I Hate Zombies
This was written today, just as a lark and is a side story from The Mythidria Chronicles II: The Seventh Relic. I had this bouncing around in my head since yesterday and took the time today to write it. Enjoy.
***
"Okay, just listen," I whispered to the trembling little flower huddled
with me in the garbage cubby, "just do as you're told and we'll both live this
out. I need your help, okay?" I'm already hot, sweating my nuts off, and
listening to this girl's whimpering is driving me crazy. I wish she would shut
the hell up so she doesn't attract those...things.
Her shoulder-length brown tresses, once luxurious - now matted and
stringy, was brushed from her face, her eyes wide with fear, "Help? How can I
help? I can't do anything!" Fucking hell, she's whiney! At one time,
I probably would have wanted to do all sorts of things to her, but now,
in all honesty, I should just leave her stupid ass to those things roaming
around, but damn it, I'm not like that.
"Look, just do what you're told, stay as close as you can to me, and I
promise, I'll see that you make it out of this alive," I sighed at her. I took a
moment to look into her blue eyes, thought how beautiful she was, and wished I
hadn't pulled her from that limo before the flesh-eaters had swarmed over it.
She nodded, the dunce, and hefted the backpack I loaded with supplies,
clothes, and a couple of towels (hey, you aren't completely prepared without
your towel, Douglas Adams taught me that) and crouched low, ready to run.
I hope she remembers to fucking stay close, because this was going to be
simple. Just run out of the dumpster space, book like motherfuckers to my car,
and take off like our asses were on fire. This should go off without a hitch.
They hated the daylight, of all things. Some still shambled around during the
daytime, and the rest, it's like they were vampires or something. So running in
the middle of the Nevada afternoon was in our favor. Fuck, I
don't know. All I know is that I hate the smelly bastards, and I want to get
going.
"Okay, ready, steady, GO!" I whispered at her. I led the two of us along,
not running, but dragging her behind me. And then she
trips.
"Fuck!" I scramble back and heft her under my good arm while I keep my
eyes moving, looking for one of them to come along and, yeah, right on
schedule. I feel the jolt in my
arm, but not hear a sound as the .40 round rockets from the barrel and into the
head of my target. The back of his...it's...head bursts outward explosively
right before it falls to the ground. Gotta love that survivalist stuff you used
to be able to find on the internet. Of course it never hurt that you wrote a
bunch of that in the first place.
So, I stay at the ready, lug this deadweight idiot to my car and stand
her up, commanding the twit, "Take my keys, the round one, unlock the door, push
the door button, sit your ass inside and shut your door. Can you handle that?"
She nodded her head, so I let her go, and then get back to scanning our
surroundings. She took my keys, and did everything she was told. I run to the
driver's side and pull the door handle. Of course, the dumb-shit locked the
door behind her. I put my back to the car and keep scanning, pistol at the
ready and knock on the door. Hopefully she will
understand.
The lock clicks and I drop my ruck in the back seat, shut the door, get
in, shut and relock, and then get the key in the ignition. I take a quick moment
to look at her as the car roars to life.
"How the fuck did you survive to be as old as you are?"
She's about to say something when I throw the car into reverse, back out
and then set us forward. I'm not going to be nice on the road, so I mentally get
myself prepared to be running motherfuckers over, undead or not. If they're out,
and they are just shuffling along, and in my way, they're hamburger.
I take the corner out of the apartment complex, and then the one to the
street without slowing down. Fuck the stop sign, I run it, too, hang a left and
we're moving. It's weird. I see maybe one or two of the flesh eaters, but that's
pretty much it. They're all inside wherever they wound up and are...what? Damned if I know. It just makes getting the hell out of Vegas that much easier.
"Turn on the radio, try to find something like a news cast or something
official. There might be instructions on what to do," I ordered the girl to my
right. She's trembling and damned near on the verge of...never mind. She's
blubbering now. Shit.
"Look, I'm sorry for being so mean to you, okay? We really don't have
time or the stuff to fart around. The world might be finished, but there's going
to be safe havens somewhere. I promised I would make sure you lived, and I plan
on keeping that promise," I explained, looking into her eyes every so often to
hammer my point home. She was mopping her face with some kleenexes and nodding
her head.
