Empire Of Salt (32 page)

"
These
are my friends," Metzger growled, as the barrel of the gun pushed him into line with the others.

"I meant the ones you traveled in with. The other junkies. We have a place for you, you know?"

"I think I'll pass."

Hopkins shrugged. "Like you ever had a choice."

Deputy Todrunner spat out blood. "So what they told me about you is true."

"They told you I'm a loyal patriot? They told you I'm working for the greater good, getting rid of some of our problems at the same time I'm advancing our space program?" Hopkins held out his arms. "They explained that I was a cultural multitasker, able to help the future while cleansing our past?" Hopkins regarded his prisoners melodramatically. "They shouldn't have. What a nice bunch of troublemakers they turned out to be."

"No. That you're a murderer."

"What words you use." Hopkins's eyes narrowed. "You're a yokel. You've no idea how high this goes, how important this project is."

The deputy was about to answer when they heard a strange sound. It was a song Metzger had heard before, but never quite like he was hearing it now.

The lyrics spoke of lonely streets and heartbreak hotels.

The staccato sounds of automatic gunfire interrupted the accented Elvis dirge as three of the black-clad soldiers turned and fired, but there was nothing to fire at. Instead, they went down as shots came from everywhere, punching crimson-flecked holes in their bodies.

"What the fuck?" Hopkins whirled around, only to witness seven heavily-armed locals leaving their hiding places and fanning towards them in a tightly-disciplined formation.

Leading them was the Romanian ex-Freedom fighter, an AK_47 held in his hands like it was an old friend. He wore a black, bell-bottomed tuxedo with flared sleeves. With him were the Duvall Brothers, Jimbo Becker, Frank Gillespie, Reginald Johnson and Columbus Williams. Each of them carried a hunting rifle, which they pointed at each of the remaining soldiers.

Metzger took advantage of the confusion and hurriedly grabbed a rifle from one of the dead soldiers; an M249 light machine gun. He'd carried one with him his entire last tour in Iraq.

He locked and loaded, cradling the rifle like a lover. The sound reached Hopkins's ears. He turned and sneered. "You won't be getting very far with that."

Metzger ignored them and waved for Veronica, Natasha, Auntie Lin and Derrick to follow him. He got them to the edge of a nearby trailer before all hell broke loose.

Two more black-clad soldiers had been hiding in the rear of one of the Suburbans. They'd been able to slide around the back of the vehicle unseen and now opened fire on the Romanian Elvis and his rag-tag team of protectors. Metzger had escorted the others away in the nick of time, as a free-for-all broke out between the groups.

It happened so quickly - Metzger saw the light go out of the Romanian Elvis's eyes just as he fired a round into Hopkins's unprotected leg.

Hopkins shrieked in pain, from where he lay on the ground. He held out a pistol in a shaking grip until it was trained on Deputy Todrunner's forehead. Blood bubbles burst from the deputy's mouth, his breathing labored as his chest hitched. He was the worse-off of the two, but he wouldn't need to worry much longer. Hopkins pulled the trigger, his 9mm bullet slamming into the law official's brain and out the other side in a hideous spray of gore.

After that all was quiet, except the sound of wind and rain from TS Hiawatha.

Metzger didn't pause to see who had survived, turning to push the others forward. He was back in Iraq, bad guys lurking around every corner and a squad he'd get home if it killed him. He took the lead and ordered the others to stay close.

No one said a word.

The look in his eyes was grim determination.

Fucking gook zombie
bastard
had got him. He felt the monster badness course through him. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he'd end up like the monster he'd trapped in the trailer - the one that got him. And the worst part about it was that he couldn't work the damn shotgun well enough to blow his own fool head off.

A bottle of 10 year old scotch sat on the table beside his useless 12 gauge, and a glass of the warm brown liquor rested in the hooks of his left hand. He lifted the glass, let the scotch scorch his throat, and in a fit of anger, crushed the glass with the hooks.

He could do almost anything with these damned things except kill himself. He couldn't slit his wrists because he didn't have any to slit. He didn't have any pills around that were useful for that sort of thing, and even if he did, he doubted that he'd decide to end things that way. Somehow, after surviving the way he had and fighting all of these years it seemed like a coward's way out.

No, he wanted to blow his head off, only he couldn't manage to point the weapon at his head and pull the trigger at the same time. A mad, angry part of Gerald believed that it had been a special intention of the prosthetics' makers to create hooks incapable of holding a gun properly for suicide. For a brief scotch-fueled second he entertained killing every hook maker on the planet, if only he could get them in the same room.

He returned to his fugue.

So what was he going to do?

Anger flooded him.

Fucking gook bastards!

His right arm shot across the table, clearing everything from it, smashing the bottle on the floor and spraying what was left of the scotch on the cupboards. Shards of glass ricocheted all the way into the living room.

