Zombie D.O.A. (27 page)

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothing,” Pete said.

“No?” Babs said, then held up a finger in a ‘wait a moment’ gesture. To me he said, “Chris, you got a cleaning kit for that AK.”

“Sure.”

“Bring it here would you?”

I brought it to him and he flipped it open, took out a coiled, epoxy-coated cable.

“You know what this is, Pete?” Babs asked. “This is a pull-through, sometimes also called a bore snake. You push it down the barrel of a rifle, to keep it nice and clean, scrapes off rust spots and the like.

“Sometimes you attach a nice soft cloth to the end, and at other times you attach one of these.” He produced one of the bore brushes from the kit. “There’s a couple of these in here, a metal one and a plastic one. Either way, they’re down right abrasive little suckers.

“How much would you wager
that
I could shove this bore snake up your ass and pull it out your mouth?”

“You wouldn’t,” Pete spluttered.

“Wouldn’t I?” Babs said, and something in his tone told Pete he wasn’t kidding.

After a moment’s thought Pete said sulkily, “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with an easy one,” Babs said, producing a photograph from his pocket, “Have you seen this girl?”

Pete took a look at the photograph and said immediately, “I never
touched
her.”

“I’ll take that as a ye
s,” Babs said, “Where’s she being
held?”

“I told you I ain’t…”

“Humor me on this,” Babs cut in. “If you had her, where would she be?”

“At the ranch,” Pete said, as though the answer was obvious.

“
And where is this ranch?
”

“Can I get another drag on that smoke?” Pete said.
  

Babs held it for him and he drew deeply, then stared off into the distance.

“The ranch?” Babs prompted him.

“Up the road maybe 20 miles,” Pete said. ”
Just after the grove of cedar trees you make a right, there’s a tarred road for maybe a mile. Then it turns to dirt. You go maybe five miles on and you can’t miss it.

“It’s not really a ranch,” he added helpfully, “it was a old prison that some rich weirdo converted to a house back in the fifties. Still got the cells and everything,“

“I
s i
t guarded?”

“Oh yeah,” Pete said proudly, “Virgil’s got it buttoned up tighter than a duck’s behind. You thinking what I think you’re thinking mister, you better go there with an army.”

“An army? Really? How many men you got up there?

“Enough for the likes of you.”

“Thanks, Pete,” You’ve been very helpful,” Babs said, then suddenly produced a small hand gun and shot Pete above the right eyebrow.

Babs pushed the gun back up into his sleeve then said, “Let’s go.”

He was already walking, and again I had to catch up. When I did, he said, “They’ll be sending out a patrol to look for these boys, and for this.” He pulled a vial from his inside pocket, containing a bluish liquid.

“What is it?”

“What these boys came into town to pickup. Look, we got to hustle, pick up a couple of those Harleys
and
get up the road a ways before they come looking. You ride?”

“Not in a while.”

“Pillion with me then, but no grabbin’ my ass
,
you hear.”

We manhandled one of the Harleys back onto the road, and Babs went back and shot out the tires on the other two.

Babs mounted the Harley and kicked it and the engine roared into life.  Then over the roar of the engine he said to me. “This ain’t your fight, Chris. You heard what Pete said back there. Go find that little girl of yours.”

I was about to protest when he throttled the bike and took off. I stood in the road
and watched him ride away. He was probably right.
I had
no business going off on some suicide mission when I had
Ruby
to think of
.

Besides, even if I wanted to follow Babs,
the ranch was twenty miles away. By the time I’d hiked that distance he’d either have rescued whoever he was looking for, or he’d be dead. Probably the latter
.

I walked under the overpass fully intending to take a left, skirt around Tulsa and be on my way. But then my conscience started gnawing at me and like Tom had said back in Kentucky, once it got going it was hard to shut it out.

Babs needed help and although my head told me to head west my feet kept walking in a straight line. After a while
I
started jogging. I needed
to find a vehicle.
Fast.

Finding a vehicle was not a problem. There were cars standing bumper to bumper on just about any major thoroughfare in just about every major city in America, most of them with the keys sitting in the ignition.

