No More Fear: Part Four

We finally reached the blacktop again. Zach pulled over and dumped the five gallons of gas he brought into the Jeep’s tank and we moved on. We didn’t get far when Zach spotted a white car on the shoulder of the road, facing the mountain at our backs. The light bar on the roof was visible long before we were able to read the words “State Trooper” written in gold along the side. I grimaced as we stopped next to it. I could see before I got out that one of the rear passenger windows was shattered. Blood dried where it ran down the white side of the cruiser. Almost every inch of the glass separating the cab from the back seat was smeared with blood as well. The driver door was open. I could see the pistol grip of a shotgun jutting out in between the front seats.
“Be right back,” I said, exiting the Jeep.
The shotgun was a modified Remington 870 twelve gauge. It was tricked out with a pistol grip, M-4 style collapsible stock, fiber optic combat sights and an extended feed tube. It was already loaded so I jacked a shell into the chamber and stuffed a replacement into the tube from the rack on the side of the gun. The trunk had some useful stuff in it as well. I grabbed anything that looked useful, mostly first aid equipment, and stuffed it in the back of the Jeep. I even managed to find a half empty box of shells for the shotgun after only a little searching.
I hopped back in the Jeep and propped the shotgun up between my knees and we continued onward. It was midmorning when we could finally see the suburbs sprawling out in front of us from the top of a hill, still several miles distant. Some fires were still smoldering. Zach weaved between abandon vehicles cautiously. We hadn’t seen much of anything moving anywhere near us up to this point. Several vehicles had broken and bloody windows, many had doors left open as if they were abandoned in great haste. We had seen a few stumbling infected along the roads, but hadn’t bothered to stop and take care of them. There would be time for that later. Right now, our objective was to find survivors; someone, anyone who wasn’t infected, someone who knew something we didn’t. So far though, we had no luck on finding anyone alive who hadn’t been dead once already.
“Here comes a bump,” Zach warned casually. I spotted the crawler in the road ahead, slowly dragging itself out from under a pickup. Zach swerved over a foot and the Jeep jostled as the wheels on my side road up and over the infected.
“That doesn’t count!” I blurted out.
“Oh don’t give me that!” he yelled back, “Is it still moving?”
He said it as if he already knew the answer. I looked back to check.
“Yep,” I said, “Wow, he looks mad.”
“What! Really?” Zach said, eyes widening a little in surprise, “Tough little buggers.”
The freeway was now thick with abandoned vehicles. Zach pulled out onto the shoulder of the road, bypassing the mess of cars, trucks and minivans. Some of them had sets of arms that reached out of broken windows at us as we drove past. I watched the infected pulling in vain against seat belts. Apparently they weren’t smart enough to simply unbuckle themselves to get free. That was good for us; I’d take any advantage we could get.
“Oh man, we may have a problem,” Zach said. I turned back to look out the window. Up ahead about a quarter mile away, was a crowd of staggering infected.
“There must be at least a hundred,” I said, glancing around nervously for an alternate way around the undead roadblock, “There! Take that exit. We should be able to take that road around and end up near where we need to be.”
“Gottcha,” Zach replied. He swerved sharply, narrowly missing a few of the outlying infected. They lurched towards the Jeep but moved too slowly to be able to reach it. Zach gunned it up the ramp and skidded through a left hand turn onto the overpass. I looked out across the freeway in the direction we had been heading and saw that the “hundred” zombies was actually closer to a thousand.
“Wow,” was all I could say.
“Holy cow! Good thing we didn’t go that way!” Zach exclaimed.
I shuddered, imagining the Jeep getting bogged down in a swamp of writhing corpses, us trapped inside, waiting to go out in a blaze of gunfire. Sure, it looked exciting in the movies, but it was something I would prefer to avoid.
We passed several gas stations and smaller shops, noting that there were few cars left parked anywhere accept at the gas stations, which were packed with cars. I tried to imagine what it had been like to be here a few days ago, everyone panicking, scrambling to get away with their family, children crying, dogs barking, tempers flaring. I wondered how many people were killed in the frenzy before the infection had even reached them. They were everywhere now; stumbling around between abandoned vehicles or just limping drunkenly along the road. I could see shop windows full of them.
“You gotta tell me where to go, because I’m completely lost,” Zach said, narrowly squeezing the Jeep between a school bus and a row of cars. I caught a glimpse of several child-sized figures in the windows of the bus. I couldn’t keep myself from shuddering at the sight, but I said nothing to Zach.
“Take the next right, it should be a frontage road,” I said, pointing at the corner.
“I’m going to be honest here, Vic. This is way worse than I expected,” Zach said glancing at me quickly, and then snapping his focus back to the road.
“There has to be someone left alive,” I replied, not sure if even I believed me, “We’re going to find someone, just keep going. We’ll be fine. If it starts getting too hairy we can still bug out and head back to the hills.”