"I, I know. I'm just so, I dunno...confused? What happened, anyway? I was
with my girlfriends for my friend, Cindy's, bachelorette party and then those
zombie-things were killing everybody. And then you," she holds my free hand,
"you came and saved me before they got me, too." Yeah, here come the doe eyes.
Damn, I hate it when girls do that.
"Your friends...you know there was nothing I could do for them, right?
They were dead once the car got overloaded. I wish I could have saved them, I
really do." No lie. There's nothing worse than the screams of fear, ever.
Panama, Desert Storm, and Italy showed me that. Decades later,
I still wake up, drenched in sweat after the nightmares. The only good thing
from that, it kept me sharp and my skills fairly active.
I kept driving, and then I saw it. Salvation! I heave the wheel to the
right, avoid the median by millimeters and come to a screeching halt in front of
a gun store. I hate guns. They're loud, noisy, clumsy, and need too much to keep
working. Today, however, a gun store, with the darkened windows smashed out are
just the thing I need. I make a quickie three-pointer and back in right in front
of the missing window.
"Stay close. We 're going in. The more guns the better, What I want you
to do is listen and take the things I tell you to. We're going to load up, and
then food. Okay?" I'm sounding bossy, but who cares. I didn't spend my entire
life working protective services and law enforcement to be caught with my pants
down.
I'm moving at tactical speed. Scan, move, scan, move. I can sense her
right behind me. Good. No, wait. Boom - Headshot. NOW it's good. Dropping these
monsters is easy. Just remember, head shot will drop a flesh eater - preferably
take their entire head off. It's messy, but it works.
We're inside now, clear in front. Clear behind the counter. Back room.
Hell yeah. Luck is on my side for a change. Back out to the front. I shoot out
the locks from the gun racks and the ammo cabinets. Let's see. You know I've
never been much of a shopper. I grab a couple of CAR-15's and tell my companion
to grab magazines that say CAR-15 and ammo that has either .223 or 5.56 on them.
Good girl. She knows her numbers. Maybe giving her something to do is
helping.
Oh, great. My little helper. Perfect. This should be fun. I'm forming an
attachment. Knowing my luck, I'll probably do something insulting like pat her
on the head or scratch her behind the ears.
I keep going, a couple of twelve-gauge pumps, four more pistols identical
to my Sturm Ruger .40, a trio of .357's (I'm a Sturm Ruger fan, so the GP100 is
mine, by the way), a couple of .38's with 4 inch barrels, and their only four
snub nose pistols, .22's. As I go, I'm barking out the ammo we'll need and my
girl Friday grabs exactly what she's told, all of it. She's doing better. I have
her grab knives, load-bearing equipment, holsters, vests, and harnesses to throw
in the car. She's going to have a lot of work to do in the car once we get
going. Eh, she can handle it. I just hope her thumbs can handle loading those
magazines. Speed loaders, grab those too, hun! Good girl.
I do a quick scan of the back room. Huh, sword freak, too. Good ones, not
the pre-fab alloy ones. Oh, I like this guy. Katanas, and a couple more medieval
toys are mine, now. Oops, wait, the naginata comes, too. And the escrima sticks. Two sets one for each of us. Solid ones, too. Yeah, this guy was a real stand-up citizen.
As I'm leaving...? Are you serious? I heft the bladed weapons in my left
arm and remove the new toy from it's container. And he kept it loaded. Fuck, I
thought I was nuts. This guy was a complete loon! Love and kisses, dude. Sorry
you're dead. I rush out and toss the last of my acquisitions into the back seat,
still looking everywhere.
My little pal is already in the car, the engine running and she's sitting
with ammo and magazines at the ready. Wow. She learns fast. She's going to do
fine.
We take a couple of minutes and move around, random directions, just long
enough for her to hash-tag as much ammo as she can so she can load my gun, one
of it's twins, and two of the snub-nose .22's. While she does this, I'm drilling
into her head how to shoot. Snubs aren't for long range, but damned good for
close quarters. What to aim at, and if she had to, how to drive one of the
long-bladed knives she snagged under the chin and into the brain of her
opponent.
