Zombie D.O.A. (45 page)

“What? But…”

“Listen to me,” Cal insisted. “Those men you just took down were only the advance party. Look out towards the south.”

I did and saw what appeared to be a dust storm approaching.

“We got riders coming,” Cal said, “And this time it looks like a whole damn army.”

By the time we reached the tunnel the sound of the approaching motorcycles was already like thunder in our ears. I got Yonder to lead the women through first and then I climbed down carrying the Browning, while Hooley brought up the rear hauling two metal ammo cases. Before ascending the stairs I pulled on the line that Yonder had fixed to pull the mat back into place and hide the trapdoor.

I still found it difficult to believe that the Dead Men had so many soldiers to call on after the massacre in Tulsa. And it also seemed impossible that they’d managed to organize so quickly, without Virgil Pratt or his captains to hold them together.  Nonetheless, you only had to listen to the thunderous approach of the Harleys, and see the dust storm they were kicking up, to know that The Dead Men were still very much a force.

We reached the mine depot and took the elevator down to track one where the rest of our party huddled in the dim glow of a couple of kerosene lamps. There were cries of relief and embraces and greetings and a few tears were shed as friends and family were reunited.

“Listen up everyone,” I said. “I hate to break up the party, but we have to get moving. We’ll be walking this line through the hill and it will bring us out at the north face, where we’ll pitch camp. Any questions?”

“What’s happening in town?’ someone asked.

“I don’t know, but they’ve got a lot more men than we were expecting. There’s just too many of them. We can wait them out, wait until they get bored and leave, but somehow I don’t think Pagan’s every going to be a safe place to live again.”

Someone started sobbing. “But our homes…” somebody else said.

“Look, I don’t like this anymore than you do, but it’s what we’ve got, so work with me on this, okay? Yonder and Jean are going to lead us through. Stick close together cause we only have a few of these kerosene lamps and I don’t want to be searching for anyone in the dark.“

“How do we know there aren’t any zombies in here?”

It was a good question and I gave the honest answer. “We don’t. But what’s a Z going to be doing down here in the dark with no-one to keep him company?”

That drew a few nervous chuckles, and I was just about to tell them to move out when Yonder said. “Shouldn’t we do a quick headcount?”

“Good idea. We should be…”

“Forty two,” Yonder said.

But the headcount turned up only forty. “One of those is Cal,” I said, “who’s the other?”

“Nate,” Yonder said, and she was right, Nate wasn’t with us. I’d last seen him running from behind the grocery store, looping round to lay out the tire spikes for any escaping bikers. I’d heard the collision and shots being fired. Had Nate been shot? I doubted it. The riders would have hit those spikes at speed and being thrown from their bikes, Nate would have had surprise on his side. The shots that were fired would likely have been Nate finishing them off, not the other way around.

“Yonder, get everyone through to the other side.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going back for Nate.”

“Are you crazy?” Yonder said. “There’s got to be hundreds of them down there!”

“I’m coming with you,” Hooley said.

“No,” I said, “I need you to stay with these folks. No point both of us getting killed on a fool’s errand.”

“If it’s a fools errand you’re on then I’m your man,” Hooley grinned.

“Ain’t that the truth,” I heard Alice say in the darkness.

We followed Yonder’s group to the first junction, where they split off towards track two. We continued on and took the next split, which brought us out on the west face, then we skirted round until we could see Cal crouching in the brush.

“Cal,” I whispered.

“Sheet, hoss!” Cal said, spinning around.  “You scared the bejesus out of me, right there. Why didn’t you give me a holler on the walkie-talkie?”

“Sorry Cal, left it back at the town hall.”

“Okay then. Scoot down on your behind along that path through the brush.”

We did as Cal said and joined him in a natural hide created by three boulders, sheltered by overhanging bushes to the front and back.

“Right cozy,” Hooley said.

“Some interesting comings and goings, downtown,” Cal said, “Take a look.”

He passed me his rifle and I looked through the scope. The Dead Men seemed to have made their headquarters at the Kimberly saloon, and their bikes lined both sides of the street from the crater in front of the town hall, up towards the church at the end of the road. I figured there had to be at least 200 bikes down there. Cal was right, this was an army.

“They rounded up Ray’s folk, got them under guard in the church. The man himself has been hauled down to the saloon.”

“What about Nate?” I said, “You seen him.”

“Oh yeah,” Cal said, “He’s holed up in that house at the corner of B and C.”

I scanned the rifle in that direction and saw the house Cal was talking about, a dilapidated bungalow with an overgrown yard. I could make out the two spike chains, now pushed to the side of the road. To one side a Harley lay on its side and there were a couple of leather-clad bodies.

“How do you know he’s in there?”

“Seen him go in, ain’t seen him come out. Figure he’s waitin’ for nightfall to make his move.”

“Let me get a look,” Hooley said, and I was about to hand him the rifle when Cal stopped me.

