Fire Birds (35 page)

“I told you,” he said. “There isn’t a detonator in the box. It won’t blow without a detonator.”

“You can’t make one?”

“I’m not MacGyver.”

“What if we shoot it?”

“You can shoot it, burn it, throw it around,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. If you want it to explode, you need a detonator. Anyway, if you’re going to try to shoot it to blow him up, why not just shoot him?”

That was disappointing. I was looking forward to seeing the look on Bruce Lee’s baby face when his precious spaceship exploded in his hands. I sighed and went over to my pile of stuff by the wall and picked up the Star Trek model and brought it back to the van.

“Okay then,” I said. “Change of plans. We’ll take it over there and strap it to the hood of the zombiemobile so he can see it. Go get me those bungee cords.”

Tim regarded me for a moment and said, “You mean…you mean like he did with your friend’s head?”

“Sara,” I said. “That was her name. The model is to him what Sara’s head was to me.”

“Man, that’s messed up.”

“She and I had an argument the last time I saw her.” I looked over at Tim, and he had an uneasy look on his face. I said, “You would think we could all learn to be nice to each other, especially now, but we can’t.”

“Everybody is scared and on edge,” he said.

“Everybody is bad,” I said.

I left Tim for a moment and returned with three red bungee cords. I put it all in the van. The spaceship model took up most of the rear seat. When I set it in, two little pieces snapped off.

“I broke it,” I said with a chuckle. “Twenty-five thousand dollars. I hope he’s got insurance.”

“Twenty-five? It’s just a model.”

“It’s more than that.”

Tim grunted his disapproval. He didn’t understand.

“How long would it take after we activate the transponder for the drones to get here?” I asked.

“We’re not activating transponders to kill one guy,” he said. “It’s too risky. You saw what happened in the town. Those things will be better off in the river.”

“How long?”

“Like I told you, they allow some time to pass so a crowd can gather. It could be as little as an hour or as long as twelve hours. There’s no way to know.”

“How do you activate them?”

He shook his head, “I’m not going to show you, not for this.”

“I did it once by accident,” I said. “What if I do it again? You should show me how so I can avoid it.”

“No. If you don’t have one, you won’t accidentally activate it.”

“Are the drones coming out of Fort Campbell?”

“Fort Campbell is gone.”

“Where are they coming from?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Anyway, it isn’t always drones. They’ve got everything going on this.”

“Nukes?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “not nukes, not yet.”

We came into Clayfield from the east then had to skirt around to the south until we found a passable street that would let us out onto the west side of town. The others had already set their trap. We could see a column of black smoke rising.

“They’ll be over on twelfth,” Tim said, “over by the tobacco warehouses and the railroad tracks. They were going to burn some tires in the road to attract attention. They had planned to park the Firebird nearby. When the man came in for the car, they would ambush him.”

“Subtle,” I said.

“As opposed to putting my wife out as bait in a bikini?”

“Well–”

“The warehouses are right on the street,” he said. “They should be able to hem them in. Dan is supposed to be up on the grain elevator on Ann Street in a sniping position. Pastor Andrew and Gail will be in the warehouse closest to Broadway. Nicholas and Laney are supposed to be on the other side of West Broadway by the bus station.”

“In that case,” I said, “we’ll go in through ninth and pull in behind the warehouses on the other side of the tracks on West North Street.”

West North Street ended abruptly at an embankment. To the right were a small, unmarked building and a large gravel lot. On the lot were a tractor-trailer, a forklift, and a dumpster. I pulled into the lot and parked between the tractor-trailer and the building. This mostly shielded us. Ahead and perpendicular to us were two sets of railroad tracks spaced wide apart. Between them, was a low concrete platform. On the other side were the tobacco warehouses on 12th Street.

Even though we could see the smoke, we didn’t have a view of the fire. We could, however, see the Firebird from our location. It was parked off to our right on the other side over at the end of Depot Street, which, like West North Street, officially stopped at the tracks. The only difference being, rather than an embankment to stop traffic from driving out on the rails, the road continued a little farther as a driveway to access the platform between the two lines. Near the Firebird, on the tracks, were four boxcars, and on top of the closest one was Laney wearing a big sunhat and a yellow dress.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “That’s all kinds of subtle.”

“What the hell is she doing up there?” he said. “I told her not to do it.”

“At least she’s not in a swimsuit. It looks like she has visitors.”

He put the binoculars to his eyes. “Ten…no…thirteen goons. She’s not in any danger from them right now, but that could change. I hold you responsible for this. This was your idea.”

“I didn’t think she would actually go along with it. She had a choice.”

“We can’t let anything happen to her,” he said.

We sat there for almost two hours. It was very hot, but we couldn’t turn on the engine and air conditioning because we didn’t want to attract any zombies. The best we could do was let the window down on the passenger side of the vehicle. Meanwhile, the number of Laney’s undead admirers grew to forty-six. The pile of tires burned and smoked. Bruce Lee and his friends had not arrived.

“They’re not going to fall for this,” I said. “They’re probably watching us right now.”

“No shit,” Tim replied. He was in the bench seat behind me, wiping sweat from his face with a bandana. “It was a ridiculous idea to begin with. Laney’s got to be uncomfortable up there. What if she needs to go to the bathroom or something? I’ve had to piss for twenty minutes.”

“I’m tired of waiting,” I said. “I’m going to try and make something happen.”

I got out, slung the AR-15 over my shoulder then walked to the rear of the van.

“Where are you taking it?” he said.

“Where he can see it. The zombies around the train are going to come after me. When they do, get Laney out of there.”