“Okay, I’m with you, but just for the record, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“All right,” I said, “Give it twenty minutes. If we don’t find anyone, we’ll get out of here.”
“Sounds good to me,” Zach agreed.
We followed the frontage road for a couple miles. It was fairly devoid of obstacles and we made good time. After a few minutes, I spotted the department stores off to our left, across a large parking lot dotted with parked cars and shambling infected. Around the base of the store was a small crowd of infected, gathering near the sliding glass doors. There was maybe fifty of them all together, but we needed to get inside that building for supplies, so we’d have to get past them somehow even if we had to kill them all. But we’d have to do it quick, and get in and out before more showed up and blocked us in.
“Take the next left,” I said.
“Umm, that’s going to be a problem,” Zach said pointing up ahead.
Down the road a few hundred feet was a cluster of vehicles, cars, trucks and vans, which had been deserted. It looked like the intersection had been blocked by some wrecked vehicles. Some of the trucks tried going off the road, down into the ditches on both sides of the frontage road, only to get bogged down by the slick mud and the steep incline leading back up to the road.
“Stop,” I said.
Zach complied and we both looked around nervously trying to find an alternate route.
“We could go back the way we came and come around another way,” Zach suggested.
“I don’t think we have time,” I said, “and we’re being followed.”
There were dozens of infected shuffling down the road far in our wake, not really posing much of a threat, but if we tried to go through them they could become a problem. I eyed the ditch, and spotted a section that didn’t look as steep.
“You think we can make it over that?” I asked Zach as I gestured to the depression.
“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” was his reply.
He engaged the four wheel drive, eased the Jeep over the curb and let it glide ten feet down the hill and into the ditch. There was a small amount of muck at the bottom and the Jeep sunk a few inches. Zach feathered the throttle and the Jeep’s tires spun for a second, flinging chunks of mud, then grabbed and we lurched forward and began our ascent. The Jeep had no problem climbing the small hill. As we reached the top, however, Zach and I both realized our error. The ground in front of us dropped about two and a half feet straight down to the road where the hill was held back by a concrete retaining wall. Zach muttered something in surprise and slammed on the brakes but there wasn’t enough time to stop. The front tires of the Jeep slid over the edge. The front bumper slammed into the road as the shocks settled and bounced back. I heard metal scrape the concrete as Zach tried to get all four wheels onto level ground. The rear tires rolled over the edge followed by the rear bumper, which smashed down onto the wall. The rear tires were suspended for a moment, spinning uselessly until the front tires got enough traction to wrench the rear of the Jeep off its perch. The Jeep bounced and settled and Zach turned towards the parking lot, shifted and hit the gas. A few moments later, the engine sputtered and died and the vehicle lurched to a stop.
“What? What happened?” I asked franticly. Zach turned the key and the Jeep tried to start. I began to smell the insistent odor of gasoline. I glanced around, spotting several infected making their way towards us. I also noticed a trail of liquid that traced a path behind us to the spot where we jumped the wall.
“Get out!” I shouted, “The Jeep isn’t going anywhere, we’re leaking gas! Grab your backpack, we’re going to have to make a run for it!”
I threw my door open and brought the shotgun to my shoulder. I spotted a nearby infected, twenty yards away, and let off a rushed shot that hit it in the chest, peppering it with holes. I jacked the pump and fired again, this time the majority of the pellets found his head and he went down. I turned to the rear door and slipped on my backpack, pausing for a few seconds to drop another infected that had followed us down the road. I slung the M-14 across my back and it rested awkwardly alongside my pack, the sling digging into my neck. I ignored it, spun and blasted two more infected that were getting too close for comfort. One last dip into the Jeep and I grabbed the axe from the seat and shoved it into a loop on my pack. Zach was near the front of the Jeep, his M1 carbine tucked into his shoulder, carefully picking his shots and taking down the closest threats.
“Let’s go!” I shouted and started moving towards the department store. I fumbled with a few shotgun shells, trying to stuff them into the shotgun. I managed to get a few in and turned my attention on the nearest threat, a group of three. I fired, pumped and fired again. Zach nailed the last one before I had time to take a third shot. I heard Zach reload, and I glanced around us quickly, making sure we weren’t in immediate danger.
We entered the parking lot. Many of the zombies near the building had started moving in our direction, noticing all the racket we were causing. We had a lot of ground to cover, about a hundred and fifty yards of parking lot between us and the doors. Zach and I marched steadily down the nearest aisle, careful to avoid getting too near to any cars that could hold a zombie surprise. Zach paused to take aim at several infected that were filtering through the rows of parked cars out into our path. He took five shots and three of them were kissing pavement. I spotted a hand reaching out from under a nearby car. A few seconds later came the head. I paused, took aim and fired, plastering the ground with gore. I pumped the slide and a smoking shell arced gracefully through the air and bounced onto the ground at my feet.
