Apocalypse Aftermath (46 page)

“Crazy bitch.” Swanson muttered.  “If they’re more interested in her than the meat, she’s gonna die.”

“We can bail her out if they don’t cooperate.”

“You hope.”

Finding a pair of trucks he could get running hadn’t been too difficult, though he certainly wouldn’t have objected to a gas tanker.  But
Peter hadn’t been willing to scour the town for hours in the hopes of finding one, especially since for that to have worked out as hoped it would need to still be loaded with fuel.  His next best idea would have been to turn up a landscaping truck with a sprayer tank, but no dice on that wish either.

What they had come up with was a pair of simple pickups, though full sized ones with large beds.  One had a small six foot trailer hooked behind it.  The trailer carried a pile of propane tanks liberated from a tank exchange cage in front of a nearby Kroger, every one full of explosive gas.  A hardware store had yielded enough plastic storage bins to line the sides of both truck beds.  Filling them from a gas station had been the most time consuming part of the scheme, but he’d been wanting to find a transfer pump since Sunday anyway.

Hauling gas out of a gas station’s underground tanks by hand, with a bucket on a rope, was exhausting and slow.  Especially when filling multiple vehicles, to say nothing of the MARTA bus’ enormous tank.  The five battery powered pumps had let them siphon out several hundred gallons in about half an hour, enough to fill the truck bed containers to a healthy – dangerous – level.  Other than the time, it had only cost them about thirty curious zombie kills while the pumping was going on at a handy gas station to the southwest.

Retrieving rotting meat out of the barbecue joint had required filter masks like allergy suffers or painters wore, and a drawing of lots among the soldiers, but twenty slabs were suspended from the truck bodies; across the front of Crawford’s, and down both sides of each, using screws and cord as quick and dirty support to hold them in place.  None were attached to the trailer by design.

Now the only thing left was to try the whole crazy scheme out.

Peter left the Humvee running and got out.  The other soldiers followed suit, and he made a gathering motion with his hand as he walked up to the lead truck.  Oliver, still wearing a mask, closed the door of the second and spun off the vehicle’s gas cap.  While the Guardsman stuffed a long strip of cloth into the tank, Peter looked around at the others.

“Okay, we’re going to shoot to clear a path out once Crawford stops.  Watch your damned fire so you don’t put any rounds into the school, and no one fires on the trucks at all except me.  Clear?”

Assent came in murmured affirmatives and nods.  Peter flopped down on his back between the trucks and hooked the tow chain already padlocked in place around the lead truck’s hitch to the frame of the second one.  When he was satisfied he scooted out and opened the door to put it in neutral and pop the brake off before stepping away from the now linked vehicles.  The smell coming from the meat covering both was quite ripe.

He could still hear gunshots coming from within the school, which he took as a good sign.  The size of the horde hadn’t abated much in the time it had taken the soldiers to collect and rig everything for their plan.  Closer gunshots sounded as Whitley and Roper started taking out a handful of nearby zombies who were closing on the Guardsmen standing on the street.  Peter ignored them and moved up to the driver’s window of the lead truck.

“You ready?” he asked Crawford.

“Let’s do it.  Should be fun.” she said with a malicious grin.

“Okay, we’ll cover you as best we can, but watch your ass.  Remember, no closer than the middle of the parking lot.
  We’re trying to save people, not set the building on fire.”

“I got it.  Come on, I’m dying for a cigarette.”

“Done here.” Oliver said.  Peter glanced over and saw the first truck’s gas tank had been invaded by another strip of cloth that dangled low.  He was looking for every possible advantage to get one hell of a bang, and the gas in the tanks would help to get the trucks burning all the better.

Peter stepped away from the truck and gave her a thumbs up.  “Ok then, you’re on.”

She eased the truck forward until the jerk of the tow chain pulling taunt rocked her against the steering wheel, and the truck on its shocks, then applied more gas.  The trio – truck, truck, and trailer – moved toward the curb at a slow pace, and Peter held his breath.  There was a lot of weight being hauled by the one truck Crawford was in, but the trio cleared the curb without major difficulty as she worked the throttle.

