Zombie Attack! Rise of the Horde (11 page)

I hope he tries,
I thought.
I'll have that thing
out of his hands and shoved down his own throat before he knows what hit him!

There was panic in Joel's eyes, but he forced himself past
that. He puffed his chest and prepared for my first blow as I rounded the
corner.

“What?” Joel shouted as I came within striking distance of
him.

“We're going to settle this once and for all, Parker,” I
said in a calm, even voice. I thought I noticed a slight tremor move through
him, but it could have been my mind playing tricks on me.

“Come at me, bro!”

“You ready or what?” I turned to see John standing in the
door. Bruiser and Tank were behind him, smiling.

“Where are we going now?” I asked.

“To the border,” John replied dryly. “You wanted to see the
blockade for yourself, first hand. This is your chance.” He turned and walked
back toward the parking lot without waiting for an answer.

“This isn't over,” I muttered under my breath to Joel.

“You can count on that,” Joel replied, making a big show out
of picking up his gun.

“Come on, girls,” Tank yelled. “Pull on your dresses and
let's get moving.”

I waited for Tom and Joel to go first, then followed behind
Benji, Bruiser, and Tank.

“Looks like you're equally popular with all the cool kids,”
Tank muttered to me. “You make quite an impression.”

“I made quite an impression on your jaw, didn't I?” I said
defiantly.

“You did,” he said without malice. “It's still sore now that
you mention it. Hell of a kick.”

“You planning on retaliating later as well?” I asked. “I'd
like to know how many eyes I need in the back of my head to watch my back.”

“Worry about the zoms, kid,” he shrugged. “I got my eyes on
something way more important.”

“What's that?”

“The big picture.”

John stopped at the Jeep and turned to address us.

“Listen up,” he shouted. “We're going to save a little
petrol by taking one vehicle.”

“How are we all going to fit in there?” Joel asked. John
looked irritated at the interruption. I fought back a laugh as the rest of our
group gave Joel the stink eye.

“Tank will ride up front with me,” John explained. “Bruiser
is going to ride the tailgate and keep lookout as spotter. The rest of you can
cram into the backseat. Worst case scenario if something goes down, the small
one can sit on someone's lap.”

Benji frowned at the suggestion.

“I guess I don't mind,” he said a bit selfishly.

“That's a relief,” John retorted sarcastically. “Gentlemen,
we are heading into what is for all intents and purposes a fully active war
zone. We can be attacked at any moment without warning or just cause. I am only
going to warn you one time to do exactly what I tell you to do. We got that?”

Everyone murmured their agreement.

“Keep your wits about you and you will make it out alive,”
John dramatically warned us. “Now get in.”

Everyone climbed into the Jeep in the order he suggested,
except me. I stopped John before he could get in the driver's side.

“I need a weapon,” I begged. I was feeling really
uncomfortable with the idea of heading into a combat zone unarmed.

“That's understandable,” John agreed. He reached into his
holster and handed me one of his firearms. I took it, letting the weight of it
sink in. “Safety is on,” he warned. “You know how to shoot one of these?”

“I do,” I assured him. “I'm better with my sword though.”

“Give it a rest, Xander!” John hit the roof. I thought
flames were going to shoot out of his eyes. I froze up, not knowing what to
say.

“The gun is fine,” I backpedaled. John gave me a fierce
stare then softened.

“Good,” he managed. “Let's roll.”

Getting in last meant that I ended up in the middle of the
backseat bench next to Tom. Benji sat between Joel and me to keep the peace. I
was riding the hump. I could feel every bump in the road from the minute we
passed the guards and bounced off the high curb. John took off down the road
and immediately the loud roar of the wind blocked everything else out—but
luckily I was in the unique position of being the only one able to hear and
understand what John was saying. We were literally in our own little bubble, as
the saying goes.

“Why is there so much security at the gas station?”

“Because of the fuel,” John guffawed. “Obviously, they'd
love to take this away from us. We've still got enough gas to keep things
rolling another six months at this rate. We use it not only for the cars but
for generators and heaters. It's not like there are any more refineries out
there turning black sludge into liquid gold. This stuff is more valuable than
diamonds.”