We started moving again, the path momentarily clear in front of us. I stepped over the corpses Zach had dispatched a few moments ago, careful not to step in the mess. The group near the door had dispersed slightly, some of them coming directly at us, some hadn’t noticed us yet and were still pounding relentlessly on the glass sliding doors. I decided to sling the shotgun, and replaced it with the M-14. I slid the charging knob back and let it slam forward, raking a round into the chamber. I flipped off the safety and dropped to a knee, bracing my elbow on my other knee.
“I’ll clear a path, watch my back for a second,” I told Zach. He nodded, and I brought the scope to my eye. I centered the cross-hairs on the face of my first target, a middle aged man with glasses. I squeezed the trigger and he crumpled. I found another head, centered the cross-hairs and fired, jerking the trigger and sending the shot wide. I quickly re-acquired and sent a second shot downrange, which found its mark. Thirty seconds later I had dropped five more. I heard Zach fire several times.
“We need to move,” Zach told me.
“Ok, it’s pretty clear ahead, let’s go,” I said as I started moving forward again. I swapped back to the shotgun, remembering I only had about four or five shells left before I’d need to reload again. The group ahead had strung out pretty well between us and the building. As long as we were able to keep our left and right flanks clear, we’d be able to take the group out three or four at a time. By the time we got to the door, there would only be a handful, maybe ten at most, left to take care of before we could enter the building.
I heard a zombie approaching me off to my right, and he was close. I heard him snarl as I spun to face him, swinging the shotgun up to my shoulder as I heard the loud thunderclap of a high powered rifle. One side of the zombie’s skull exploded and plastered the side of a minivan with its contents. In the center of the mess, I spotted a bullet hole.
“Where’d that come from?” Zach shouted, looking around quickly. I quickly estimated the shooter’s position from where the infected had been standing and where the bullet struck the minivan. He had to be on top of the department store. I looked up, scanning the top of the building, easily spotting the shooter as he took aim again and fired, dropping the next-nearest infected to us. He paused and cupped his hands to his mouth.
“Go around! You can’t get in that way!” he yelled, pointing to the corner of the building off to my right. Zach and I adjusted our course, cutting through several rows of parked cars, pausing at intervals to clear the way. I exhausted the shot gun’s ammo supply and slung it over my shoulder, drawing the Colt from its resting place under my left arm. I flipped off the safety and worked the slide just in time to take aim and fire at an infected woman who appeared from behind a van. The pistol bucked in my hand and the infected crumpled. Zach continued to pick his targets carefully. Every ten seconds or so the shooter on the roof would fire, taking out zombies that were getting too close. There were dozens of them behind us now, and an increasing amount appearing in front of us. The Colt’s slide locked back. I ejected the magazine and shoved in a fresh one, pausing to pick up the empty. We were almost to the corner.
Zach was now firing franticly at the ever increasing hoard in front of us. I could tell he was beginning to panic. He was missing his targets more often than he was dropping them.
“Slow down man, you gotta aim or you’re just wasting your shots!” I chided.
“I know, I’m trying!” he shouted back.
“Just calm down and concentrate! Kill the closest ones first!” I said, trying to encourage Zach.
“I know, I know!”
The shooter on the roof had gone silent for a minute or so, probably reloading I thought. He was back in business now, picking his targets with extraordinary precision. Thirty seconds later, we reached the corner of the building leaving a wide trail of bleeding corpses in our wake. We paused for a moment at the corner, taking advantage of the temporary lull to reload and catch our breath.
“All right, you go first, I’ll cover the back,” I told Zach as I peered around the corner, spotting several infected meandering around along the building, “You’ve got three in our way, as far as I can tell, thirty-five, maybe forty yards down the wall.”
Zach nodded, approached the corner and braced his rifle against it, taking careful aim. He fired three times, pausing for several seconds in between shots to steady his aim.
“It’s clear, let’s go,” he said, moving around the corner in a hurried walk. I followed him around the corner, my head on a swivel looking for threats. I noticed a door halfway down the side of the building. It was ajar a few inches. As we approached, it swung open revealing a woman in her late twenties, who was pointing a Berretta pistol at us as we hustled for the door. I hesitated for a moment, and she waved us in with the barrel of the gun.
“Come on, what are you waiting for?” she said, a hint of irritation in her voice.
“Do you always greet your guests at gunpoint?” Zach asked sarcastically.
“I do when they’re being followed by that guy,” she said, leveling the Berretta and firing between Zach and I. I heard a thud, glanced behind me and saw the body twenty feet behind us.
“Way to watch the back, Vic,” Zach said with a smirk as he walked through the doorway. I followed him into the confined space. It was a fire escape. One other door lead back into the store, but it was blocked by a large metal cabinet. To my left was a flight of stairs, which I guessed went up to the roof. The woman slammed the door, and the room went dim. My eyes adjusted in a few seconds, and I saw light at the top of the stairs.