Jason huffed as he sat up straighter. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He opened the door and fought the wind as he stepped onto the running board. “Try not to hit any big bumps until I get back there.”
Hatcher slowed the truck slightly while Jason climbed to the back of the truck. He leaned across the edge of the bedside and tapped on the glass. “Hand me the shotgun.”
Bren rolled the window down and slipped the gun to him. “Be careful out there.”
“You know it, babe.” Jason rolled across the tarp and grabbed the headboard of the truck, pulling himself up so that he could look out in front of the road ahead of them.
Hatcher rolled his window down and yelled out to him, “Beat on the cab if you spot anything.”
Jason tapped the cab once then settled in for what he was sure would be one hell of a ride.
“Junior got his ass blowed up when they pushed the Mazda off the road.” The man was covered in dirt and the creases along the sides of his eyes looked as if someone had carved them with a knife. His long shaggy hair was filled with dirt and debris from having buried himself along the roadway. Brown spit splattered the road beside him as he spat the tobacco juice.
“How’d he know we were here?” The tall leather clad man asked rhetorically. “We spotted them miles away and had plenty of time to get set up. This should have worked. Again.”
“Maybe this’n is smarter than the others?”
The leather-clad leader watched as the large military truck drove on, black smoke belching from the exhaust. He squinted in the midafternoon sun and shook his head. “Lucky is more like it.” He turned quickly to the others gathered around him. “Mount up. I want what’s in that truck.”
The dirty man spat again and looked to the leader. “What’s in the truck, Simon? I only saw the driver.”
Simon turned on him slowly. “Then that’s what I want. Everything in that truck is mine now. So, Simon says, get your nasty ass on your bike and run him down.” He slapped the filthy man upside the head, pushing him away from him.
The group slid through the loose right of way and pulled the desert tarp from their motorcycles. One by one they mounted and fired up the two wheeled iron horses. As each man pulled up onto the roadway, dust billowed behind them. Simon Sewell had fought long and hard to become top dog of his motorcycle club before the world started trying to eat itself. He’d be damned if he’d let something as simple as the zombie apocalypse stop him from his ambitions. So, there was no way he’d let a fellow get away with crossing his territory without paying dues.
And the dues for crossing Simon’s territory was death…
Candy sat atop the roof of the warehouse once more, this time observing the area for Zulus out during the day. Fewer and fewer were coming out during the heat of the afternoon and were reserving their energies for hunting at night. She didn’t know if it was because more game was out at night or if the mad, screaming monsters were slowly turning nocturnal, but she was glad for the respite.
She scanned the area and listened intently for any yells, yips, or screams. Her scope magnified the area so she could see clearly anything within shooting distance. She often prayed she could stumble across just one sign that things were improving. Perhaps a convoy of people, or the military, or even a damned ice cream truck at this point. She smiled to herself as she considered what she would actually do if an ice cream truck pulled up to the warehouse. She didn’t even carry money any longer. What use was it?
She settled in more comfortably and rested the stock against her shoulder as the bipod held the business end up and at the ready. She continued to scan the area when a familiar noise tickled at her ear. She pulled her eye from the reticle of the scope and tilted her head slightly.
It can’t be. Can it?
She reached for her radio but didn’t key it. Her finger poised just above the button. She continued to listen as the sound played along the edges of her ability to hear. It would fade in, then fade out, then fade back in again. It was almost as if the source were travelling back and forth, slowly moving closer.
Candy stood up, knowing she was exposing herself to any Zulus in the area. She reached for her binoculars and scanned the sky. She thought she spotted something dark, but lost it as it moved behind the tall trees close to her. She lowered the field glasses and listened again. It was definitely getting closer.
She picked up her radio and keyed it. “Wally, we got something out here.”
After a moment, her radio came to life and Wally replied. “Zulus?”
“Negative. I think there’s a chopper running a grid pattern out here.”
“A what? Say again, Candy. It sounded like you said a chopper.” The radio gave a squeal of static then went silent.
She keyed hers again and nodded, her other hand bringing the field glasses back to her face. “You heard correctly. There’s a chopper out here, and it’s running a grid pattern.” She lowered her radio and listened again. She lifted her radio and reported, “They’re announcing something, but I can’t make it out yet.”
Candy clipped the radio to her belt and watched as the helicopter slowly worked its way closer. As it made another pass, she distinctly heard the announcement. “Mr. Daniel Hatcher, your assistance is needed by the government and the CDC. If you can hear this recording, please find a way to make contact with this mobile unit. We are monitoring citizens band channels 19 and 4, and are broadcasting at military frequencies at 250