"Jesus! What are you, fucking Rambo?" She asked me, her face open with
surprise and disgust.
"Nah. Chuck Norris. Pleased to meet you," I quipped. She looked at me
with that look. You know the one. Right, that "Are you serious?" look. I just
smiled back at her and she giggled.
"I'm Mark. Mark Stolhaus," I offered to her. A bit late, yeah, but you
know what? Everything in it's place and time.
"Candace Mitterstone. Hi," She giggled again, holding out her hand. We
shook, and laughed. Finally. It feels pretty good to laugh after everything that
(whoops! another one bites the dust under my wheels) has happened over the past
twenty-four hours.
I find that I've swung us south and were approaching Vegas Boulevard. I take a moment and then
decide, fuck it. Smith's is near-by and we can grab food and water. We have
enough weaponry to hold up the Federal Reserve, so I think we'll be okay. I
cross the street, and into the parking lot. No resistance. Candace sorted
everything in the back so I can reach it if I need to, and she's done it
neatly. Maybe I was a little rough on her before. Well, we'll see. Now comes
the real test.
"Okay, stay close. You have your own guns now, don't be afraid to use
'em. If you have to, drop whatever you have and start shooting, and speak up.
You're my eyes and I'm yours. We work together and we'll do just fine," again
more orders. Shit, I should have been a frigging general by now. Oh well.
We move cautiously into the grocery store. It's deathly quiet. Ha ha. Get
it? Deathly...whatever. Screw you.
One cart from the corral, and we're off. Canned goods. The pasta stuff
will do. Water, about six flats. Some sodas, first aid stuff, look around -
still quiet - peanut butter, crackers, canned veggies, beans, bread, and out. Wow. That was fast, and no boogums to bother us. Huh. Someone's looking after us.
Whatever. Load load load load! Done and off we go again. Minding the
speed, and keeping off of the side streets, where the concentration of the flesh
eaters seem to be. Of course, they'd be where all the people are. That means
that the strip, if logic holds, is a zombie smorgasbord, now. No matter, we're
heading out.
"Hey! Hey Mark, listen!" Candace is excited, now. Good news, I hope.
I listen in to the message over the radio. Safety and evacuations at
Nellis! Holy shit, we're saved! Wait, what? No! We have minutes to get there!
Twenty minutes. I can make that with time to spare. They say that the last of
the evacuations are now, and the last of the helicopter squadrons was taking
what civilians they could (of course, forget using the big-ass planes fully
fueled on the concourses. But then, they're probably unsafe and full of brain
eaters.) Shit.
"Hold on, we're going to fly. Keep loading those things, we have maybe
ten to fifteen before we get there," I grumble at Candace. She's been at it
since we took off, so there's apparently not much for her to do, now, other than
pack toys into the harnesses and the harnesses into the vests. She's into it,
now. It's good to know that she's resourceful when she needs to
be.
"I know. I was just thinking. We put on our vests and carry what we can,
I put some first aid stuff in the belt pouches. I figured we might need it. All
of the clips are full just like you told me, and they're all in pouches, too.
The big guns have full clips except those, "she explained, pointing to the
shotguns, " and I put some food and water into our backpacks. The only other
thing I didn't do was touch that...whatever it is, on the floor. Oh, and I took
out the towels from the backpacks. We needed the space."
"Take one, drape it on your neck. Keep it. You'll need it," I ordered. My
tone was probably a little too snarly, but I'm not abandoning my towel!
It took us exactly twelve minutes from where the message ended and began
to repeat itself, to the west gate of Nellis Air Force Base. Just as the voice
described, they had armed fortifications set up around the helicopters, many of
which were taking off. There were a few cars and trucks coming through with us,
and it looked as though there would be space for everybody.
Boy was I wrong. Of the five that were still on the ground, two were just
lifting off, and the other three were becoming surrounded by cars. I gunned it
and came to a screeching halt near the one to my left, still mostly unoccupied.
