Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (38 page)

“Yeah,” he said.
“Not much short of a semi-truck could stop Cal, and even then I’m not so sure.”

I put my hand on Southard’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“If things go bad, I’ll be beside you. We’ll get through it.”

He nodded, his eyes moist with emotion.

“Are we going, or not?” yelled Sanders, from over near the other Humvee.

Southard had to grin.
Sanders was like a big kid when it came time to do something. He wasn’t interested in waiting around. He wanted to go to it, right then, full speed, all the way. It had to be his infantry training. While Sanders was high-speed and low drag, the rest of us weren’t quite as ready to get back into the thick of things. I could see Cal was already grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“We’d better get moving before
Cal has a fit,” said Southard.

“Yeah, don’t piss off the guy who can bench press one of the Humvees.”

With that, we both headed for our respective vehicles. I climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door. Spec-4 was already inside, waiting.

“Is Southard ok?” she
asked, concerned.

“I don’t know,” I answered, honestly.
“We’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

“I feel so bad for him,” she said.
“Do you think his family was killed?”

“I’d say that it’s pretty likely.”

With that, I fired up the engine and let it idle. Behind me, Southard did the same. We were both as ready as we were going to be.

“700,” I said, keying up my radio.
“How does it look outside the fence?”

“Looks like four are approaching the gate,” said 700.

“They probably heard Sanders,” I said to Spec-4.

Then I keyed up the radio again.

“Go ahead an open the gate.”

The gate began rumbling open, and I gave Spec-4 a nod.
In a flash, she was into the turret and opening the hatch. She didn’t bother with the M-249 on the roof. Instead, I heard her lock and load her M-16. As the gate opened wider and wider, she propped her elbow on the roof and prepared to fire. She didn’t hesitate, either. The metallic
PING
of the M-16 snapped out four times, quickly ending the un-lives of the four zombies that appeared.

“700, are we clear?” I asked, over the radio.

“Copy 829,” said 700. “You are clear to depart.”

I pulled out of the gate with Sanders right on my bumper.
I could see the gate rolling shut behind us, as soon as we cleared it. Spec-4 dropped back inside and shut the hatch. By the time I was rolling out into the street, she was back in the front seat. My last glimpse of the back of the jail was an almost melancholy sight. I had the distinct feeling that we were heading for trouble. I really hoped that I was wrong.

“Nice shooting,” I said.
“Four quick headshots.”

“I’ve been getting a lot of practice, lately,” she said, smiling.
“By the way, aren’t we heading towards the hospital?”

Then she popped the magazine out of her weapon and added four rounds to it, replacing the expended ammo.
Once the ammo was replaced, the magazine went right back into the weapon. I couldn’t help but smile. Spec-4 was a real pro.

“Yeah,” I said
, “but we’re not going within sight of it. I’m turning west on the next street.”

Behind us, I could see Cal Sanders.
He was in the turret, with his hat on backwards and sunglasses on. He was also grinning from ear to ear. He had the M-249 locked and loaded. He looked like he was singing.

“Southard to Grant,” crackled the radio.

“Go ahead.”

“You want me to tell
Cal to get back inside?”

“Nah, let him have his fun.
If it looks like we’re getting close to a mob, I want him inside, though.”

“Copy that,” replied Southard.

“Oh, and Southard?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s he singing up there?”

“
He’s not singing, just making noises. It sounds like Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries.’”

“How appropriate,” said Spec-4, winking at me.

“Tell him to have fun, but don’t get us swarmed,” I said.

“Got it,” replied Southard.

I turned left at the next intersection and headed west, across Boonville. I could see the front of the jail as we crossed. There were about a hundred zombies milling around the front, but it looked like none of them had made it past our barricade. I only saw it for a second, but I didn’t see anything moving by the front doors. That was good news. Our makeshift barricade of the front door was solid, but I really didn’t want to test it against a large group of the dead.

I clipped a zombie in a green trench coat, and knocked him sprawling into a curb.
He didn’t seem to be moving. As we approached Campbell and whatever the heck street we were on, I could see about a dozen zombies near the front of the little church. They were all dressed in nice clothing and I saw more than a few tuxedoes. One of them was even in a bloody wedding dress.

“That’s a hell of a way to cele
brate your wedding day,” I said, nodding.

“Oh
, my God,” said Spec-4. “That’s horrible. We should do something about that.”

“No sense wasting the ammo if we don’t have to,” I said.
“Besides, she’s single again. You know, till death do us part and all.”

Spec-4 gave me a dirty look, but I just chuckled anyway.
Not everyone appreciates my twisted sense of humor.

“Hey Wylie!” said Sanders on the radio.

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t that a Billy Idol song?” he asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, wrinkling my brow.

“You know, that song ‘White Wedding’ by Billy Idol,” he replied.

Before I could answer, he started singing on the radio.

“Hey little sister, what have you done?
Hey little sister who’s your only one?”

I turned down the radio and shook my head.

“That’s terrible,” said Spec-4.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“He’s out of the running for American Idol.”

“That’s not what I meant.
That poor girl had her wedding ruined by zombies.”

“I’m pretty sure the zombies ruined a lot of
people’s plans,” I said.

Spec-4 just nodded, and turned her head to look at the white dress clad zombie as we drove past.
The group moved to follow us, but we were moving too fast. That didn’t stop them from following us, but they were no threat. I continued on west, dodging around abandoned cars and debris in the road. Debris that was both human and otherwise. When I reached Grant Street, I turned north.