I jogged up and over the embankment and out onto the first set of tracks with that oversized model in my arms. To my left, down the line, was the railroad crossing at West Broadway and another platform near the lumberyard. Ahead and to my right were the train cars, Laney, and the Firebird. Far to my right were warehouses, trees, and train tracks. I still didn’t see Andrew, Gail, or Dan.

Laney watched me in silence, unsure what I was doing. She looked good in the dress; too bad she was such an ugly and deplorable person on the inside. The creatures around her saw me and moved after me. I picked up my pace and cut off to the left. I crossed over the next set of tracks, ran down another embankment and in the narrow space between two warehouses. The zombie mob followed.

The narrow alley let me out onto 12th Street where a pile of tires still burned. There were two zombies there near the fire, seemingly fascinated by it. They were both too close and too hot. Their skin smoked. I took a right so I could get on Depot Street and get the Firebird. The pursuing creatures were momentarily distracted by the fire, which gave me time to gain access to the muscle car.

The long bolt to which Sara’s head had been affixed jutted up from the hood. It was dark and crusty. Flies were everywhere. There was a mounting bracket on the underside of the model. I attempted to slide it down onto the bolt, but the hole was too small. I slammed it down hard and made it fit.

“Oops,” I said. “I broke it again.”

I checked on Laney. She was climbing down the ladder on the side of the car while Tim waited below her. I waved away the flies swarming around the car door and climbed inside. There were two pine tree air-fresheners hanging from the mirror, but they weren’t helping very much. I turned the key and the hotrod rumbled. The zombies heard the engine and spilled onto Depot Street.

I drove over the tracks into the median where the platform was. I would be able to head south between the two sets of track for almost half a mile before they converged at a splitter and became one again. I had my eye on the second platform to the south down by the lumberyard.

Tim and Laney ran back toward the van, and I headed for the second platform. There was a ramp access up on it for dollies and forklifts. The zombies crossed the first set of tracks. Some of them chased Tim and Laney, and some of them chased me. The Firebird fishtailed in the loose rocks between the tracks as I sped to the platform. The spaceship model looked so much bigger out on the hood, as if the car was wearing a giant, gray bowtie.

I ran it fast until the last minute then stomped the brakes and rolled gently up the ramp and onto the platform. Quickly I got out and grabbed my AR-15. I took aim, and fired into the approaching crowd then reached in my pocket and pulled out a transponder. I pushed the button on the side. The screen lit up, giving me two red circles on the screen. I paused and fired three rounds, dropping the closest creatures. I looked at the device again. The LED was still dark. I pushed the second button, but there was no change. I touched the red circles, but nothing happened. I tried pushing the first button a second time. Nothing happened.

“Dammit, work for me, work for me, work for me.”

I moved my fingers over the display. Nothing happened. I fired again and took a quick look toward the tracks and warehouses, hoping to see one of the group coming to assist me. Nobody made an effort to come out of hiding and give me a hand. I pushed the button a third time. Nothing. I flipped it over and over in my hands to see if there was another button I’d missed.

“Screw it.” I dropped it then put the rifle to my shoulder and took out five more of the things that were coming for me. More were coming in from both directions on West Broadway, attracted to my gunfire. I did a quick look around for short stick or piece of wood. Not seeing one close by, I put the butt of the rifle against the car’s horn and wedged in against the seat. The horn blared. I shut the door and pulled my pistol.

Then the van appeared on West Broadway. I climbed down from the platform and made for the lumberyard. The creatures gathered around the platform and reached for the car. Tim wheeled around to pick me up.

“You had a transponder,” Tim said to me as I climbed in the side door. “I saw it. What the hell are you thinking?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I couldn’t get it to work.”

“What’s a transponder?” Laney asked.

“Nothing,” Tim said.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Where they were told to be and doing what they were told to do,” Laney said, “unlike you.”

Tim drove us away from the tracks and warehouses and back toward downtown.

“Why did you set off the horn on the car?” Tim asked. “We’ll be crawling with goons now.”

“I’m making something happen,” I said. “I want him to work for it.”

“You’ve ruined the plan,” Laney said. “I stood out there for nothing.”

Tim took a left on 8th Street. “We’ll circle around to our original spot and wait there,” he said.

When we neared the museum, I noticed the windows had been broken, there was graffiti on the outer walls, and some of the displays had been dragged out into the parking lot–Bruce Lee’s handiwork, no doubt.

“Shit,” Tim said, looking in his mirror. “Here we go.”

I turned in my seat. A large, black Chevrolet Suburban had just turned from Broadway and was speeding up behind us.

I moved to the back of the van.

“Cover your ears!” I said. Then I lifted my pistol and fired, blowing out the rear window. I braced my arm on the back seat, took aim, and fired again.

“Go up to West Ann Street,” Laney said. “Dan is on one of the silos there by the tracks.”

The truck came in fast and slammed into us. Our van swerved. They hit us again. Tim was able to maintain control. He cut it hard to the left onto West Ann Street. The Suburban followed us. I took aim again. Bruce Lee was not in the vehicle. I fired at the driver, but my aim was a little high.

West Ann was narrow and short, ending at 9th Street and The Grace County Grain Company. Ahead was a row of large, corrugated steel grain bins with a grain elevator. Tim hooked us around onto 9th Street and slammed on the brakes. A second truck was moving in on 9th.

“Go!” I shouted. “Go around them!”

Tim floored it again and swerved, but the second truck nailed us. The van careened into one of the grain bins at an angle, crushing in a bottom panel and sheering the rivets. Corn spilled out over the front of the van and piled up around Laney’s door. It jostled and dazed the three of us. Everything stopped. Laney and I were blocked in because of the grain. The two men behind us got out and rushed in.