Zombie Fallout 4: The End Has Come and Gone (12 page)

“Not yet buddy, is your dad there?” BT said, looking over his shoulder to see if the police were advancing.

“We had another zombie come up this morning, almost got to the house because
Gary wasn’t there to guard anymore,” Mark said.

“Yeah, I heard that before,” BT answered, paying absolutely no attention to Mark. “Hey Mark, I need your dad, it’s pretty important,” “He’s outside, he’s setting up some fencing.”

“Don’t care kid, GO GET HIM!” BT said with force.

“Ass,” Mark said as he let the mic drop and hit the floor. BT and Meredith jumped from the loud noise in the cab of the car.

“The second cop just got in his car,”
Tracy
said with alarm.

“Meredith, grab the binoculars and see if there are other people in those cars,” BT told her, clutching the microphone. Any harder and he was going to have a handful of plasticized dust.

It was a stand-off at the moment,
Tracy
and Meredith’s cars versus the two cop cars.

“Twice in one day, to what do I owe this honor,” a slightly out of breath Ron asked.

“Got some issues Ron. We’re about an hour and a half away from the homestead and we’ve come up on a roadblock.” “Military?” Ron asked.

“I wish, cops or at least guys pretending to be cops. They have the cars and they have the uniforms but it doesn’t feel right.” “Dad,” Meredith said loudly. We just got off of 95 at
Augusta and we’re on Route 3.” “I know where you’re at honey. Listen BT, that’s a great place for an ambush, there’s nowhere to turn off. Have they seen you?” “That would be an affirmative,” BT said.

“
O
kay, how far away are you from them?” “Quarter mile tops, and they’ve both entered their cars, so by the time we whip a U-turn and get out of here, they’ll be right on us. And to make it even funner, they look like they’re driving the old school 442 Interceptors, we can’t outrun them,” “Why would we want to outrun the cops?” Angel asked BT.

“Ryan, get your sister’s seatbelt back on, please,”
Tracy requested quietly.

“Come on sis. Sit back down.” Angel fidgeted and squirmed but finally acquiesced to her older brother.

“This is so cool, we’re going to run from the cops,” Sty said with a glint in his eye.

“Shut up you idiot,” Ryan said as he punched his friend in the arm.

“You’re on a straightaway BT, they did it on purpose,” Ron said. “My suggestion is to go straight at them. I’ll get in my truck now and head your way. With the speeds we’re going to be going you only need to hold them off for forty minutes before some help gets there.” “That might be thirty-nine minutes too late. They’re rolling, Ron.”
BT said softly.

“I’m leaving now,” Ron said. “I have a radio in the truck, stay in touch, tell Meredith to stay on Route 3 even when she gets to the Route 1 turn off. Let’s see if we can give these assholes something to think about. Out.” “You hear that, right?” BT asked Meredith. She nodded. “Glad you came now?”

“Not so much,” Meredith told him honestly.

BT turned to
Tracy
. Her knuckles were glowing stark white on the steering wheel. “ Tracy ,” BT said. She turned towards him. “When they get within a hundred feet or so, I’m going to give you the signal to go. Once we get past them, I’m going to have you stay in the lead and Maria Andretti here,” he said tapping Meredith on the shoulder, “is going to stay between you and the cruisers. You got that?” Tracy nodded imperceptibly. “Just stay on Route 3, don’t slow down for anything. If anything happens to us you keep going, you understand? You keep those kids safe.” Tracy ’s face nearly matched her knuckles. “This might be nothing,” “Do you believe that?”
Tracy
asked BT.

“Not at all,” he answered.

The two cop cars rolled to a halt within a hundred or so yards from Meredith and Tracy. “Citizens. this is Officer Gibson of the Portland Police Department, I am going to need to have all of the occupants of those two cars exit and lay flat down on the pavement,” the authoritative voice issued forth from the megaphone mounted under the hood.

“I can see the barrels of a couple of rifles in the first car,” Meredith whispered. “It’s like they’re hiding or something.” “I’m pretty sure they can’t hear you,” BT said. “But on a worse note, only people that are doing something wrong need to hide.” “Citizens,” Officer Gibson’s voice said again. “Flash your headlights if you heard and understand my instructions.” Meredith looked over to BT. He nodded. Anything that bought them a few extra moments was fine. She flipped her headlights on, as did Tracy .

