The intersection with Interstate 95 was still a few miles to the west, but in front of us, the road was jam-packed. Hundreds of cars were in sight. Like the highway we saw over the bridge, all the cars were heading in one direction. In this case, it was west toward 95 and Orlando.
Luckily, most of the buildings that lined the roads were far off from the easement. We were able to maneuver, albeit slowly, around traffic toward the underpass.
The cars were still jammed up when we finally made it to 95. We saw plenty of zombies scurrying about the vehicles, and some even came after us. A few were able to touch the truck, but we were never in any danger. Thankfully, we didn’t see any scabs.
The Interstate 95 bridge over 192 was packed full of cars, but the underpass beneath had been partially cleared. Fish looked at me questioningly.
“This could be good or bad,” he stated.
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “That means we don’t have to move the vehicles ourselves.”
“But who moved them?” he said, his tone like that of a high school teacher. Like he knew the answer and was goading me into figuring it out for myself.
“I doubt scabs are driving cars out of the way. Probably some people trying to get to Orlando,” I told him confidently.
“Or,” he added “some bastards trying to funnel us into a trap.”
I did think about that too, I just wasn’t too sure of it. I may not have been a seasoned combat veteran like Fish, but I am a pretty smart guy.
There was only room enough for one vehicle to fit under the bridge. The other sides were completely blocked off by abandoned cars and trucks. It was impossible to get on the Interstate. The passable grassy areas on either side of the on ramps were both covered with cars that had failed to make it to the highway. It was a perfect ambush, but with one exception.
If I wanted to try and ambush someone, I would have done it further back east. That way I could have a secondary trap further up. If anyone were to be able to make it past this ‘ambush’, they would be free and clear to keep heading west. There wasn’t anything on the other side of Highway 95 except 192 and the swampland it cut through. Hell, if they wanted to, they could drive a little ways down, turn around, and come back to strike back at whoever tried to ambush them.
Fish seemed to think too tactically sometimes. Sure, it could be a trap in front of us, but strategically, it didn’t make sense.
I tried to convey this to him without sounding superior.
“Well-” I started to say but was cut off by a crackle of our police radio.
“Hey Dogs,” a voice whispered through the radio. “Are you out there?” It wasn’t easy to make out who was on the other end because they were speaking so low, but I had a feeling from the mannerism that it was Chad.
“This is Dog Two, over,” I replied.
A few seconds passed, and then finally the radio chimed again. “We need help. DJ and Jared are pinned down. I don’t know where Jenna or the Preacher are.” There was a slight pause, and then he continued “We need help fast! These fucks are trying to kill us!”
I looked over at Fish who was scowling.
“Fish?” I asked. I didn’t have to say what I was thinking.
He shook his head and gave me a look like ‘Are you serious?’
“Come on, man!” I said to him, almost shouting.
“Fine, find out where they’re at,” he said, doing a U turn and heading back the way we came.
“Stallion Six, give us your location,” I said hurriedly into the radio, forgetting to say ‘over’.
“I’m trapped in Jenna’s truck. They haven’t seen me yet.”
“Your location, dumbass. Over,” I said sternly. I think Fish was rubbing off on me.
A few seconds passed by. I had this feeling like he was cursing at me with the transmitter off. “We’re at some miniature Walmart… off of some street called Babcock.”
“Neighborhood Market Store,” Fish murmured. “I know where that is.”
I did a quick peek outside and was happy to see it was still clear, without a cloud in sight.
“Get as much intel as you can, kid,” he told me as he maneuvered around the huge traffic jam, also avoiding a few zombies that we had stirred on our way to the interstate. “I don’t feel like going in there blind.”
“Are you guys coming or what?” the radio shrieked.
Fish smacked into a zombie in the middle of a parking lot. The cow catcher we installed on the front of the truck worked perfectly. The walking corpse was rolled off to the side, barely affecting our speed and causing no damage to the truck.
“Hold on, Chad,” I said back. “Calm down. Now, where is everyone? I need locations. We’ll be there in-” I looked over at Fish.
“Fifteen or twenty,” he said, “depending on traffic,” he added, grinning. He made a better asshole than a comedian.
“Fifteen minutes. Over,” I finally told Chad.
“Well, umm, I’m stuck in Jenna’s truck. We only have one radio with Campbell, and that’s in DJ’s ride. It’s parked near the back entrance. I don’t think they know I’m here.” He was sounding frantic. In the background, we could hear the discharge of high powered weapons.
“DJ and Jared are pinned down where the dumpsters are in the back,” Chad continued after a large exchange of gunfire. “They’re only thirty feet from me. DJ is holding his own, but I’m not sure how much ammo he has. Those fucks have M16’s and shit, shooting from the back of some redneck truck.” He paused for a moment to catch his breath. “Preacher and Jenna were in the store, clearing it out. Don’t know if those two are alive or not.”
The others put their asses on the line to save us once, and I knew we had to do the same for them. I wasn’t particularly happy about it, but I knew we had to go help. The only comfort I really had was the man sitting next to me.
I looked over at Fish and saw he was in another world. His jaw was tight and his head would slightly cock from one side to the other. He was formulating a plan out of what information Chad had relayed over the radio, I realized. This was his game. Zombies were one thing, fighting humans was a completely different entity.
I, on the other hand, was finally letting it sink in that we were heading toward a firefight. My stomach started to squirm, and I broke out in a cold sweat. I looked at my hand not clutching the radio and saw it was shaking.
“Ask them where the shooters are,” Fish calmly said.
“Six, where are the shooters located? Over,” I asked, trying to calm my shaky voice.
