Zach Carter, Zombie Killer Read online

  Zach Carter, Zombie Killer

  by Frank Giovinazzi

  (c) 2009, All Rights Reserved

  Chapter One

  They had one of the more ingenious rigs we’d seen — taken what had once been an unorganized junkyard and transformed it into a maze fortress of piled high junkers, that acted like castle walls, but since nothing could really keep them out, they had created dead ends, killing zones really, so that they could direct the Zekes down these corridors, then climb up the wall of wrecks and fire down on them. Plus, since they had the machinery, cranes and flatbeds, they could move the stuff around, reposition and strengthen their fortifications as they saw fit, because ultimately, they still had to keep themselves protected inside their inner sanctum, which, once you got past the unique nature of their outer fortifications, was just another island trying to keep itself afloat in front of the tsunami that just kept coming.

  At that point, and I’m talking about a year into the festivities, when most of the people were dead or newly baptized into the church of the everlasting death, and those that were still alive were real keen on living, which meant keeping strangers as well as the Zekes at bay, so it was always a dicey prospect to just stroll up to what you suspected was a living stronghold, because they might just shoot you on principle and take whatever it was you were carting around in terms of supplies, but we had come up with a protocol — as long as it wasn’t an active infestation, we would park our vehicles in full view, then one of us would approach, calling out, you know, anybody alive in there and will you grant us shelter kind of thing.

  Well, it turns out that day that we were extremely lucky, because it was my turn to get out and present myself to the lookout, and as I found out later, they had orders to shoot on site because they had recently taken in a crew where one of the people was infected and you know how that turns out.

  But I was wearing my crossbow, slung across my chest, not my back because you can’t drive with a weapon digging into you and you can’t shoot if you come rolling across the occasional Zeke looking for a Happy Meal.

  Anyway, in the post-Z world there are only a few commodities that really held any value — food and water and weapons being the most important, followed closely by information and sex.

  The lookout, who turned out to be the son of the owner of the junkyard, took one look at the crossbow and as he told me later it was like Jesus Christ himself had shown up to lead them from the dark slough of despair.

  So we got in, but they had gotten smart and forced the three of us to strip down to our bareassedness, where they made us hold our arms out and spreadeagle and show them our skin was intact and there was nothing obvious, you know, like a giant set of teeth marks on our asses, and then we were forced to spend 12 hours in a locked cargo container before they let us out to have a powwow.

  The leader, Ralph Peters, had the crossbow in his lap just like a kid with his very first Christmas puppy. I am telling you these guys were excited.

  “You actually been able to kill many Zekes with this thing?”

  “Outside effective range is fifty yards, after that, it’s just aiming,” I said.

  “And keeping your cool,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, those of us that have lived this long, we know what that’s about.”

  “Yep, sure do. They’re gonna keep coming whether you’re cool or not, and they’re gonna keep going whether you’re dead or not.”

  “Right, so the only way to beat the Zekes is to be just like them. No emotion, all business.”

  “Hmmm. You boys been together long?”

  “About six months. I was a cop in San Diego. Roy here sold restaurant supplies and Jimmy was a boxer.”

  “What, no mixed martial arts,” Peters said.

  “I was a purist,” Jimmy said.

  “Kinda small,” Peters said.

  “I was a welterweight. With a regular eating schedule,” Jimmy said.

  “Food we got,” Peters said. “We found a couple trucks on the road, canned goods and added them to our fleet. What we’re running low on is weapons, or really, I should say, ammunition.”

  “Gun stores?”

  “If you been on the road, you know they got cleaned out — by the way, I figure you left the coast and drove inland because …”

  “Waterzombies, right. A lot of people took to the water, pleasure craft, cruise ships, ferries, and the infection followed them. If the ships sank or burned or they got thrown overboard, they just wash up or walk up on land. So the idea of a coastal defense doesn’t really work.”

  “Yet. We don’t know if these things got a lifespan or not,” Peters said.

  “Right, but what about police stations, maybe you got an armory around here?” I said.

  “Well, you know the problem with armories.”

  “Yours blew up too, huh?”

  “After the military cleaned most of it out, the guards they left behind got overrun by locals who proceeded to shoot it out.”

  “What about reloading?”

  “We have some capacity but it gets down to the same problem, which is basically respelling raw materials,” Peters said, hefting the crossbow up and down like it was made out of gold.

  “You figure we can make these,” I said.

  “That’s easy, we got metalworking tools and materiel to make all kinds of these. Hell I may make a bigass one out of leaf springs just for my own amusement.”

  “Right. Zeke don’t respond to shock and awe.”