The problem was finding one that would start. And after three years standing, the chances of that were less than zero. I’m no expert on cars, didn’t even own one for most of my life, but I’d learned that if you
could find a vehicle that had
been protected from the elements, like one kept in a parking garage or
on an
auto lot
, and pop
in
a new battery, you
could
usually get it going.

A couple of miles in, I came across
a Dodge / Chrysler
dealership
with a Dodge Ram on the lot that looked like it would do the business.

I located the keys on a board in the sales office and was heading back out to see if she would start when I saw my first Z’s of the day, four of them, crossing the lot, weaving between the cars - a scrawny,
sandy-haired
guy who looked like he’d walked away from a car wreck, a woman with a badly burned face, and a little girl with long plaits, wearing a filthy pink dress.

The forth zombie wore a security guard uniform and I was reminded of Brad, my former neighbor back in New York, and the man who had killed
my wife
.
I had an almost overwhelming urge to go out there and blow out the security guard’s brains but I fought it back. Drawing attention to myself was not part of the plan.

After the Zs had moved on, I made my way back to the
Ram, got in behind the wheel, inserted the key and gave her a twist. I’d expected a half-hearted attempt at the engine turning over, but got instead a faint click.

I popped the hood and had a look inside like so many drivers before me who don’t have a clue what they’re looking for.

Then I headed for the Spares department located next to the showroom and picked out an Everstart Max battery.

I got back to the Ram, put the battery on the g
round and then realized
that I was going to need a spanner to loosen the terminals. It was then
that I noticed the black Hummer
parked at the end of the row my Dodge was in. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t see in but I was pretty sure, certain actually, that it hadn’t been there before.

My first instinct was to run, but I realized that I’d left the AK leaning against the side of the Dodge and I wasn’t leaving without it.

Instead I pretended I hadn’t noticed the Hummer, made a big deal of looking for the toolkit, then moved to the side of the Dodge picked up the AK and started weaving between the vehicles, putting some distance between me and them.

I knew I had to cross the lanes
at some point
, and I knew that when I did they’d see me, so I braced myself and made a run for it. The minute I did, I heard the Hummer rev up and in my peripheral vision I saw it l
urch forward like a leashed attack dog
.

I cut between the cars ducking low and
running until I hit the street. As I did, I could the see t
he Hummer
racing towards to end of the row, and making a sharp turn, sliding and swiping a vehicle as it did.  The driver reversed, straightened and then floored it, and the Hummer hurtled towards the road.

I
’d gained a few vital seconds and decided to go
left, sprinting down the center of the road and hoping there was an intersection or an alleyway I could duck into. Behind me I heard the Hummer’s ti
r
es squeal as it
exited
the lot an
d made a left turn
. Th
en I heard the engine revving
as it
raced
down the road towards me like a runaway train.  

At the last moment I flung myself to the right, hit the tarmac rolling, and came up with the AK in a firing position.

The Hummer burned rubber skidding to a halt and then reversed towards me as I got off a burst from the AK, the bullets bouncing off the protected glass of the vehicle.

I rolled away at the last minute and this time was running as I got up.  The road was narrow and the H
ummer had to do a three-
point
maneuver to turn itself around.

Up ahead there was a curve and I rounded it
and
sprinted along the sidewalk. This
road
had mainly
sidewalk cafes, restaurants and small businesses, some with their shutters pulled down.

I heard the screech of the Hummer’s tires as it rounded the curve at speed. At the same instant I felt my fe
et tangle with something
, and I
pitched
forward and hit the ground hard, removing a layer of skin from my palm.

There was
a waist-high wooden panel that separated the
cafes from the street, and I crawled closer to that
, knowing it would hide me as long as the occupants of the Hummer chose to stay in their vehicle.

If they decided to take up the search on foot, they’d
find me and I’d have no choice
but to shoot it out with them.  

I heard the Hummer
race past
and
then the sound of its engine fading
in the distance.

I lay perfectly still, the coppery taste of adrenalin in my mouth and a dull throbbing pain in my hand. I inspected the wound and saw beads of blood seeping through.