"Get out! Grab your shit and go! Run!" I howled at Candace as I'm hopping
out and grabbing my gear. And my towel. And beat feet for the helicopter.
Candace is already on board and getting strapped in, thanks to being at least
twenty years my junior. Good. I'm about to step onto the strut when I feel a
hand push me at my chest and onto my ass. What the-?
I look up into the open side portal and see a face I never expected. My
ex-boss is sitting at the outer seat, a huge, smug, shit-sucking sneer on his face.
"Doug Lane, you worthless fucking prick!" I bellow at the
top of my lungs. Son-of-a-bitch was such a coward to send a flunky to fire my ass after that douchenozzle took credit for the work I did, instead of doing the deed himself. Thanks to that low-rent fuck I had just gotten a shit job and was moving up when those things showed up. Oh yeah, I owed that fucker a lot!.
And there he goes. The last helicopter to take off. With Candace laying on the tarmac just feet from me. Fuck my life. No. Wait.
As the helicopter slowly lifts off and heads north, it starts wobbling erratically. Well, shit. They got one of those monsters on board. Breaks my frigging heart. I take my special toy from my back seat. I've used these before in Desert Storm. Easy to operate. I just have to make sure I judge my distance right. And a moving object is a little tougher to hit with this.
"Candace! Get your fucking ass back into the car! NOW!" I roar as I bring my weapon to bear.
Ugh, it's heaver than I remember. I check the reticule, aim, and FIRE!
Acrid smoke fills my nostrils as the RPG exits the barrel with a loud,
"FWOOSH-ing" noise. It takes only a couple of seconds before it impacts into the
hull of the helicopter, blowing it wide open port-side just in front of the
tail. A second later, another explosion, blowing the thing to shrapnel and
bar-b-que. I'm blown backwards from the concussion, chunks of flaming metal
flying past me and my car. Orange and purple lights dance in my vision and I can
feel more laughter erupting in my chest evilly. I get up, shake my vision clear
and take one glance at the blazing debris I just created.
Poor Candace. I feel rotten for destroying her best chance to get the fuck out of here and to safety. Now she's stuck with me, and damn it she ripped her skirt. Striped knickers barely covering her...well, maybe this won't be so bad, after all.
As for you, Doug Lane, you useless rectal wart twat waffle. I'll see you in hell.
I hop into my car, back out and screech the tires back out the gate. The
HMMWV's protecting those running to safety were heading away and were turning
north as I reach the gate. I'm following these guys, taking inventory of the
gear in the back seat. One Car-15, both shotguns, all three .357's, two of the
.22's, and the .40's. I have a ton of ammo, a lot of it loaded into magazines,
and food to last me for weeks on my own. Not too bad. If I hang with these
soldiers to wherever they're going, I should be fine.
I allow myself the time to reflect over the past few hours. I've been an
absolute bastard. Looting the gun shop, the grocery store. Making poor Candace
work her ass off to ensure our survival. Now I'm feeling like shit. Of course.
Did I become one of those people I used to bust for looting? Was I just as bad
as they were? Then I thought, the city was overrun by undead, flesh-eating crap-heads, survival was necessary. I look at the gentle little flower next to me. Well, at least she's still in good hands.
Would I do it all over again? Should I have just taken off out of the city when
I had the chance? Yeah, I should have. So much time wasted, thinking we both
would have gotten out cleanly.
Then the thought of Doug Lane's asshole shooting through his brain in a fiery
explosion flashes through my sick little mind, and then the world seemed a little brighter.
After almost twenty-five minutes of driving, and far, far from Las Vegas, stealth bombers fly overhead and within five additional minutes, the lights of Vegas flare one
last time in a gigantic ball, followed by a mushroom cloud. The inside of my car
lights up like the sun shining in for a moment, then dissipates. Shortly after,
a slight rumble and shaking of the ground, accompanied by a weak cloud of dust
rumbles past. The radio becomes static for a moment, but then returns. The voice
on the other end is calling for all civilian survivors to head north to a rally
point 150 miles north and west of Las Vegas.
Huh. I've always wanted to visit Area 51. Looks like I'll get my chance. Plus, I have a stunning little miss by my side.