“If they don't have gas, how do they keep their bikes
running?”

“That's what we keep asking ourselves,” John admitted.
“Nothing gets past you.”

There was that flattery again. I knew better than to fall
for it but it still felt good. John sure knew how to push people's buttons. Guy
made it look effortless.

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to blush.

“We think they have a stash of their own,” he suggested.
“After we regained control of our territory, first thing we did was go house to
house and collect fuel. We pulled juice out of old lawnmowers, siphoned it from
gas tanks, anywhere we found it. They must have done the same thing.”

“And you're keeping it all at the gas station?” I asked.

“Now that wouldn't be very smart, would it?” John showed his
devious smile once more. “Let's just say that we got it strategically spread out
so that no one raid can rob us of it. Can you leave it at that?”

“Sure,” I gulped. He never threatened me outright but it
sure felt implied, just like the last time I asked for my sword back.

“All right then,” he crooned. “Let's keep the chatter to a
minimum now. We're approaching the border.”

John shut off his radio and we rode in silence. I could hear
screaming in the distance and the roar of motorcycle engines. The barricade
came into plain view. There was no mistaking it. A row of bullet ridden cars cut
off one side of a major street from the other. The New Lompoc side was clean
and covered with guards. The old Lompoc side was filled with trash, burning
tires, and rowdy bikers hooting and hollering as they raced back and forth up
and down the street. The sight of it made John's point on its own, but I was
starting to suspect that had been the whole reason for dragging us out here. We
parked about a hundred feet from the border. John got out and signaled for us
to follow without saying another word.

“Stay close together,” Tank growled as we climbed over the
sides of the Jeep. “And keep your mouth shut.” He stared at me specifically
before turning his back to me. My sword was only a few feet away from me and I
needed it.

I ought to rip it off his back and give him a piece of my
mind,
I thought.

Instead, I followed the group to a staging area outlined
with sand bags where a bunch of armed guards were hunkered down with walkie
talkies watching the other side of the road. One of them turned around and saw
John. He bolted up and ran to him with his hand out.

“No one told me you were coming,” the man began, but John
waved his concerns away with an easy gesture.

“Don't worry, Peter,” John cooed, addressing him by name.
“This isn't a formal visit. Just taking some new friends on a little tour of
our fine town is all.”

Peter turned to us and waved.

“Welcome to New Lompoc,” he crowed with an earnest smile.
Those were his last words before the explosion knocked him off his feet.

It was like it was all happening in slow motion while Peter
was waving and saying hello to us. Dreamlike, a bottle somersaulted head over
end above him, the glass and fire catching reflections of the sun, sparkling
and drawing our attention to it. It arced high over Peter like a satellite in
orbit with no hope of ever returning to Earth. The next instant, it came racing
back down, the weight of the fuel and the heavy glass bottle dragging it bottom
first toward the top of Peter's head. For a brief instant it seemed like it
would smash into his skull altogether. Our facial expressions went from
disinterested to horror before his wondering eyes.

Poor guy doesn't have a clue what's about to hit him,
I thought.

As the bottle hurtled toward him it spun less, the force of
gravity correcting it until it was right side up with the thick bottom rushing
down to kiss the asphalt. The flaming rag atop the sealed bottle merrily danced
like a wild-eyed, redheaded seductress, lost in the epiphany of the impending
destruction it wantonly foretold.

Before any of us could call out to warn Peter, the Molotov
cocktail smashed down next to him, narrowly missing the top of his head. There
was a loud explosion as the bottle burst, the flames greedily licking at the
embarrassment of riches bestowed, a drooling puddle of pure fuel. Instantly
Peter was knocked off his feet. Fiery hell shot up and engulfed his whole body
as he screamed in pain.

In the distance, a man dressed all in blue stood laughing.
At his feet were several more Molotov style cocktails waiting to be ignited by
his Zippo lighter. Several men rushed to Peter, taking off their shirts and
jackets and holding him down to put out the fire consuming him. Peter wailed in
agony, panicking and having to be repetitively told to roll over and to not
stand up.

