All That I See - 02 (36 page)

My new ass-kicking truck had a few scars, but I didn’t see any major damage. Even the tires were fine, which surprised me. I’d lost the chrome bull’s scrotum. I could hear Corndog’s voice in my head saying,
“They done blowed off my nuts and ever’thang!”

There was another shot from the cannon, but I couldn’t tell what had been targeted. I didn’t need to be anywhere near that thing, so I decided to get away from there for a while and come back later. Maybe by then, they would have used up all their shells.

I didn’t go back to the stables. Instead, I drove out to the east side of town and parked on the bypass in the exact spot where Jen had been shot so I could hear when they were done shooting. I could have probably driven out to Blaine’s; I remember hearing the fireworks going off in Clayfield a couple of years before from Blaine’s when I was there for his Fourth of July cookout, and I thought I should be able to hear the tank from there. But that intersection was a good location, because it gave me four escape routes. I doubted I was out of range over there, but really I didn’t know how far those tanks could shoot. If they hit me there, it would have been accidentally.

The cannon went off. I started counting between rounds to see how long it took them to reload. I got up to thirty, and they fired again. I counted up to ten and another round went off. I didn’t know anything about tanks except what I’d seen in movies. Maybe they didn’t have to reload maybe it was automatic—

Another round interrupted my thoughts.

They shelled the north end of Clayfield for the next half hour, averaging two every minute. I hated to think what that end of town might have looked like when they were done, but I could see the black smoke billowing up over the tree line, and I knew it wouldn’t be good.

Then it was quiet. I gave them another half hour before going to take a look. I went in the same way I had before. They had moved closer to Clayfield’s downtown and had parked on the bridge that rises up over the railroad tracks, near the historic Sons of the Confederacy Cemetery. That put them about six blocks north of the museum.

I parked about halfway between the museum and the bridge. I had a limited view, and I was hoping their view of me was just as limited and that they wouldn’t notice me. They were still surrounded by hundreds of creatures, which were crowding onto the bridge and even spilling over the side, falling to the tracks below. The hatch was open on the top of the tank, and there were two guys sitting on top. It looked like they were sharing a bottle and maybe having a sandwich. They were not the least bit concerned about
the
groping zombies reaching for them. They couldn’t see or hear me.

At the entrance to the cemetery, another truck was parked. Two armed men were leaning against it, talking. I wished I had brought along one of the hunting rifles that had a scope so I could get a better look…and a better shot. They had fired on me, so I knew they weren’t friendly.

I hadn’t tested the AR-15, but I could move a little close
r
to make sure the men were all in range, and I thought I could hit them. The only problem was that I could shoot one, maybe two, but I wouldn’t get all four. Also, what if there was another one down in the belly of that tank? What if there were more parked around town? While I was considering my options, one of the men on the tank took a wallop from the bottle, passed it over to his friend, and then got on the belt-fed, mounted machine gun.

C
hng-chng-chng-chgung! Chng-chng
-chng-chgung! Chng-chng-chng-chgung!

Black and red zombie gore filled the air like fog. The creatures jerked and splattered and piled up around the tank. Every time there was a pause from the gunfire, I could hear whoops from the four m
en. I saw it as an opportunity.
I got out and ran toward them, taking cover behind a parked car in the street. I steadied myself on the hood of the car and took aim at the man nearest the cemetery.

The belt snaked into the tank’s machine gun.
Chng-chng-chng-chng-chgung!
  I pulled my trigger. The man collapsed in a heap by his truck. His friend noticed him fall, but didn’t know what had happened.

The machine gun continued.
Chng-chng-chng-chng-chgung!
I took aim and fired. A mist of blood sprayed away from the head of the second man. He dropped to his knees then to his back. I turned my rifle toward the men on the tank. The man on the machine gun was the most distracted, so he would be last. I killed his friend while his head was tilted back for a drink. The man’s body rolled back off the tank and into
the
groping hands of the undead. The gunner turned to help his friend, and I fired again. I hit him in the shoulder. He grabbed it and dropped down inside the tank.

I watched for a while, waiting for him to come out, but he didn’t. Then, after a couple of minutes his hand came out searching for the hatch. I fired at it. He quickly pulled it shut. A minute later, the tank began to move south toward Clayfield, toward
me.

Chapter 43

I ran back to my truck and climbed inside. The tank rolled over bodies—dead and undead—as it approached. The turret was turned so that the cannon was pointed away from me. It looked like he was going to try to ram me. I put the truck in reverse, but before I could get moving, the tank cut hard to the left, ran up over a parked car and stopped.

I shifted the truck into park again. The metal beast was about fifty yards out from me, idling. A few of the zombies that had survived the machine gun began to trickle in, following the tank’s path to join it. I watched them surround it again and waited. Nothing happened. I kept waiting for the guy to crawl out, but the hatch never opened.

I looked past the tank to the entrance to the cemetery and the two men dead by the pickup truck. The zombies weren’t over there, and the men were untouched. Not knowing what to do at the moment, I drove over there. If nothing else, I could get their guns.

I parked close to their bodies and got out. They were some of Wheeler’s men. Both of them had laughed at and cheered for Corndog that afternoon when I was in the cattle trailer. I didn’t understand why they were still on this side of the river. When the guy in the Cincinnati Red’s clothes told me strangers had built the bridge out of barges, I just assumed it must have
been
Wheeler’s gang.

I took their guns and stowed them in my truck, and then I quickly searched their truck for anything useful. I didn’t see anything I wanted except some binoculars and an unopened bottle of cheap red wine.

I looked over at the tank and saw that the hatch door was open on top. I hadn’t been paying attention, and he had opened it while I was distracted. I didn’t know if he had crawled out yet or not, but I doubted he had because the tank was surrounded. I moved to put the truck between me and the tank, and I lifted the AR-15 to my shoulder, ready to fire.

