up and into the truck. The truck lurched into gear and stalled. Deneaux was cackling wildly, zombies were slamming full tilt into the truck; a few were trying to get in through the back.
“Oh please get this truck moving,” Gary entreated as he began to fire at a multitude of targets. The truck rumbled back to life; more gunfire erupted as Deneaux was shooting at zombies that were coming up on to the sides of the truck.
“Any day,” she said calmly to BT, referring to him getting the truck in gear.
Gary had pushed back as far as he could, his back resting against the cool metal of the front of the transport. At least three zombies were having varying degrees of success trying to get in as BT hesitantly got the behemoth truck rolling. It was a good two hundred yards of traveling time before they began to outpace the fast zombies. A baker’s dozen of them had latched on to the truck and were making their way as best they could to their targets.
Somehow, a zombie had climbed on top of the truck and Gary could see it trying to rip through the heavy canvas, but he had more immediate problems. The first zombie that had come in was still alive; the bullet had traveled alongside its head and not quite killed it. Two others were dead, and one was holding on to the tailgate for dear unlife. Gary was completely out of ammo.
He frantically felt around his pockets looking for any spare ordinance, remembering that he had left it in Deneaux’s saddle bags. A tear above him brought his attention that way as he saw a finger poke through a small hole.
“Time is running out,” Gary said as he stood, stooping to stay out of reach. He moved to the rear of the truck, taking careful stock of the dazed and hopefully dying zombie. The zombie on the tailgate snarled and snapped its teeth as Gary approached. Its feet were bouncing along wildly on the asphalt as it clung to the tailgate. Gary couldn’t help but smile when he thought the zombie looked suspiciously like Michael Flatley. The moment passed quickly as he brought the butt of his weapon down heavily on the fingers of the zombie.
Nothing, not so much as a whimper, as Gary used crushing force to dislodge the zombie’s hands. The zombie was still trying to pull itself into the truck. Gary repeatedly smashed the hands until there was nothing more than shredded skin holding the zombie to the truck; inertia and gravity did the rest as the fingers separated away from the body. The zombie tumbled down the roadway, once it came to a full stop it immediately got up and started running again towards the truck.
“You have got to be kidding me?” Gary asked, just then he heard the telltale sound of canvas tearing followed immediately by a heavy thud as the zombie fell through the hole it had made. “This is insane!” Gary yelled as he rushed over to the zombie and began to drive the butt of his rifle into its skull before it had a chance to regain its legs.
The zombie thrashed wildly back and forth as Gary caved in its head. The pile of bone-infused meat on the floor by his feet did not resemble anything even remotely human, but the twitching wedding band laden left hand would be something that haunted him.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Gary said as he dropped his rifle and lurched to the rear of the truck reluctant to add his bile to the ever expanding pool of human-like matter already there.
He was hanging his head over the lip of the tailgate trying to pull in as much fresh air as was possible, which was not easy considering he was directly in the flow pattern of the truck’s exhaust. That was still better than the zombies. The truck was moving and the shooting had subsided, Gary felt they must be out of immediate danger right until he felt something bite down on his ankle. Denim and leather the only things that separated him from certain death, Gary jumped up and scooted down to the front of the truck on the bench seat used for troop transportation using the butt of his rifle as a make-shift paddle, he didn’t stop until his rifle butt plunged into the mashed head of the zombie that had dropped from the ceiling. For reasons he still can’t fathom, he pulled his gun up and towards his face so that he could see what was stuck there. He vomited as the gray-black gelatinous ooze dripped from the stock and onto his lap.
The zombie that had been dazed and laying on the floor was now making its way to an oblivious Gary. At some point the truck had stopped and BT had come around the back.
“Gary, you alright?” BT was yelling as he did so.
Gary’s retching was the only response.
The zombie’s hand had gripped the bottom of Gary’s boot and was pulling itself closer. Gary was cognizant of the approaching danger but was unable to respond.
“Fuck, man!” BT said as he grabbed the back of the zombie’s legs and was now pulling the zombie and Gary towards him.
Deneaux shot the zombie in the head point blank as BT pulled it free from the truck. Gary was staring at the whole exchange not really registering anything.
“He looks bit,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she leveled the gun on Gary.
“He’s not fucking bitten. Put the damn gun down,” BT told her. “Right, Gary?” BT asked.
Gary slightly shifted his gaze so he could look at BT.
“Come on, man,” BT motioned. “You can sit up front with us.”
“He’s covered in vomit and brain, he stinks to high Heaven.”
BT looked crossly at Mrs. Deneaux.
“Fine,” she said, “but I’m smoking more.”
“I wouldn’t think that was even possible,” BT answered. He extended his hand for Gary who slowly took it. “You alright?” BT asked again.
Gary got down off the truck; he walked a few feet away to the grassy median and deposited a little more stomach sauce. He vigorously wiped as much stain of humanity off himself as he could with the overgrown weeds, and when he felt somewhat decent, he climbed up into the cab without uttering so much as a word.
“I guess he’s ready to go,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she got in behind him.
BT looked once behind the truck and noticed the zombies were far behind but that they were still following.
A few more miles passed underneath their tires.
“I miss you. Mike,” BT said almost silently as they passed out of North Carolina and into Virginia.
“Me too,” Gary said even quieter. The first words he had uttered in an hour.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mike Journal Entry 6
I honestly thought John was full of shit, right until we pulled up to the gates of the municipal airport. He made me take a right towards one of the smaller hangars; once we stopped, he grabbed the keys out of the ignition and walked over to the hangar where he opened up a door to the corrugated steel building.
It was darker inside, but the windows high up in the building let in sufficient light. There it was, a helicopter that wasn’t much bigger than some of the ones I’d seen hobby enthusiasts remote pilot. John went over to it and began to lock the props in place—they had been folded in for storage.
“I’ll be honest, John, this seemed like a much better idea when we were underground.” I was having serious reservations. Here was a guy that said he couldn’t get his shit together enough to drive a van, but could apparently pilot a toy helicopter.
“It’s perfectly safe,” John told me as he almost took off the top of his head with the blade, by walking into it. “Help me wheel it out.”
Me helping ended up, me doing, as he went over to the large hangar door and began to pull it open. It was surprisingly easy to move, but I don’t know why I would be expecting anything else from a helicopter made from spare Erector Set parts. I pushed it some twenty feet away from the building thinking that was plenty of clearance, then I went another fifty.
“You see the checklist?” John asked me.
I shook my head.
“Doesn’t matter,” he told me as he climbed in.