And you know what? I have my towel, so it's all good.
***
"Okay, just listen," I whispered to the trembling little flower huddled
with me in the garbage cubby, "just do as you're told and we'll both live this
out. I need your help, okay?" I'm already hot, sweating my nuts off, and
listening to this girl's whimpering is driving me crazy. I wish she would shut
the hell up so she doesn't attract those...things.
Her shoulder-length brown tresses, once luxurious - now matted and
stringy, was brushed from her face, her eyes wide with fear, "Help? How can I
help? I can't do anything!" Fucking hell, she's whiney! At one time,
I probably would have wanted to do all sorts of things to her, but now,
in all honesty, I should just leave her stupid ass to those things roaming
around, but damn it, I'm not like that.
"Look, just do what you're told, stay as close as you can to me, and I
promise, I'll see that you make it out of this alive," I sighed at her. I took a
moment to look into her blue eyes, thought how beautiful she was, and wished I
hadn't pulled her from that limo before the flesh-eaters had swarmed over it.
She nodded, the dunce, and hefted the backpack I loaded with supplies,
clothes, and a couple of towels (hey, you aren't completely prepared without
your towel, Douglas Adams taught me that) and crouched low, ready to run.
I hope she remembers to fucking stay close, because this was going to be
simple. Just run out of the dumpster space, book like motherfuckers to my car,
and take off like our asses were on fire. This should go off without a hitch.
They hated the daylight, of all things. Some still shambled around during the
daytime, and the rest, it's like they were vampires or something. So running in
the middle of the Nevada afternoon was in our favor. Fuck, I
don't know. All I know is that I hate the smelly bastards, and I want to get
going.
"Okay, ready, steady, GO!" I whispered at her. I led the two of us along,
not running, but dragging her behind me. And then she
trips.
"Fuck!" I scramble back and heft her under my good arm while I keep my
eyes moving, looking for one of them to come along and, yeah, right on
schedule. I feel the jolt in my
arm, but not hear a sound as the .40 round rockets from the barrel and into the
head of my target. The back of his...it's...head bursts outward explosively
right before it falls to the ground. Gotta love that survivalist stuff you used
to be able to find on the internet. Of course it never hurt that you wrote a
bunch of that in the first place.
So, I stay at the ready, lug this deadweight idiot to my car and stand
her up, commanding the twit, "Take my keys, the round one, unlock the door, push
the door button, sit your ass inside and shut your door. Can you handle that?"
She nodded her head, so I let her go, and then get back to scanning our
surroundings. She took my keys, and did everything she was told. I run to the
driver's side and pull the door handle. Of course, the dumb-shit locked the
door behind her. I put my back to the car and keep scanning, pistol at the
ready and knock on the door. Hopefully she will
understand.
The lock clicks and I drop my ruck in the back seat, shut the door, get
in, shut and relock, and then get the key in the ignition. I take a quick moment
to look at her as the car roars to life.
"How the fuck did you survive to be as old as you are?"
She's about to say something when I throw the car into reverse, back out
and then set us forward. I'm not going to be nice on the road, so I mentally get
myself prepared to be running motherfuckers over, undead or not. If they're out,
and they are just shuffling along, and in my way, they're hamburger.
I take the corner out of the apartment complex, and then the one to the
street without slowing down. Fuck the stop sign, I run it, too, hang a left and
we're moving. It's weird. I see maybe one or two of the flesh eaters, but that's
pretty much it. They're all inside wherever they wound up and are...what? Damned if I know. It just makes getting the hell out of Vegas that much easier.
"Turn on the radio, try to find something like a news cast or something
official. There might be instructions on what to do," I ordered the girl to my
right. She's trembling and damned near on the verge of...never mind. She's
blubbering now. Shit.
"Look, I'm sorry for being so mean to you, okay? We really don't have
time or the stuff to fart around. The world might be finished, but there's going
to be safe havens somewhere. I promised I would make sure you lived, and I plan
on keeping that promise," I explained, looking into her eyes every so often to
hammer my point home. She was mopping her face with some kleenexes and nodding
her head.