Blessing the over-engineering American truck consumers forced on manufacturers with their willful ignorance of stated weight limits, Peter watched as Crawford drove across the grass toward the horror show at the school.

The truck curved gently around to the left, then back right as she picked a parking aisle to head up.  Zombies in the way began falling before the truck’s bumper, a few being knocked to one side or the other, but most going down to be run over.  He kept his fingers crossed, but even the trailer’s wheels didn’t get hung up on the bodies as Crawford kept the vehicles moving.

And there didn’t seem to be many zombies interested in her yet.  The ones on the sides within reach were grabbing at the meat.  Some were being dragged along as they clung to the flesh and started gnawing at it.  Others were tumbling to the ground as the truck kept moving.

“Swanson, Roper, bring the hummers.” Peter said, bringing his AR up as he saw Crawford’s brake lights flash.

Walking forward along the street, Peter started shooting zombies that were on the pavement and either in the way or coming to meet them.  He kept his attention purposefully unfocused except for the red dot centered in his scope, ignoring the gore as the bullets shattered skulls and sent people who were supposed to be dead finally to rest.  Beside him Whitley and Oliver covered the sides, all three preceding the Humvees on foot as they cleared their way up the street to in front of the school.  By the time they reached a spot where the trucks were easily seen without intervening obstacles, Crawford was already busy.

The rear window of the cab had been broken out, and she was atop the roof out of reach as she splashed gas from some standard two-gallon fuel cans around the truck.  Zombies were pressing in on the vehicles, but they were still interested in the meat at hand, and didn’t seem to mind as gas fell on them either.  Peter looked over his shoulder.

“Drivers, cover our asses.  Yell loud if you need help.”

“On it.” Swanson said as he popped out of the top hatch and raised his M-16.  Roper was following suit in the other Humvee; both dividing the area around the street by prearrangement.  They were already shooting steadily to hold the zombie-free space in the street open.

“Let’s clear her lane out.” Peter said, dropping to one knee and pulling his weapon tight against his shoulder.  Resting his elbow on his knee for a more stable firing position, he started taking out zombies between the curb and the trucks, focusing on the ones closest to the propane trailer first.

As hoped, a lot of the zombies were being drawn to the trap.  Not all of them near the school were turning, but fewer than he’d feared were continuing to focus on the doors and the people beyond them inside the building.  The horde’s density was much thinner out on the grass, but there were still too many to be sure of someone on foot making it through without becoming a snack.

With Whitley and Oliver firing as well, Peter and the other two shot a broad path that could be used to get out.  As he changed magazines a second time, he saw Crawford had finished pouring off the cans and was picking her way through the big plastic tubs in the bed to get to the second truck.  As she went, she stabbed each with a knife, starting more gas pouring out.  By the time she got to the tailgate, Peter could see the fuel streaming from holes that had been punched in the sides of the truck bed earlier.

She stepped from the tailgate to the hood of the second truck without problem, but slipped as she tried to get up the windshield to the roof.  He saw her catch herself on the edge of the hood between the windshield wipers, but other than a couple of kicks at grasping hands as she scrambled back to her feet, she seemed okay.

“Looking good.” Peter said loudly.  “You two, hold the lane open as best you can.”

“Got it.” Oliver grunted.  Whitley just continued firing.

Crawford climbed over the second truck, still out of reach, and made for the trailer, lancing the second load of fuel filled tubs along the way.  She finished the last of them
and sheathed the knife as she stood looking at the trailer and the zombies near it for a moment.  This was the part Peter was most concerned about.  The trailer was lower, and the propane tanks were round.  That wasn’t conducive to good footing.

“How we looking?” Peter called loudly as he heard either Swanson or Roper shooting something behind him.

“Solid.  What about her?” Swanson called back.

“So far so good.”