  “No, but we do have to figure on human raiders sooner or later.”

  “Okay, you have something in mind.”

  “Yes indeedy, like I said the real problem is ammo.”

  “Think you can make bolts out of what you got here?”

  “One at a time, nah, we need massive firepower if we’re going to stay alive, which means thousands upon thousands of bullets.”

  “And…”

  “And I knew a guy used to be in the metal fabrication business, not well, understand, but kind of related, so we crossed paths once in a while. Anyway, he made this kind of stuff, hollow aluminum tubing, I don’t remember if it was for marine or aerospace, but the important thing was — he made it by the freaking MILE,” Peters broke down laughing at the thought.

  It was a pretty good plan, we all knew it right from the start, and in the super fast survival calculus we’d all mastered, we were all smiling pretty big. For us, we were trading taking a risk for as safe a refuge as we’d come across, and they were getting the raw material they needed to keep themselves safe for whoever knew how long this was going to take. The only worry of course, was for a potential doublecross, as in would we try and take over his little fief when we got back or would he cut our throats in our sleep that very same night. The thing was, we weren’t looking for our own little kingdom, for whatever reason the three of us had come together and we all had the same goal — staying alive by staying in motion. But we also agreed that we needed a place to crash and regroup for awhile. Peters seemed to understand this, so drawing up the plans was a formality.

  Chapter 2

  The stated reason for having the three of us go on this expedition was because we had the most experience fighting on the run, and that was true, but the closer truth was that Peters didn’t want to sacrifice any of the people he had under him.

  So it was the three of us, plus the owner’s son, Pete, who set out in our two battle-rigged Ford Expeditions to go looking to harvest an almost ready-made supply of head splitting ammunition.

  “Pete, huh.” I said.

  “Yes, Pete Peters, go ahead it used to drive me nuts but like a lot of other things it really doesn’t bother me anymore.”

  “Yea, what we a
ll wouldn’t give for normal problems.”

  I let the silence sit there for awhile, checking the rearview for Roy and Jimmy in the wagon behind us. “Pete, why are you really coming with us.”

  “Like we said, you may need me to help load the tubing onto a flatbed.”

  “Possible, you have more experience with that kind of equipment. But that still doesn’t explain it.”

  “You got nearly a hundred gallons of our gas,” he said.

  “Of which you have nearly a limitless supply. I saw your people taking it out of the old gas tanks.”

  “All resources are vital, we never know when …”

  “Okay, I know that too. Now what’s the real reason.”

  It was his turn to let the silence sit. And check the side view for Roy and Jimmy. We were living in world where paranoia was a virtue.

  “My sister,” he said. And went silent again. “She had her own place, outside of town.”

  “You think she’s still alive?” I had almost said, ‘you don’t think she’s still alive,’ but edited myself before it came out.

  “Well, officially of course, we don’t think so. You just can’t think that way.”

  “But your Dad …”

  “I think he’s really hoping, though like I said he won’t say it.”

  “And he wants you to do a drive-by.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, and —”

  “If she’s turned, I’m going to put her down.”

  I exhaled hard. This was one of those things, the line between hard surviving and holding onto a shred of your humanity. Everyone came up against the line, whether it was as simple as running back into your house to grab a picture or some other souvenir from your former life, or trying to help someone under attack, or worse, trying to shelter someone who’d been bit. The problem is that most people who hesitated, who tried to hold onto that last shred of their moral code, had lost their life in the process. As a result there weren’t too many sentimental people running around.

  “I understand. But you understand it makes no sense, and your father understands he could wind up losing you too.”

  “Yep,” the hard line of finality.

  “You expect us to go with you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Uh-hunh. But you’re hoping, and if we go back to the compound without you and you never show back up, our open-ended invitation would wind up getting revoked, possibly with extreme prejudice.”

  “You caught my father’s Vietnam Veteran routine, hunh?”

  “Hard to miss it with those guys, like a fucking tattoo.”

  “That’s pretty funny.”

  “Yeah. Alright, I think you know the drill. Way we roll is all three of us have to agree, if we don’t well then, we’ll just bail on you after we set you up with the load of aluminum.”

  “You’ll still go that far.”

  “It’s what we agreed on and we stick to our bargain.”

  “Well I guess I’ll owe you.”

  “What? You going to throw the Jacuzzi suite in?”

  I looked down at the GPS unit that showed we were only a couple miles from our destination. It always amazed me that it still worked, even if it made me think of how much we had lost.

  “Okay, you know the drill. We stop in front while the other Expo rolls around the back, checking for Zeke. I leave the keys in the ignition and lock the doors with the panel — you remember the combination?”