The first car crept up another hundred yards. ‘Officer Gibson’ stepped out, the car microphone still in hand. “Red Subaru, I want you and your occupants to exit first. Slowly,” he added.

Tracy
looked over to BT. He nodded in the negative.

“NOW!” Officer Gibson shouted through the megaphone.

BT got out of Meredith’s car, puffing himself as large as possible trying to impose fear. It worked. Officer Gibson took an involuntary step back and placed his hand on the hilt of his holstered weapon.

“I said the Subaru first,” the officer said sharply.

“Yeah, they aren’t much in a complying mood!” BT shouted.

“This isn’t a request!” the officer shouted, putting his microphone down. “We are the law!” BT laughed. “Where have you been, man! There IS no law!”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the cop shouted in warning.

“And then what? You gonna take the
law
into your own hands?” BT mocked him.

“This is a checkpoint and we are authorized to search every car that comes this way.”

“Then I can solve all of our problems, we’ll just turn around and you can search the next citizen that comes along!” “I’m not going to tell you again,
NIGGER,
get your ass on the pavement.” “Go fuck yourself pig wannabe,” BT answered, remarkably calm. “I think that went well,” BT told Meredith as he reentered the car.

Meredith’s eyes were huge. BT was under the impression she didn’t think it went quite as spectacularly.

“You ready
Tracy
?” BT turned and asked her.

“Kids, you keep your heads down,” she said, staring at each one of them until they gave her a sign that they would do what she asked.

“Meredith when I tell you, I want you to head right for the illustrious Officer Gibson and hopefully we’ll get lucky.” "You… you want me to hit him?"

"Oh no hon, I want you to run his cracker ass over," BT told her with a smile on his face.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"First things first. GO!" He shouted at Meredith and Tracy simultaneously.

The rear tires on the truck momentarily spun in place before leaving black skids.
Tracy 's Subaru struggled to meet the initial thrust of Meredith's truck. Meredith started to creep over to the right to avoid the cop car. "Hit him Meredith," BT said calmly.

Officer Gibson was a doughnut away from becoming road kill. As it was, he was fairly certain his ankle had been shattered as the giant’s girlfriend's car slammed into his door and slammed it into his leg as he dove in a futile attempt to get out of the way.

“FUCK!” Officer Gibson shouted.

“You all right Aaron?” the lone male occupant in the back of the car asked, sitting up.

Gun shots rang out as the two cars sped past the idling cruisers.

“I think my damn ankle is broken,” Officer Gibson gritted out through his teeth as he plowed through the contents of his middle console. He found the prescription bottle he was searching for and immediately downed three Oxycontins, courtesy of the last car they had pulled over. The occupants of that ill-fated voyage now found themselves lying face down in the grass not a mile from this exact location. The bitch had wailed when Officer Gibson had taken her pills, something about chronic back pain. ‘Yeah, well, now you’ve got chronic face pain,’ he’d said as he drilled her hard in the face with a right hook. The four men he was with had all laughed as Mrs. Pinchant fell to the ground, blood flowing profusely from her split lip and the gap where her tooth used to reside. Her husband cried equally as hard after the third member of the rogue police force lined up and punted his balls up into his sternum. After Mr. Pinchant died from the blunt force trauma, the men proceeded to piss on his body.

The real ‘fun’ came as they placed his head by the rear wheel of the cruiser. Two of the men held Mrs. Pinchant’s heaving body still so that she could watch as Officer Gibson slowly ran over Mr. Pinchant’s head. The tire gripped the front portion of his face, and his cheek and nose began to pull away from his face under the pressure. For a moment the heavy car started to ‘climb’ up his face, but gravity was not on Mr. Pinchant’s side as bone after bone began to crack and shatter from the pressure. The back of his head started to swell to almost twice its normal size before it burst under the strain. Brain matter shot nearly 30 feet away from the back of the cruiser and the men laughed. Mrs. Pinchant had long since passed out from the strain. The two holding her released her. Her head bounced off the ground teeth first, shattering four or five of them in the process. She regained consciousness five minutes later, shrieking in pain and horror as she was placed next to her husband’s deformed, deflated head.