Stop, drop, and roll
, I thought.
This is why they
used to try to teach us that in school
.

The sound of gunfire cracking off took us by surprise. I
looked up to see Joel aiming at the man responsible for this tragedy and firing
away.

“No!” John cried out. “Cease fire!”

Joel wasn't listening. His face was twisted up with hatred.

Something inside of him must have finally snapped!

“Put that gun down now! That is an order!”

“Come and get me, cracker!” The gang member loudly crowed at
us, then turned and dashed toward a cluster of nearby buildings. Instead of
lowering his weapon and obeying orders, Joel charged forward. He cleared the
barricade and began running after the culprit at a full sprint, determined not
to let him get away.

“Stop him!” John ordered to Bruiser. Bruiser nodded. He
pulled out both his guns and rushed past the cars toward Joel. Several men
roughly patted Peter to make sure the fire was out. He moaned and shook in
shock. Most of his hair and skin were burned away. There was a good chance that
he wasn't going to make it, even if they did get him medical care. I could
understand why Joel had been upset, but that didn't mean he should rush into
unfamiliar territory and risk his life.

For all we know this is a trap,
I thought.

No sooner were the words formed in my mind than the yelling
and shooting began. The man responsible for burning up Peter had turned the
corner at a full dash with Joel in hot pursuit and Bruiser not far behind him.
A second later five Unity thugs had come running toward them, guns drawn,
shooting wildly.

“Do something,” Tom screamed.

“We can't,” John protested. “If my men open fire they might
hit your brother or Bruiser.”

Joel just missed getting shot in the face by throwing
himself at the ground. Bruiser wasn't so lucky. Being a big guy he had a lot of
momentum going as he ran full tilt to try to catch Joel. By the time Joel
ducked down to avoid the muzzle being pointed at his face, it was too late for
Bruiser. He didn't even know what hit him. The gun went off and the top of
Bruiser's head came apart in a spray of blood, hair, and skin. He was dead
instantly. Bruiser's full limp weight came crashing down on top of the gang
member who killed him, pinning Joel's legs to the ground at the same time.

“Joel,” Tom yelled in panic. “Get up and run!”

Joel frantically struggled to free himself, eventually
pulling his legs out from under Bruiser's nearly headless corpse. Shots rang
out from my right side as John's men took out two more Unity Gang thugs, causing
the rest of the ambush squad to retreat back behind the building. All we needed
was for Joel to get back over the line.

“Why aren't they shooting anymore?” I asked out loud, but no
one answered me.

I looked at the buildings surrounding the intersection for
signs of eyes in the windows but couldn't make out any.

“Hurry,” Tom hollered.

Joel began to limp back toward us. The man who had thrown
the explosive concoction brazenly walked out from behind his safe spot,
pointing his gun at Joel.

“Behind you,” John cried out but it was too late. Before
Joel could turn and see what was happening, the man fired off two shots at him.
The first pierced through his upper leg and came out the front of his jeans,
covering them in blood. Joel faltered and began to pitch forward. He put his
hands out to brace his fall like a little kid. The second shot seemed to cut
across Joel, entering somewhere in his back and coming out his chest. A tiny
spray of blood came from between Joel's lips as he fell flat to the ground.

Shots rang out from all sides as Joel fell out of the line
of fire. The gang member jerked as the volley of bullets pierced him as if a
live wire of electricity was running through him. He fell over, twitched
briefly, then went still.

Tom wailed in disbelief at the horror unfolding before him.
Tank and another patrol member held him back. John rubbed his brow and shook
his head in disgust. Joel's head moved as he started to get up. He fell back to
the ground. Then he began to slowly crawl toward us.

“Let go of me!” Tom shouted. “We've got to go help him!”

“It's not safe,” John howled. At that moment, almost as if
to back up his warning, a pack of four zombies came wandering out from down the
street. The air rumbled as the sound of motorcycle engines roaring to life
besieged our senses. We heard loud yelling and hooting as the bikers fled the
scene.