"I, I know. I'm just so, I dunno...confused? What happened, anyway? I was
with my girlfriends for my friend, Cindy's, bachelorette party and then those
zombie-things were killing everybody. And then you," she holds my free hand,
"you came and saved me before they got me, too." Yeah, here come the doe eyes.
Damn, I hate it when girls do that.
"Your friends...you know there was nothing I could do for them, right?
They were dead once the car got overloaded. I wish I could have saved them, I
really do." No lie. There's nothing worse than the screams of fear, ever.
Panama, Desert Storm, and Italy showed me that. Decades later,
I still wake up, drenched in sweat after the nightmares. The only good thing
from that, it kept me sharp and my skills fairly active.
I kept driving, and then I saw it. Salvation! I heave the wheel to the
right, avoid the median by millimeters and come to a screeching halt in front of
a gun store. I hate guns. They're loud, noisy, clumsy, and need too much to keep
working. Today, however, a gun store, with the darkened windows smashed out are
just the thing I need. I make a quickie three-pointer and back in right in front
of the missing window.
"Stay close. We 're going in. The more guns the better, What I want you
to do is listen and take the things I tell you to. We're going to load up, and
then food. Okay?" I'm sounding bossy, but who cares. I didn't spend my entire
life working protective services and law enforcement to be caught with my pants
down.
I'm moving at tactical speed. Scan, move, scan, move. I can sense her
right behind me. Good. No, wait. Boom - Headshot. NOW it's good. Dropping these
monsters is easy. Just remember, head shot will drop a flesh eater - preferably
take their entire head off. It's messy, but it works.
We're inside now, clear in front. Clear behind the counter. Back room.
Hell yeah. Luck is on my side for a change. Back out to the front. I shoot out
the locks from the gun racks and the ammo cabinets. Let's see. You know I've
never been much of a shopper. I grab a couple of CAR-15's and tell my companion
to grab magazines that say CAR-15 and ammo that has either .223 or 5.56 on them.
Good girl. She knows her numbers. Maybe giving her something to do is
helping.
Oh, great. My little helper. Perfect. This should be fun. I'm forming an
attachment. Knowing my luck, I'll probably do something insulting like pat her
on the head or scratch her behind the ears.
I keep going, a couple of twelve-gauge pumps, four more pistols identical
to my Sturm Ruger .40, a trio of .357's (I'm a Sturm Ruger fan, so the GP100 is
mine, by the way), a couple of .38's with 4 inch barrels, and their only four
snub nose pistols, .22's. As I go, I'm barking out the ammo we'll need and my
girl Friday grabs exactly what she's told, all of it. She's doing better. I have
her grab knives, load-bearing equipment, holsters, vests, and harnesses to throw
in the car. She's going to have a lot of work to do in the car once we get
going. Eh, she can handle it. I just hope her thumbs can handle loading those
magazines. Speed loaders, grab those too, hun! Good girl.
I do a quick scan of the back room. Huh, sword freak, too. Good ones, not
the pre-fab alloy ones. Oh, I like this guy. Katanas, and a couple more medieval
toys are mine, now. Oops, wait, the naginata comes, too. And the escrima sticks. Two sets one for each of us. Solid ones, too. Yeah, this guy was a real stand-up citizen.
As I'm leaving...? Are you serious? I heft the bladed weapons in my left
arm and remove the new toy from it's container. And he kept it loaded. Fuck, I
thought I was nuts. This guy was a complete loon! Love and kisses, dude. Sorry
you're dead. I rush out and toss the last of my acquisitions into the back seat,
still looking everywhere.
My little pal is already in the car, the engine running and she's sitting
with ammo and magazines at the ready. Wow. She learns fast. She's going to do
fine.
We take a couple of minutes and move around, random directions, just long
enough for her to hash-tag as much ammo as she can so she can load my gun, one
of it's twins, and two of the snub-nose .22's. While she does this, I'm drilling
into her head how to shoot. Snubs aren't for long range, but damned good for
close quarters. What to aim at, and if she had to, how to drive one of the
long-bladed knives she snagged under the chin and into the brain of her
opponent.