Slowly the man’s head eased out of the hatch. My finger pressed against the trigger, but then I hesitated. There might be a chance that this man had seen Sara and Judy Somerville. He pulled himself up with his good arm until he was sticking out from the waist up. He was obviously addled. The zombies stretched for him and howled. He looked around at them. He reached inside and pulled out a big handgun.

He turned around, assessing his situation. Then his eyes found me. He paused and stared. He swayed a bit, and I thought he might faint. Then his gun came up. I ducked down, and he fired. I heard a
thunk
!
when the bullet hit the side of my truck. He fired again, but it was a complete miss.

I looked over the hood, and he was fidgeting with his gun. I took aim on a zombie and fired. The zombie fell and the man sank down into the tank for cover. I began to pick them off one at a time. The wounded man inside the tank didn’t come out at all for fear of being shot. There were twenty-two zombies over there, and after I’d killed half of them, the turret began to turn. I didn’t know if he had any rounds left for that cannon or if he was bluffing. I thought the latter, because it had taken him so long to decide to do it. Still, I thought it would be prudent to move. I wanted a word with him anyway, so I ran off to the side, then toward the tank.

As I ran, I exchanged magazines on the AR-15 and took out two more zombies. The remaining creatures were on the other side of the tank, and I thought I could climb up on it without having to engage them. When I was about twenty feet away from the machine, and pretty damn close to the business end of the turret, I was knocked off my feet by the concussion of the cannon blast. I landed hard on my back, and my ears were ringing. I twisted on the ground and rubbed the dust from my eyes. My ass-kicking truck looked like…well, it looked like a tank had hit it.

“Bastard,” I said.

I figured he would either be coming out soon or reloading, so I knew I had to act fast. I rolled to my feet and ran as hard as I could at the tank. I climbed up onto the tracks then onto the turret. Once on top, I hunkered down on the back side and waited.

A minute passed and then, cautiously, he peered out of the hatch toward the now destroyed truck. When he was feeling more confident, he pulled himself out farther for a better look. That’s when I planted the muzzle of my rifle against the base of his skull. He was startled and tried to move, but I pushed harder.

“Put your pistol down and climb out,” I said. I was speaking louder than I normally would have because my ears were still ringing from the blast.

He tried to look at me out of the corner of his eye, but I was behind him. I took his handgun and pushed
it
into my belt.

“Do it,” I said. “I could have killed you already if I wanted to. Climb on out.”

Gingerly, he lifted himself out, favoring his wounded shoulder.

“Completely out and have a seat,” I said. He obeyed.

I moved so that I could see his face. It was another of Wheeler’s men.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “Why haven’t you crossed the river?”

He looked at me a moment then seemed to recognize me.

He said something, but he sounded muffled.

“Talk louder!” I said. “I can’t hear you.”

“I said I know you. You’re that fuck that done killed ol’ Corndog.”

“Why are you here?” I said.

“Be alright if I smoke?”

“Answer my questions.”

“Shit, man, if you seen what’s on the other side of the river….” He said, shaking his head and lighting a cigarette.

“Have you seen my friend? Pretty blonde?”

He took a deep drag and grinned through his exhale, “Nah, but she sounds real nice.”

“Why are you in Clayfield?”

“One place is as good as the next,” he shrugged. “This was the easiest place to lure the goons.”

“What do you mean?”

“This ol’ hoss has sure been fun,” he said, patting the tank, “I learned how
to
drive one of these before they sent me to Iraq.” Then he looked up at me, and his eyes narrowed. “You hear what I say, asshole? I’m a gol damned vet’ran. I learned shit in the service. I could take that piece away from you and cut you before you even knowd it. I’m jus’ havin’ a smoke break is all.”

“What do you mean about luring the goons?”

“The damn thing is loud as fuck, ain’t it? We’d fire a couple rounds, then drive a couple miles, fire a couple rounds, drive a couple miles. Hell, I’ll bet every goon in
Riverton
has followed us. I reckon they’ll be comin’ into town in another hour or two. Gayfield is about to get all goon
ed up. That’s what Wheeler likes
to call it--
Gay
field.”

I looked over toward the highway.

“We blowed the hell out of the floodwall too,” he said. “You never seen the like of goons that come over the bridge we built. It was funny as shit.”

“Why?”

“Shit, I do as I’m told. Wheeler is my commandin’ officer, you know? That’s how shit’s gotta be.”

“Where is he? Where’s the rest of your gang?”

“We ain’t no gang,” he sneered. “We’re a unit. I done radioed. Hell, they’re comin’ here to get me. Never leave a man behind, you know? They’re comin’ here to fuck you up….that is if there’s anythang left of you when I’m done.”

“This is what is going to happen,” I said. “You are going to hop down inside this thing, and you’re going to use any shells you have left to destroy that bridge. That should slow up some of the traffic coming in.”

He laughed, “Hell no.”

“Are the creatures from
Riverton
really coming?” I asked.

“I said they were.”

“Then blow up the bridge.”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m going to sit here and smoke and wait on Wheeler. You are in such deep shit. I tell you—“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because I kicked him in the mouth. He rolled backward off the tank to the ground. He started to get up, but I shot him in the knee. He wailed in pain. I stood on the turret and watched the zombies make a meal of him.

While the creatures were distracted, I climbed down on the other side, and made a wide circle around the tank. I would have to take the other dead men’s truck. On my way, I stopped at the smoking remains of the Ram F*ckin’ Fo’ by Fo’ to see if anything in the cab had survived. The truck was on its side. The windshield had been obliterated, so I was able to climb right in. I was surprised to find the bottle of wine unharmed. One of the dead men’s rifles, a .30-30, had survived as well. I took them then I took their truck.