thurman, and
Luther took up the back. We split up all the supplies and weapons,
preparing for the unexpected. We even split up the serum.

If something happened
to one of our groups and they couldn’t make it, the second was to
proceed to Atlanta without looking back. This may have seemed harsh,
but it was about survival now. Keeping that in mind, we took on a new
philosophy. It was something I had seen in a mountain climbing movie.
They were climbing Mt. Everest, K2, or one of those mountains I’d
never see in my lifetime. As the climbers were securing themselves to
the mountain, the lead climber was preaching safety, he said, “Two
is one. One is none.”

His point was to double
up on all safety measures, implying two is better than one, and one
meant if something happened, you didn’t have much of a chance.

So that’s how we were
handling things now. One group split into two, in case something
happened. For the rest of the trip to Atlanta, everything we
collected for survival would be split between the two vehicles. Also,
the groups would stay the same, so everyone knew where to be if we
needed a quick get away.

I still hadn’t heard
from dad. We found a phone charger, and while the phone still wasn’t
charged all the way, it was enough to make calls and receive
messages. I was beginning to become obsessive about it, checking the
screen every few minutes.

Something inside told
me my dad was dead. In this case, no news was not good news. I just
wanted to know he was alive. Mom never looked at the phone and never
asked if Dad messaged. The hurt in her face was beginning to show. I
could tell she was upset, but she still took upon that motherly
instinct of trying not to show it, to protect me. She knew if I got
any messages, she’d be the first to know.

The road was getting
harder to see as the mountains blocked the setting sun. I was
exhausted and started head bobbing. We needed a place to sleep, and
we needed it soon. The question now was, do we sleep in the Humvees,
or pull off the highway and find a place.

Another thing I had
never considered, was communication between the Humvees. Our Humvee
had a military radio in it, but it was useless because Cowboys
private Humvee didn’t have anything like that. If I needed to talk
with Cowboy, I’d have to pull over. At the next town, we’d have
to find ourselves a set of walkie talkies.

The pressing issue now
was sleep and where we’d sleep. I slowed the Humvee down and moved
over to the side of the highway. The second Humvee pulled up and
Sophie rolled down the window. The song Purple Rain was blasting from
the radio.

Cowboy turned down the
radio and leaned across his navigator, “What’s up, hoss?”

“You guys have a
radio in that thing?” I asked.

“Yeah, there’s
nothing on any of the FM stations, so we’ve been listening to CDs.
The guy that owned this thing had excellent taste in music.”

I looked over at the
center of our dashboard. Ours had a computer screen that didn’t
even turn on, and a military CB radio, “Must be nice,” I joked,
“I’m exhausted, I need to get some sleep.”