"Jesus! What are you, fucking Rambo?" She asked me, her face open with
surprise and disgust.
"Nah. Chuck Norris. Pleased to meet you," I quipped. She looked at me
with that look. You know the one. Right, that "Are you serious?" look. I just
smiled back at her and she giggled.
"I'm Mark. Mark Stolhaus," I offered to her. A bit late, yeah, but you
know what? Everything in it's place and time.
"Candace Mitterstone. Hi," She giggled again, holding out her hand. We
shook, and laughed. Finally. It feels pretty good to laugh after everything that
(whoops! another one bites the dust under my wheels) has happened over the past
twenty-four hours.
I find that I've swung us south and were approaching Vegas Boulevard. I take a moment and then
decide, fuck it. Smith's is near-by and we can grab food and water. We have
enough weaponry to hold up the Federal Reserve, so I think we'll be okay. I
cross the street, and into the parking lot. No resistance. Candace sorted
everything in the back so I can reach it if I need to, and she's done it
neatly. Maybe I was a little rough on her before. Well, we'll see. Now comes
the real test.
"Okay, stay close. You have your own guns now, don't be afraid to use
'em. If you have to, drop whatever you have and start shooting, and speak up.
You're my eyes and I'm yours. We work together and we'll do just fine," again
more orders. Shit, I should have been a frigging general by now. Oh well.
We move cautiously into the grocery store. It's deathly quiet. Ha ha. Get
it? Deathly...whatever. Screw you.
One cart from the corral, and we're off. Canned goods. The pasta stuff
will do. Water, about six flats. Some sodas, first aid stuff, look around -
still quiet - peanut butter, crackers, canned veggies, beans, bread, and out. Wow. That was fast, and no boogums to bother us. Huh. Someone's looking after us.
Whatever. Load load load load! Done and off we go again. Minding the
speed, and keeping off of the side streets, where the concentration of the flesh
eaters seem to be. Of course, they'd be where all the people are. That means
that the strip, if logic holds, is a zombie smorgasbord, now. No matter, we're
heading out.
"Hey! Hey Mark, listen!" Candace is excited, now. Good news, I hope.
I listen in to the message over the radio. Safety and evacuations at
Nellis! Holy shit, we're saved! Wait, what? No! We have minutes to get there!
Twenty minutes. I can make that with time to spare. They say that the last of
the evacuations are now, and the last of the helicopter squadrons was taking
what civilians they could (of course, forget using the big-ass planes fully
fueled on the concourses. But then, they're probably unsafe and full of brain
eaters.) Shit.
"Hold on, we're going to fly. Keep loading those things, we have maybe
ten to fifteen before we get there," I grumble at Candace. She's been at it
since we took off, so there's apparently not much for her to do, now, other than
pack toys into the harnesses and the harnesses into the vests. She's into it,
now. It's good to know that she's resourceful when she needs to
be.
"I know. I was just thinking. We put on our vests and carry what we can,
I put some first aid stuff in the belt pouches. I figured we might need it. All
of the clips are full just like you told me, and they're all in pouches, too.
The big guns have full clips except those, "she explained, pointing to the
shotguns, " and I put some food and water into our backpacks. The only other
thing I didn't do was touch that...whatever it is, on the floor. Oh, and I took
out the towels from the backpacks. We needed the space."
"Take one, drape it on your neck. Keep it. You'll need it," I ordered. My
tone was probably a little too snarly, but I'm not abandoning my towel!
It took us exactly twelve minutes from where the message ended and began
to repeat itself, to the west gate of Nellis Air Force Base. Just as the voice
described, they had armed fortifications set up around the helicopters, many of
which were taking off. There were a few cars and trucks coming through with us,
and it looked as though there would be space for everybody.
Boy was I wrong. Of the five that were still on the ground, two were just
lifting off, and the other three were becoming surrounded by cars. I gunned it
and came to a screeching halt near the one to my left, still mostly unoccupied.
"Get out! Grab your shit and go! Run!" I howled at Candace as I'm hopping
out and grabbing my gear. And my towel. And beat feet for the helicopter.