“Job! Shut her up!” Officer Gibson said as he cupped his hands over his ears. “She’s louder than that stupid Cockatoo my wife just had to have.” Job walked over to her and placed one round through her right ear. He stared for a few seconds longer before commenting, “I guess what they say is true,” then turned and walked away.

“What’s true?” Kyle, the third member of the gang asked.

“That the longer a couple stays married the more they start to look alike,” Job said with a wicked grin.

Kyle walked over to the dead pair and tried to find any similarities. “I don’t see it Job.” “Don’t worry about it,” Officer Gibson, the man in charge said. “Drag these two off the street and let’s see what this car has to offer.” Kyle did what he was told, studying both people as he did so. When the task was finally complete he went over to a lounging Job. “I get it now, it’s because both of their heads are blown up.” Job winked, clucked his tongue and tapped his head.

“I knew it!” Kyle said, happy he had figured the puzzle out.

“What now, Boss?” Wes, the fourth of the deadly horsemen, asked as he piled up the belongings of the Pinchants’ car into the trunk of the cruiser for sorting, “This is sure easier than going house to house looking for s tuff .” “And funner,” Job added.

“Now we wait,” Officer Gibson said, getting back into his car. He slowly rubbed his temples as one killer of a headache began to let its true intentions be known. “And find me some damn aspirin!” he barked.

“Even better Boss!” Wes said as he shook the bottle of pain pills in front of the quickly blurring vision of the officer.

“
G
ive me those,” Gibson said, grabbing the bottle out of Wes’ hand before the rattling noise threatened to split his skull. “And stop calling me ‘Boss.’ You’re not on a Southern chain gang!” “You got it Bos… Aaron,” Wes said as he left before Aaron could let lose a tirade.

Wes was already forgotten as the officer opened the bottle of meds. He couldn’t see clearly enough to make out what the medication or the dose was, but he figured two seemed like a safe amount on top of the three somethings he had taken earlier. Little did he know that there weren’t enough pills in the bottle to cure the true cause of his pain, arteriovenous malformation, unless of course he took ALL of them at once. The good officer’s head was leaking internally and without some serious medical attention he would be dead in three weeks. The pain pills did what most good pain pills do; they allowed him to drift off into a pain free sleep environment. But even his sleep was haunted with pain, pain of a different kind, but pain nonetheless.

“Hey hon, I’m home. Left a little early, that friggen’ headache was starting to come on. We got any liquid pain killer?” This was Officer Gibson’s joking way of referring to beer. “Hon?” he asked as he placed his duty belt on the hook by the door. The house was quiet. That wasn’t too unusual, his wife Wendy was often out with their 4-year-old son Aaron Jr. But he could hear the television in the family room and the kitchen light was on. Wendy was very particular about conserving power, her contribution to the green movement. She would even admonish him if he stared into the fridge too long without grabbing something.

Cops are nothing if not paranoid, and that quality had saved more than one during the
ir careers. Aaron grabbed his 9
mm Walther out of his duty belt. He quietly chambered a round and slowly walked towards the family room. He attempted to regulate his heartbeat as he moved past the kitchen, but this wasn’t some punk perp’s house, this was his home. Wendy and AJ were his world; he was a cop so he could do his part to make the world a better place for them. But if the scum of the planet had somehow made way into his private sanctuary, h ell would not have enough in its coffers to pay the note.

“Wendy?” He asked softly, barely loud enough to be heard past his mouth. The sound waves would never make it down the hallway, much less around the corner and into AJ’s bedroom where more light was spilling from. He decided to forgo the family room and check AJ’s first. “AJ?” Aaron’s heart was now threatening to rupture through his rib cage. His cop sense was pegged out; all was not right. He slowly maneuvered down the hallway, keeping his pistol in front of him. Silently he moved his feet forward, hoping he would find Wendy rocking their child to sleep, instead of the images of so many crime scenes that kept flashing through his head.