  “Sure, who can forget the day the world ended — 12-20-20-12.”

  We both let the silence sit this time. There was no way to prepare for entering a building in our world. Zeke was either there or he wasn’t and the way I’d learned to handle I was to go in empty-headed, you know that mind like water Buddhist shit that always sounds funny when you try and describe it to someone, but you know, it works.

  Turned out Zeke was not waiting for us inside the ABQ Fabrication Depot, and Pete’s skill with a forklift came in handy — especially because the overhead hydraulics weren’t worth shit to us, and he had to balance a load of thirty foot tubing on top of forks that were made to handle square wooden pallets. It was my job to get the flatbed into position for him, which meant I had to suck on diesel fumes from a couple other trucks to get the thing ready. In lieu of a breath mint I threw up the breakfast served by the comely maidens of the Junkyard Castle.

  Roy and Jimmy were patrolling as best they could, taking turns walking the corners as well as inside the warehouse. Again, the rule is be ready, cause Zeke usually jumps up like a freaking Jack in the Box. In between gagging on my diesel and eggs, I told them about our extra trip.

  “Extra work, no extra pay, might as well be back in the military,” Roy said.

  “Shut your mouth,” Jimmy said. “Could you imagine? Here we are in the third circle of hell and the only thing that could make it worse would be having to listen to a second loo telling us it would be a god idea to go and check out that row of empty buildings.”

  “Jimmy, I’m wondering, can you actually have PTSD when you’re in the middle of an ongoing trauma?” I said.

  “Just keeping things straight for when I file for disability, you know, don’t want my claim getting denied because I can’t sort out exactly which trauma is causing what degree of stress and all.”

  “Do you think we miss the stupid shit from the old world as much as the good stuff,” Roy said.

  “YES!” Jimmy and I agreed.

  And so I told Pete that we were green-as-in-go for the recon to his sister’s old place.

  He had been busy, getting six bundles of tubing onto the flatbed, and was tightening down the final straps to keep the load intact. “Thank you,” he said quietly and handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s the address for the GPS, and, uh, I’d like you to drive the truck with the load, in case, um, I get caught up.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll keep the rig running, circling the property, you and the boys will run the same drill. You pull up, get out and run in, they follow and do a quick hop around — but no sign of her and you are out of there inside of five, we agree on that?”

  “Sounds right. If she’s alive, there’s probably only one place she’ll be.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “She had a panic room. Dad was only to happy to pay for it when she asked.”

  We were loitering and that wasn’t like me. “Sounds interesting, here’s a walkie, tell me on the ride.” I handed him the spare handset and climbed into the cap of the flatbed.

  We had to cross the Rio Grande to get to his sister’s house and rumbling over the bridge made that shiver go down my spine like I was walking over my own grave.

  I didn’t hesitate. “Freddy’s in the hunt, come back,” I said over the open channel.

  “And Jason’s got his back,” Jimmy responded.

  “Want to fill me in guys?” Pete said.

  “Yeah Pete, that’s our code for when one of us gets the willies,” I said.

  “Sounds scientific,” he said.

  “Science took a hike last year, cherry,” Jimmy said. “All we got is our instincts.”

  “That’s about it, kid, just stay alert, I got a bad feeling going over that bridge. You want to tell us about your sister’s panic room?”

  “Like I told you, Zoe asked Dad to help her pay for a hidey-hole after she had a couple run ins with a bad penny that wouldn’t stay fired.”

  “You mean a shithead boyfriend?”

  “One and the same. Dad being who he is, offered to relocate the gentleman, but Zoe said she’d never get another date if Dad put his head on the wall down at the VFW.”

  “The best defense is a good offense,” Jimmy said.

  “Anyway, these kinds of things got popular for awhile, they were basically just bomb shelters for yuppies, but nothing was too good for sissy, and she got the full boat, separate water and air supply, three months of food and a couple hundred rounds of ammo.”

  “No guns?” I said, just as I spotted
a couple Zekes stumbling after a runt dog, and tightened my grip on the wheel.

  “Guns are a given in my family, son,” Pete said. “Hey, did you see those Zekes?”

  “Indeed I did and we all know the cockroach rule so heads up,” I said. At this point we knew they were attracted by sound and movement, maybe even smell, and that meant we were rolling flypaper. They were going to come stumbling after us, and once a couple got going, it always rolled downhill like a giant ball of flaming shit in hell. The GPS said we were less than two miles from his sister’s house, and the close-up view of the neighborhood didn’t make me feel any more comfortable.