Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (54 page)

Zombies were now emerging from the trees on both sides of the road.
I wasn’t sure if they were attracted by the gunshots or by the smell of the living. I didn’t have long before I would be completely cut off from the Humvee. So I did the best thing I could do. I ran like hell and shot anything that got too close to me.

I ran out of ammo just as I was reaching the Humvee and had to smash a zombie wearing a blue tracksuit in the face with the butt of the AA-12.
It didn’t kill it, but it did knock it down. That bought me just enough time to dive inside and slam the door shut. I yanked the locking lever and pulled the transmission into gear, then stomped the accelerator to the floor and aimed for the gap I’d created. We flew through it with scant inches to spare on either side. Southard followed right behind me.

In my mirror, I could see zombies swarming out onto the roadway.
I didn’t try to count them because they just kept coming. Then we crested a hill and I lost sight of them. Spec-4 dropped back inside and sealed the turret. She gave me a look that would curdle milk when she slid back into the passenger seat.

“You nearly got yourself eaten back there,” she said, angrily.

“I had to do it. If I hadn’t cleared those stop-sticks, we’d have taken out our tires.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “You scared the living crap out of me.”

“I’m sorry, but if I hadn’t done it right then we’d have been overran.”

“We could have gone back the way we came.”

“No, we couldn’t. I don’t think the bridge would hold up for another passage. Besides that, the road’s too narrow for us to turn around. If we can’t turn around, Southard damn sure can’t with that trailer on the back.”

She sat there in silence while I drove.
I knew she was angry, but there really hadn’t been any choice. If I had hesitated any longer, we’d have been stuck there. If it hadn’t been for Southard, we’d have disabled at least one of our vehicles and been screwed.

I followed the road we were on until it turned into back to the west.
I knew that this would connect us to a back road that ran right to the outskirts of Nixa. From there, I could find my way all the way to the lake house. Highway 160 would be the most direct route, but I knew it would be impossible to go that way. It was the main artery south in this area. The only one bigger was US 65, but that was more than thirty miles out of our way.

Besides, taking the back roads all the way there avoided all of the populated areas.
We’d only pass little places like Jamesville and Galena. I was heading for another itty bitty town called Cape Fair. My sister-in-law’s lake house was out there. I used to joke with her and tell her that it was so far out in the middle of nowhere that the mailman still rode horseback. Funny thing is, I was out there one time and saw just that. The roads were covered with snow and ice, so the Mailman just rode his horse.

When we reached the back road without any incident, I turned back south and headed into Nixa.
The intersection at the highway was pretty much blocked. There were zombies everywhere. I had to drive through the yard of a house and cross the highway between a UPS truck and a big RV. I slid through them, scattering zombies in my wake. I cut through the parking lot of a Stop ‘n’ Rob and had to blast my way through about thirty zombies to do it. Once we made it past the zombies, I shot back out onto the road and had to pick my way between abandoned cars for about two hundred yards. Up ahead, I could see a school on the left side of the road and it was swarming with zombies.

“Hang on!” I snapped, gripping the wheel tightly.

I had to force myself to ignore the fact that most of the zombies were kids. We ran the gauntlet for almost a hundred yards before we made it clear. Southard stayed right behind us all the way, following through the gap we created. I felt a wave of nausea run through me as we ran over a zombie that couldn’t have been more than ten years old. I had to force myself to think about something else.

“What town is this?” asked Spec-4.

“Nixa,” I replied. “Why?”

“I’ve never been in this part of Nixa,” she replied.

We stayed on the road until it turned into Missouri Highway M and kept going. We drove for more than two hours, rarely getting above 30 miles per hour. We probably could have gone faster, but there were too many curves and hills. I didn’t want to risk topping a hill at 60 miles per hour and find a group of zombies or cars in the road. We just couldn’t afford to take the risk.

Just before we made it to Jamesville, I knew we’d have to cross another bridge.
I was hoping that since we were well outside the
Springfield Containment Zone
that they wouldn’t bother blowing up the bridges anymore. Luckily, I was right. The bridge looked fine. It was nearly noon before we rolled into the blazing metropolis of Jamesville. Calling it a town was really not quite right. It was more like a village. There really wasn’t much there besides a couple small businesses and a few scattered houses. We didn’t see a soul there, either. It was a complete ghost town.

The locals must have fled to the Branson Evac-center as soon as the order to evacuate came down.
There wasn’t so much as a dog running loose. It was more than a little creepy. But since we didn’t see anything, I decided to risk stopping at the little gas station. More to take a quick look around than anything else, but I wouldn’t pass up a chance to scrounge for supplies.

With the Humvees engines off, the only sound you could hear was the wind and the creaking of the old sign above the gas station’s garage.
I sat for a few moments, just listening to the sounds. I didn’t want to climb out of the Humvee only to find a group of zombies shambling our way. After a few moments, we all climbed out with our weapons ready. No one said much of anything. It seemed too quiet to risk talking, like we didn’t want to break the silence for fear of calling in a zombie horde. I kept my AA-12 up and ready, just in case.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” whispered Spec-4.

“Let’s check and see if there’s any diesel to be had,” I replied softly. “We might as well tank up, if it’s safe.”

“On it,” whispered Southard, heading for the back of my Humvee.

One of the pump labels said diesel, so it was just a matter of locating the right ground tank. Southard found it on the third try.