“Something else you oughta see,” he said, “Something that don’t seem right. See them fellers hanging around outside the saloon, zoom in on them, get a better look.”

I put my eye to the scope again, found the two bikers Cal was talking about and zoomed in. As their faces came into focus I pulled back from the scope.

“What is it?” Hooley insisted, “Lemme see.”

I passed the rifle to him and he brought it up to his shoulder and looked through the scope, “Jesus Crockett!” Hooley said. “Those are zombies!”

“Told you it didn’t seem right,” Cal said. “Whoever saw a Z walking around like normal folk, let alone riding a Harley? You got any clue, Chris? Wait a minute, you do, don’t ya?”

“Blueberry Hill,” I said.

“Blueberry what?”

“You mean like the song? Fats Domino?” Hooley said.

“It’s an experimental drug,” I said, “Something developed by an outfit called the Pendragon Corporation.”

“What the hell for?”

“Well, it’s supposed to be some kind of antidote for the Z virus and as you can see it works – to a degree.”

“You seen this shit in action before?” Hooley asked.

“Back in Tulsa.”

“And it turns Z’s back into normal folk?”

“Well I wouldn’t exactly say that. Most of the time I seen it used it doesn’t seem to work at all, but I heard of cases in Phoenix and Denver where they reckon they’ve had some positive results. I’ve also seen a Z back in Tulsa, a lady Z named Zelda who looked like a centerfold, but would eat you for breakfast.”

“So you reckon these Z’s have been doped up with this Blueberry Hill stuff?” Cal asked.

“Only explanation I can think of. Tell me, you seen anyone down there dressed like a cowboy? White Stetson? Tied down six-shooter?”

“Oh yeah,” Cal said, “Short little shit, dressed up like Roy Rodgers. Looks like he’s the boss man of this outfit.”

“Virgil Pratt.”

“Virgil Pratt? Didn’t you tell Nate he was dead?”

“These days,” I said, “Who can tell?”

Hooley was still looking through the scope, “I believe I see your man now,” he said, passing the rifle to me.

I peered through the scope and there was Virgil, wearing his familiar fringed white shirt, white Stetson and cowboy boots, his silver six-shooter strapped to his thigh. He walked with a slight limp but other than that he looked no worse off than when I’d last seen him in Tulsa. That is if you could look past the slightly bluish tinge to his complexion.

There was another man standing next to Virgil and I recognized him immediately too, Stanley Tucci, a.k.a. Stan Ritz.

Tucci looked none the worse for wear, and it looked like he was the one calling the shots. He stood on the porch of the Kimberly barking orders, and bikers started pouring out of the saloon.  Tucci got them mustered in three ranks of about eighty men each. Now three men exited the saloon carrying trays of what looked like shot glasses containing a bluish fluid.

“Looks like its doping time at the OK Corral,” I said.

The men holding the trays started moving between the rows, pausing as each of the bikers took a glass and downed its contents. The men carrying the trays had to return to the saloon to refill three times before everyone had had their shot.

About twenty bikers lounged off to the side, leaning on their bikes and smoking.

“What about them fellers over there?” Cal asked

I zoomed in on them with the lens, “Those aren’t Z’s” I said, “just your run of the mill, garden variety, scumbags.”

Tucci now shouted out more orders and the bikers scattered in all directions, some of them started clearing the bodies and wrecked bikes and tossing them into the blast crater. Others started entering the buildings across from the saloon, others moving towards B Street and to the east and west boundaries of the town.

“Shit,” Cal said, “Looks like they’re doing a house-to-house search. If Nate’s going to make his move it had better be now.”

I scanned the rifle over to the house where Nate was hiding out and saw no movement other than the weeds stirring slightly in the breeze. Scanning left I saw the bikers working their way up B Street searching each house in turn. They were about three houses away from Nate’s hideout.

“What’s happening?” Hooley said, “Do you see him?”

“No, I don’t, but if he’s in that house he’d better get out pretty much right now.”

The searchers had arrived at the corner of B and C and were crossing the dusty road towards Nate’s hideout. Another biker on a Harley pulled up and they got into conversation. A flash of movement caught my eye and I saw Nate dropping from a window and crawling into the brush.

The bikers had now finished talking and resumed their search. Four of them entered the house and were lost from sight. I could clearly see Nate’s blue shirt as he lay in the brush and I knew that if he held his nerve and stayed undercover they probably wouldn’t find him. But then Nate did something really stupid and decided to make a run for it. 

   I saw him start to crawl through the undergrowth towards the weathered corral fence that separated the house from the brush beyond. There was a patch of bare earth and he reached that now and broke cover, sprinting towards the fence and vaulting it.

In the next moment the four bikers came pouring out of the house. Three of them set off in pursuit, while the other ran into B Street. He seemed to be shouting something and three Harleys came racing towards him, kicking up dust as they braked. The man pointed in the direction Nate had run. Then he hoisted himself onto the back of one of the bikes and the three of them raced off.