“They’re over near a pond, almost behind the building. You should be able to see them from the front. They’re gonna bring a shit load of dead-heads down on us. Man, you guys gotta hurry!” Chad said desperately.
We finally made it to some back roads and were able to speed up. I knew where the small grocery store was located, and it seemed Fish was looping us just south of the store. From Chad’s description, we figured out that the assailants were on the north side, behind the building.
Chad kept asking how long we would be, but Fish told me not to answer. There was no need.
“We’re not far now, Christian.” It was always serious when Fish used my actual name. “Hand me the radio,” he ordered, holding his hand out.
“Stallion Six, this is Dog One. Stay down and shut the fuck up from now on,” he barked into the mic. “When Dog Two gives you the signal, you exit through whichever side of the truck is safe and open fire. Over.”
“But I only have my nine,” he croaked, referring to his handgun.
“I said shut the fuck up, Six,” Fish said, in a surprisingly even tone. “I don’t care if you shoot your gun at the ground. You just shoot. Over and out.” He tossed the radio back into my lap.
“Whatever you say, asshole,” the radio squawked. I won’t lie. It was nice to see Fish be a dick to someone else for once.
Our truck lurched to the side as we turned north onto Babcock. It was one of the busier roads in our city, but luckily, there were few abandoned vehicles. I guess most had headed toward the highway.
We saw zombies moving in the same direction of the store as we got closer. We also heard the occasional sonic boom of a bullet traveling past the speed of sound. Further away, the zombies seemed to be confused on where the sounds were coming from, but as we closed in and could hear the actual weapons fire, the dead-heads marched purposefully towards battle.
“Things are going to get ugly real quick,” Fish said, as we slowed down.
We could see the Neighborhood Market Store just up ahead. The parking lot only had a few cars in it, but there had to be at least a hundred zombies. They all shambled toward the back of the building. As I suspected, they were more sluggish when directly under the rays of the sun, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
The store itself had a six foot cinder block wall that rounded the back side. We didn’t see any sign of DJ’s group in the front parking lot, nor did we see who was attacking his people. That pretty much confirmed what Chad had said.
We stopped short of being able to see down the north side of the building. Fish turned and looked at me, his stone cold green eyes testing my resolve.
“This is about to get real, kid,” he said in a calm, even tone. “Are you sure you have the stomach for this?”
No, I did not have the stomach for it. I didn’t have it when they sent me to war overseas, and I sure as hell didn’t have it that day. Sure, I had started to get used to having to slay zombies, but these were real life people. They had guns, and they were going to shoot at us for sure. I wasn’t sure if he was testing me, if he was worried I would panic, or if he really didn’t want me to go in there if I wasn’t ready to. In the end, it really didn’t matter.
It’s okay to be afraid, but never let that fear make the decisions for you.
My father’s words echoed in my head. Fish’s eyes read my every thought.
“Let’s do this,” I told him.
Let’s do this? This wasn’t a movie. That was not what I wanted to say, but it came out anyway.
Fish eyed me a little deeper. It was as if he knew I wanted to say, ‘No, drop me off at home, please.’ But I didn’t say that. He waited for a moment to see if I was going to change my mind, but my lips were tightly pressed together, not allowing me to say another word.
“Alright,” he finally said, “You’re going to drop me off at the front, then drive around the south side. When you see their truck, give that douche bag the signal and head straight for the dumpsters. Try to keep the trash bins between you and their riflemen.” His voice changed to a more stern tone. “Do
NOT
try to be a hero.”
He didn’t have to worry about that. I had no intentions of being a hero. But I questioned the idea of dropping him off near the front of the store.
“There’s about a hundred zombies heading toward that store, and you want me to drop you off there?” I asked him in protest.
“I don’t tell you how to organize your socks. Don’t tell me how to handle an op. Now get in the driver’s seat,” he commanded as he squeezed into the back seat of the truck and took hold of his 308 rifle. Then he said something that sent a shiver down my spine, “Come on Boomer, time for you to earn your keep.”
“You’re taking Boomer?” I asked, shocked.
“Don’t worry about him, kid. I need his help,” he snorted as he got close to the door, dragging Boomer with him. “Get moving!”
As much as I wanted to argue, I had to believe that Fish knew what he was doing. I hit the gas just as a couple of zombies started banging on the side of the truck. I never drove anything this big before and had to get use to the power of the large diesel engine. I drove through the parking lot, doing my best to avoid the zombies in my way.
“Slow down!” Fish said. We were still about a hundred feet from the store, and I turned back to argue, but he just repeated himself. “Slow down!”
I turned back around and complied. Suddenly, the back door opened and I heard Boomer yelp. I turned back around and saw Fish staring ahead.
“Keep going! Follow the plan!” he yelled. Boomer was nowhere to be seen.
What plan
? I thought to myself. Throwing Boomer out of the truck was never part of the plan.
I kept driving, but my blood was starting to boil. When we got near the entrance of the store, I came to a quick stop. Before I could scream at him for throwing my dog at the zombies, he jumped out and started running north along the front of the store.
I didn’t move for a second, until he turned partially around and whirled his rifle angrily in the air.
“Dammit!” I exclaimed. I hit the gas and turned the truck south, driving parallel with the building. I saw Boomer. He was running from about fifty zombies, dipping and diving to avoid them if they got too close. They sluggishly shambled after him creating a mass, but were well out of reach from actually catching him.
I slammed on the gas and grabbed the radio. As much as I wanted to pull over and get him in the truck, I knew now why Fish threw him out. Most of the zombies that had been heading toward the building were now preoccupied with a living, breathing meal. They no longer cared about the gunshots from the back of the store. Boomer didn’t attract all of the dead-heads, but Fish seemed to be in the clear.