“
Grant Street,” said Spec-4. “That’s funny.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, chuckling.

About that time I heard Sanders start in on the M-249, behind us. I started craning my neck, trying to see what he was shooting at. Spec-4 was up and out the turret, in an instant. I turned up my radio to hear a partial garbled communication. Behind us, I could hear the rapid reports of the M-249 as it spat out it’s lethal fury.

“…….fire……behind…..over.”

“10-9,” I said into the mic. “Say again.”

“Wylie,” said Southard, a note of panic in his voice. “We’re taking fire from behind us.”

I hit the brakes and slid sideways in the road, so I could see behind us. I could see a big pick-up truck with two people inside the cab and about six standing in the bed. All of the ones in the bed were armed and were firing on us. Sanders was already engaging them, but they were swerving around faster than he could adjust his shooting.

“Return fire,” I yelled at Spec-4.

Spec-4 cut loose with the SAW, by way of response. She raked the front of the pick-up with automatic fire. The truck immediately slewed sideways and hit a parked car. Three of the men in the back went flying over the top of the cab. Sanders began working the bed of the truck with his SAW. In seconds, it was over. Whoever they had been, we’d effectively cut them to ribbons.

“Check fire,” I yelled into the radio.

The following silence was eerie.

“Anyone hurt?” I said, transmitting.

“I’m fine,” said Southard.

“I took two to the back,” said Sanders.
“But my vest stopped them. Hurt like a bitch, though.”

Spec-4 just gave me a quick
thumbs-up, when I looked up at her.

“Wilder, Sanders, cover us,” I said.
“Chuck, we’re going looting.”

I drove back to the wreckage that had once been a decently nice
Toyota pick-up. The SAW had turned the occupants of the cab into hamburger. Southard and I bailed out and brought up our weapons.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I said to Spec-4, as I advanced towards the truck.

Southard and I advanced tactically, weapons at the ready. We made eye contact and I gave him a slight nod. Then we split and went in opposite directions around the truck. I saw one survivor, but he wasn’t going to last long. I could see the bubbles in the blood on his chest. He was finished. It was just a matter of time.

He looked familiar
, though. He had a wife beater tank top on and torn up jeans. Numerous tattoos on his arms looked like the kind done in a correctional facility. There were large spacers in each ear-lobe, and his eyebrows and nose were pierced. Across his neck was tattoos the words, “Bitch Please.” I didn’t remember his name, but I definitely recognized that tattoo.

“Why did you attack us?” I asked him.

His eyes focused on me and he gasped, trying to speak.

“
F…F…Fu…,” he gasped, choking on the blood pouring from his mouth.

“Yeah, fuck you too
, asshole,” said Southard, sneering at him. “I hope the zombies get you before you bleed out, you son-of-bitch.”

We started grabbing guns, and ignored the dying man.
I wasn’t going to waste any more ammo on the dumb-ass. Let him suffer. You don’t shoot one of mine in the back and expect mercy out of me. It was an odd assortment of weapons. We grabbed two duffle bags that were still in the bed of the truck and started loading them. The bags were full of ammunition and extra magazines. I took a mental inventory as we picked up the guns.

Each of them had at least one pistol.
Most of them were automatics, but there were a couple of revolvers. All in all, six automatic 9mm’s of various makes, two automatic .45’s and the revolvers all appeared to be .357 magnums. We also took three 12 gauge shotguns and four assault rifles. The assault rifles were all 5.56mm AR style. I didn’t bother to count the ammo.

About a dozen zombies were coming towards us from different directions by the time we headed back to the Humvees.
I tossed the guns and ammo into the back of mine and headed for the driver’s door. There was no reason to fire on the zombies, since they weren’t going to get close enough to us to be a threat. I turned my Humvee around and resumed our original course, with Southard right behind me.

“Everyone back inside,” I said into the radio.

“Copy,” said Sanders.

I could see him disappear back inside, in the mirror.
Spec-4 dropped back inside and sealed the hatch. Seconds later, she was back in the front seat.

“You ok?”

“Me? I’m fine,” I said. “How about you?”

“Not a scratch.”

“You guys ok?” I asked, on the radio.

“I’m good,” said Southard.
“Cal’s pretty sore, but not bleeding.”

“Yeah,” said Cal
, “and I’m pissed off, too.”

“Count yourself lucky,” I replied.
“If any of those meth-heads could shoot, you’d be dead. Even
your
skull won’t stop a bullet.”

“I know,” said Sanders.
“I should have been inside. It won’t happen, again.”

“Good,” I said.
“If someone shoots at us, we’ll shoot back. But let’s make sure that their first volley only hits armor.”

“Copy that,” said Southard.

When we reached Division Street, I could see a large crowd of zombies on our right. They were still several blocks away near the hospital, but closer than I wanted them to be. Then they were out of sight, behind houses. Another block down the road, and we were at Commercial. I turned right, taking us back east. I hoped that we were far enough away to not attract the attention of the zombies at the hospital. The street was mostly clear of cars. Although there were more zombies than usual, walking around on the sidewalks and in the road.

“Why are there so many zombies up here?” asked Spec-4.

“The Mo-Ho,” I said.

“The what?”

“The Missouri Hotel. It’s a homeless shelter. I’m sure that it hit the homeless harder than the rest of us. They don’t have anywhere to go.”