Peter’s aim went from careful to paranoid, as he started dropping zombies along the right side of the trailer.  He saw the trailer rocking a little as Crawford moved to it, but kept his attention on the zombies on that side.  When he had to reload again, he checked on her progress as he dropped the empty magazine out and pulled a full one from his pouch.  She was near the back of the trailer, and had her M-16 up and clearing zombies that were at the back of the trailer.  It took her two reloads, but she cleared the rest in her way and leapt down to the grass.

“Cover her.  Watch your damned fire.” Peter ordered as he began shooting zombies on her right side.  She was running flat out, holding the M-16 in one hand and sprinting in a mild
zigzag as zombies alerted to her.  It didn’t take her long to clear the back edges of the mass, and she slowed as she reached the sidewalk next to the street.

“Piece of cake.” she said, breathing hard.

“Crawford, you crazy fucking bitch!” Swanson shouted.

“I’m still not sleeping with you.” she panted back.

“Take cover.” Peter yelled, rising and moving behind the hood of the right Humvee as he reloaded again.  “Don’t let anything sneak up on us.”

He laid his AR across the hood and sighted on the tanks in the trailer.  His first shot produced a plume of white smoke as the pressurized propane erupted through the hole his round punched in the tank.  As quickly as he could
aim and control the weapon, he emptied its magazine into the tanks, firing the last fifteen bullets nearly blind – going off where the tanks should be – as the cloud thickened and spread.

“I can’t fucking believe that didn’t set any of them off.” Oliver said.

“No, but this will.” Peter replied, leaving the AR on the hood and drawing a flare gun from one of his pouches.

“Fire in the hole!” Whitley echoed Peter’s yell.  He gave it two seconds as he crouched lower behind the hood, feeling more than actually noticing the other soldiers dropping into cover inside or behind the vehicles.  With the bright orange pistol canted up at a slight angle and aligned squarely with the trap trucks, he squeezed the trigger, then ducked.

He
felt
a wave of air slam into the Humvee, rocking it on its shocks, the whomp-woosh of its passage loud even through his earplugs.  The front fender bumped his cheek and sent him sprawling back against the vehicle behind him.  A huge fireball was roiling up into the sky as he struggled to his feet and peered cautiously over the hood.  The smoke plume that followed the fireball up was smudgy black and rapidly engulfing the flames as the fire below got going.

A section of parking lot centered on the trap was ablaze, easily forty feet across.  He didn’t see a single zombie still on its feet, all having been thrown to the ground by the ignition of the painstakingly dispersed flammables.  A lot of the windows of nearby cars were broken, and already some of the tires were starting to catch.

“Hell fucking yeah!” he heard someone yelling.  “Now that’s a barbecue!”

The explosion hadn’t killed the zombies.  He saw a lot of movement in the flattened horde.  Bodies, flaming like tiki torches, were staggering to their feet, rolling over and starting to crawl.  And they were spreading the flames as they did, passing the fire to others who weren’t yet ablaze as clothing, hair,
skin,
caught and began burning.  Other zombies just thrashed helplessly on the ground, not in pain, but because too many of their major bones had been broken by the shockwave to stand or crawl.

“Fuck me, I knew we should have stopped for marshmallows.” Swanson said from the top hatch of the Humvee.

“That’s disgusting.” Roper told him.

“Pay attention, don’t just watch the damned fire.” Peter ordered.  “Let’s not s
crew up this late in the game.”

“Hey Gunny, I just shot like half of North Georgia, and they’re still coming.” Swanson laughed loudly.  “Give a little credit, huh?”

“Swanson—” Crawford started, still panting, but Peter overrode her by speaking louder.

“
Load up and watch the sides.  Let’s go.  Move it.”

“I’m driving.” Crawford said, opening the door to the Humvee Peter thought of as ‘his’.  He opened his mouth to object, then nodded.  She was in pretty good shape, but anyone would need a minute or two to let their pulse settle after a sprint like that before their aim would be reliable.  He stuffed the flare gun back into the pouch and grabbed his AR off the hood.