“Pay dirt,” he said, giving me the thumb’s up.

I noticed that John hadn’t said a word since we stopped. He kept his bow ready and never stopped looking around. I topped off the tank of my Humvee with one of the fuel cans while Spec-4 did the same on the other one. Then we took the empty cans to Southard so that he could refill them with the pump.

Southard had no more than dropped the hose into the tank when John gave a whistle like a whippoorwill.
I turned to see John pointing towards a little diner across the road. Coming from around the back of the diner were four zombies. Two were old men in over-alls, one was a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a waitress’ uniform and the fourth was a kid with wild hair and missing one shoe. They all had blood around their mouths and bite marks visible on their necks and arms. They weren’t moving very fast, either.

I don’t know if they heard us or if they were looking for something else, but suddenly they stopped and looked right at us.
The kid started to growl like a wild animal and came running right at us. The two old men started to shamble our way, but the woman’s eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth to scream.

John drew and released in one fluid motion.
The arrow streaked right to its target, striking the would-be
Shrieker
right through the forehead. She crumpled to the ground without a sound. The kid was coming right for me. I waited until he was within a few feet of me, then I struck. I stepped into him and drove the butt of the AA-12 right into his face, snapping his head backwards and nearly causing him to somersault over backwards.

Before he could move, I struck him again just to make sure he stayed down.
John put an arrow into both of the old men, dropping them before they even made it into the road. We waited for a few moments, just listening for any sounds of movement. When no more zombies showed up, I decided that we’d take a quick look around.

“Wilder, cover Southard,” I whispered.
“I’m gonna take a quick look around while John recovers his arrows.”

“Alone?” asked Spec-4.

“I’m not going to leave your line of sight.”

“I should be done in a few minutes,” said Southard.
“Don’t wander off too far.”

“I’ll be careful, Mom,” I said to him, grinning.
“Switch your radios on, just in case. I’m on Jail Op Frequency.”

Everyone switched on their radios and checked their frequency.
I knew we were well out of range to reach the jail, especially if the repeater towers were down. I thought that I’d try it, anyway.

“829 to 700,” I said into my mic.

No response.

“700, radio check,” I said, again.

Nothing.

“700, do you copy?” I said.

No response at all.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” I said. “They can’t hear us from here.
Did everyone else hear me?”

“I did,” said Spec-4.

“Yep,” said Southard.

“Loud and clear,” said John.

“Good,” I said. “Let’s get this done and get out of here. Southard, let us know as soon as you have those cans refilled.”

“Want me to check out the garage?” he asked.
“When I’m done, that is.”

“If I’m not back, use your own judgment.
I won’t be gone long.”

John and I headed across the road, towards the little diner.
He stopped to recover his arrows and I continued on. When I made it to the front of the diner, I peeked into the windows. All of the chairs were upside down on the tables. The place looked like it had just closed for the day. The sign in the window on the door said “Closed” but it had a handwritten note attached to the bottom of it. The note read “For the End of the World.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

I moved cautiously to the edge of the diner and peeked around the corner.
Behind the diner was a small shed, maybe big enough to pull a car into. There were three zombies trying to force their way in through the doors on the front, while two more were on the side trying to reach a window that was too high for them. With a quick glance behind me to make sure it was clear, I started heading back towards the others. I was trying my best to make as little noise as possible. John was already cleaning off his arrows and Southard was sealing off the last fuel can.

“What did you see?” asked Spec-4.

“There are five zombies, possibly more. They’re trying to get into a little shed behind the diner.”

“What do you think they’re after?” asked Southard, reeling in the hose from the ground tank.

“It has to be someone or something alive,” said John. “I doubt that they’re looking for antiques.”

“John’s right,” I agreed. “There has to be something inside.”

“What if it’s just a cat?” asked Southard. “You hate cats.”

I just rolled my eyes at Southard.

“What if it’s a kid?” asked Spec-4. “Or more than one?”

“Good point,” said Southard. “I guess we can’t assume.”

“If we’re going to do this,” I said. “We have to do it quietly. There’s no telling how many zombies are in the area.”

“So,” said Southard, “we send in John.
He can take them all out with his bow.”

“What if one of them i
s a
Shrieker
?” I asked. “Hell, for that matter, what if they all are?”

“Ouch,” said Southard, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“We can’t afford to risk a lot of gunfire until we’re sure that we’re not gonna kill whoever is inside that shed,” said Spec-4.

“Ok,” I said, “John and Southard go over and get into position.
John can pick them off one at a time. Shoot the
Shriekers
first.”

“Yeah, no shit,” said Southard, grinning.

I ignored him and continued.

“Wilder and I will go around the other way,” I said. “Once you either eliminate them or draw them off, we’ll move in and try to contact whoever’s inside the shed.”

“Shouldn’t someone stay with the vehicles?” asked John.

I sighed.
He was right, of course. We couldn’t risk the possibility of wandering zombies coming up and cutting us off from the vehicles. Then there was always the possibility that other survivors might take them and leave us stranded. Someone would have to stay with the Humvees.

“Good call, John,” I said, nodding to him. “Wilder can stay with the Humvees.
I’ll go alone.”

“I don’t like that idea,” protested Spec-4.

“Me either,” I replied. “But we’re pretty short on options right now. I need Southard to cover John in case he misses and we have to have someone cover the vehicles. That doesn’t leave me with any other options.”