He remembered the mad hunger in the zombie's eyes as he'd stood before it. Gerald climbed to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. He'd left the light on. Staring at himself in the mirror, he could see the whites around his blue eyes dissolving and yellow creeping in.

To think that he'd escaped countless of the yellow bastards in Korea only to have them now infiltrate from within. He roared into the mirror. Liking the sound of it, he roared again.

What had they called it,
The Yellow Peril
?

"I got your yellow peril!" he screamed.

Then he paused.

Was he thinking clearly? Were his thoughts right or was he drunk or yellow or monstrous? Then he thought of that girl... what was her name? Her father had gone missing and he'd offered to help her. He giggled. Maybe after he was a zombie, he could go undercover and infiltrate the zombie stronghold.

But then he roared again and the roaring made him feel good.

He glared into the mirror and beheld his yellow eyes. His skin had turned shades of green and he hated green. He hated green almost as much as he hated yellow.

Roar!

He lurched into the hallway.

He felt the last vestiges of his humanity being consumed by something dark and beautiful. He didn't want to be a zombie but he knew he couldn't stop it. He raked the wall with one of his hooks, the metal slicing through the wood like it was butter.

Roar!

Roar!

The hunger ruled him and took him outside in search of something to feed upon.

T
he rain had redoubled and now pummeled the town as if to see the place scoured clean. But Bombay Beach couldn't be purged. The town was a great, gargantuan beast brought down before its prime, whose salt-encrusted skeleton had been grown-upon; the houses barnacles, the roads algae, the people mites. And the garbage strewn everywhere was a cancer, sending deep roots into the land. The town was a cosmic road kill, laid low in the desert of a backwater planet by the vicissitudes of a star-crossed providence and a roomful of government hacks, eager to cut corners and touch Heaven the easy way.

Metzger, Veronica and Natasha tore down the street. Derrick pulled Auntie Lin behind him, tottering as quickly as she could on her small legs. When she slipped or slid on the wet road, he held her up and kept her from falling. Everyone knew that they had to keep moving. The wind whipped away their tears as all eyes were upon the neon sign of the Space Station, the closest place that would provide any modicum of safety.

They passed the Laundromat first. Its windows were lit like bug lights in the night. Two of Carrie's children had their noses pressed wetly against the glass, watching Metzger and the others rush past. Back in the recesses, Carrie stood behind a double row of top-load washers, her arms crossed, frowning at the glass and the storm raging outside.

When they reached the restaurant, Metzger braced against the door and checked behind them as one by one the others filed inside. When they were all in, he took a good long look through the rain and, seeing nothing, backed into the restaurant.

"There you are." Maude was putting food in coolers- sandwiches, hotdogs, cheese and the like. "I'd thought I'd make everyone something before I left."

Derrick stood looking around. If there was ever a moment when he needed his mother, this was one of them. He looked lost, and Maude rushed around the counter and gathered him into her arms. He clutched her tightly.

Maude glanced at the others. "What happened?"

"Hopkins and his goons," Metzger said. "Todrunner tried to save us, but we were ambushed."

"What?" Maude shook her head. "Is this true?"

They all nodded.

"What happened to Will?" Maude asked. She looked to Natasha for an answer.

"He's dead. And so are the others. Elvis, the Duvalls, Frank, Columbus, Jimbo and Reginald."

"All of them?" Maude's hand flew to her mouth. "Are you kidding me?"

Natasha shook her head and cast her eyes to the floor.

Auntie Lin walked up to Derrick, drew him to a table and sat down with him. She put her arms around his shoulders as he lay his head in the cradle of his arms.

"Hopkins snapped," Metzger began. "He had his men take everyone out. The last thing I saw was him blowing the deputy's brains out."

"How did you get away?"

"Metzger took over and saved us," Natasha said. "We came straight here."

"They weren't following you, were they?" Maude ran to the front window and peered out.

"There's no one left to follow us. Hopkins was badly wounded. I think most of his men were dead."

Maude ran back to the counter. "We've got to get out of here."

"How?" Metzger said.

"By boat. Lu Shu has it arranged. He used to be a maintenance worker in the plant when we were running full steam ahead. He always has a boat ready in case we need to escape.

"Lu shu?" Auntie Lin asked.

Maude nodded.

Natasha remembered her Auntie and the small Chinese man rattling off Chinese the other day. She'd asked her what they'd talked about, and Auntie Lin had said something about Lu Shu being from one of the Western Provinces of China. Although she said it with a sneer, there was no denying the twinkle in the woman's eyes at being able to talk to someone from her homeland.

"But the water's dangerous. The zombies come from the water," Veronica said, glancing at the others for agreement.

Maude shook her head. "They can't swim. Whatever else they can do, the zombies
cannot
swim. Get in a boat and you'll be safe."

"Why not just find a car?" Auntie Lin asked.