Candace is already on board and getting strapped in, thanks to being at least
twenty years my junior. Good. I'm about to step onto the strut when I feel a
hand push me at my chest and onto my ass. What the-?
I look up into the open side portal and see a face I never expected. My
ex-boss is sitting at the outer seat, a huge, smug, shit-sucking sneer on his face.
"Doug Lane, you worthless fucking prick!" I bellow at the
top of my lungs. Son-of-a-bitch was such a coward to send a flunky to fire my ass after that douchenozzle took credit for the work I did, instead of doing the deed himself. Thanks to that low-rent fuck I had just gotten a shit job and was moving up when those things showed up. Oh yeah, I owed that fucker a lot!.
And there he goes. The last helicopter to take off. With Candace laying on the tarmac just feet from me. Fuck my life. No. Wait.
As the helicopter slowly lifts off and heads north, it starts wobbling erratically. Well, shit. They got one of those monsters on board. Breaks my frigging heart. I take my special toy from my back seat. I've used these before in Desert Storm. Easy to operate. I just have to make sure I judge my distance right. And a moving object is a little tougher to hit with this.
"Candace! Get your fucking ass back into the car! NOW!" I roar as I bring my weapon to bear.
Ugh, it's heaver than I remember. I check the reticule, aim, and FIRE!
Acrid smoke fills my nostrils as the RPG exits the barrel with a loud,
"FWOOSH-ing" noise. It takes only a couple of seconds before it impacts into the
hull of the helicopter, blowing it wide open port-side just in front of the
tail. A second later, another explosion, blowing the thing to shrapnel and
bar-b-que. I'm blown backwards from the concussion, chunks of flaming metal
flying past me and my car. Orange and purple lights dance in my vision and I can
feel more laughter erupting in my chest evilly. I get up, shake my vision clear
and take one glance at the blazing debris I just created.
Poor Candace. I feel rotten for destroying her best chance to get the fuck out of here and to safety. Now she's stuck with me, and damn it she ripped her skirt. Striped knickers barely covering her...well, maybe this won't be so bad, after all.
As for you, Doug Lane, you useless rectal wart twat waffle. I'll see you in hell.
I hop into my car, back out and screech the tires back out the gate. The
HMMWV's protecting those running to safety were heading away and were turning
north as I reach the gate. I'm following these guys, taking inventory of the
gear in the back seat. One Car-15, both shotguns, all three .357's, two of the
.22's, and the .40's. I have a ton of ammo, a lot of it loaded into magazines,
and food to last me for weeks on my own. Not too bad. If I hang with these
soldiers to wherever they're going, I should be fine.
I allow myself the time to reflect over the past few hours. I've been an
absolute bastard. Looting the gun shop, the grocery store. Making poor Candace
work her ass off to ensure our survival. Now I'm feeling like shit. Of course.
Did I become one of those people I used to bust for looting? Was I just as bad
as they were? Then I thought, the city was overrun by undead, flesh-eating crap-heads, survival was necessary. I look at the gentle little flower next to me. Well, at least she's still in good hands.
Would I do it all over again? Should I have just taken off out of the city when
I had the chance? Yeah, I should have. So much time wasted, thinking we both
would have gotten out cleanly.
Then the thought of Doug Lane's asshole shooting through his brain in a fiery
explosion flashes through my sick little mind, and then the world seemed a little brighter.
After almost twenty-five minutes of driving, and far, far from Las Vegas, stealth bombers fly overhead and within five additional minutes, the lights of Vegas flare one
last time in a gigantic ball, followed by a mushroom cloud. The inside of my car
lights up like the sun shining in for a moment, then dissipates. Shortly after,
a slight rumble and shaking of the ground, accompanied by a weak cloud of dust
rumbles past. The radio becomes static for a moment, but then returns. The voice
on the other end is calling for all civilian survivors to head north to a rally
point 150 miles north and west of Las Vegas.
Huh. I've always wanted to visit Area 51. Looks like I'll get my chance. Plus, I have a stunning little miss by my side.
And you know what? I have my towel, so it's all good.