The caravan assembled behind the giant store. Some had spent all night loading the trucks, which comprised some eighteen wheelers and a few UPS delivery trucks.
The tanker itself looked ridiculous. It was covered in flowers on one side. Someone’s weird sense of humor at work. The Walmart must have had a lot of cans of paint. This seemed as good a use for it as any. It had a lot of weight, and they had welded on a scoop like you see on the front of a train engine to move things off the tracks.
There was a lot of activity behind me. I was more concerned with inspecting my newly tricked out Honda. It now had a set of galvanized metal plates over the windows with holes cut in so I could see out the front and sides. The sunroof had part of a big oil barrel on top of it that latched from the inside. I could stand up and use a handgun, but a rifle would never fit. The windows had been removed on either side, and the slots would provide good firing ports.
Pat would ride with Katherine, and I would follow close behind. If we ran into trouble, I would slow the car and take out any threats. Thomas produced a couple of hand grenades, one of which was phosphorous—nasty stuff. Got into the skin and kept burning, because it didn’t need oxygen. Two were frags, and there were a couple of smoke grenades. I was leery of the last, because it would just confuse the field of battle.
A pair of ‘tanks’ would escort us to the end of the street and provide covering fire as we ran with the horde behind us. One had a fire nozzle on top, and the other had a couple of hard-looking men armed with hunting rifles. Our snipers.
A side gate was opened, and Katherine roared out of it, into the icy morning in the souped-up wrecking truck. On the back was a large gas tank filled to the rim with a mixture of premium fuel and soap flakes. There was a canister of compressed air under it that would inject the mixture with enough oxygen to make the explosion count. It would all come down to timing.
I followed close behind as she made the first turn then got onto the 322. The horde of zombies was on us before we were half a mile away. I put the car in park, slipped the metal cover off the sunroof, and popped up with one of the AR-15s from the back seat. I aimed down the scope and loosed a magazine of shots at the wave of dead coming my way. A few dropped, but at this range it was hard to get all headshots. Some took shots in their appendages and chests. One was shot through the neck, and fell sputtering a black blood that oozed more than flowed.
I dropped into the seat and roared off with a fresh ocean of the things behind. After another half mile, I stopped the car and tossed a fragmentation grenade at the onrushing creatures to make sure I had the attention of every one of them. It exploded in their midst as they screamed toward me, tossing bodies and parts of bodies into the air. A small puff of smoke and asphalt rose behind me as I sped off again.
The wrecker was approaching the barrier, so I took the opportunity to apply more damage. One more frag grenade joined the fray, and then I emptied another magazine.
I roared up to the wrecker. It was stopped near the barricade. She had to maneuver around the rusted hulks of trucks and cars I cursed just a few days ago. In one case, she barreled through one because it was sitting catty-corner, blocking the road. She came to a halt, and Pat was already moving. He slithered out of the door and shut it hard. He moved on top of the cab and went to the giant white tank. Maneuvering the air hose into position, he fastened it to the bottom.
I screeched to a stop and came out of the cover shooting. They were still a ways off, but I dropped them one after another by taking careful aim and stroking the trigger gently. I set a box of magazines next to me and burned through them until the assault rifle jammed. I tossed it in the back, grabbed another one, and kept shooting.
I glanced behind me and saw that Katherine was also on top of the truck, and they were feeding hoses into the tank. She was yelling, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I fell into the seat and spun the car around and backed into the truck, touching my rear bumper so they would be able to get in when the thing was armed. I popped back out of the turret and opened up with the gun, calling to them between shots.
“What’s wrong?”
“Goddamn thing won’t start. Everything is working, but I can’t arm the explosive.”
“Fine, we do it by hand.” I pulled a grenade out of my stash. “Catch!”
Katherine looked at me like I was insane, but I mimed throwing it to her twice, then threw it for real. She leaned over and caught it in both hands and shot me a dirty look. The grenade still had its pin in. There was no way it would explode.
They were close, so close that I could pick out their faces from this distance. Rotted filth, demented demons. Most wore the visage of tortured humans, but some seemed to revel in their new state and wore bones woven into their hair. There were hundreds of them, just as we suspected, and they were still pouring out of the buildings and side streets.
“We don’t have much time!” I yelled.
“Are we supposed to blow ourselves up?” She should be hysterical, but she sounded mad that I didn’t explain the plan. Well, it wasn’t much of one.
“Just pull the pin. You have about seven seconds to get clear. You’ll both jump on top of the car and hold the fuck on for dear life!”
I watched as Pat took the grenade and studied the side of the tank, probably looking for a place to put it. “Dropping it in the tank would be best. It’ll spray gas everywhere!” I yelled.
I saw faces appear out of the trees to the right of the truck, and then saw their owners run down the hill toward the wrecker. I kept my eyes on Katherine and wondered if they had a chance now. I couldn’t let her go like that, and in a quick decision, I determined that I would either save her and Pat or go out with them in a massive explosion. If I ran back to the caravan without them, how would it look? Besides, what did this new world have to offer me? I had seen its best, and its best wasn’t much to look at. Survivors huddling together waiting for something to happen. Well, this was something.
I popped off a few more rounds, got back into the driver’s seat, and took out the machine gun I had been saving. I closed the turret, so none of them would crawl on top of the car and fall inside.
The M249 was a machine gun that sprayed an impressive amount of ammo. The older, belt-fed version, could burn through a thousand rounds per minute. I had a box of ammo magazines for it and one loaded. This was a modified version, similar to the PARA that the paratroopers carried into Iraq.
I ran to the truck and clambered up the side, banging both knees in the process. Adrenaline was pumping, and I felt alive for the first time in half a year.
The things were closing in all around, screaming, slathering, and snarling. A few zombies joined them, but for the most part, it was the faster ghouls I had to contend with.
I opened up with the machine gun and obliterated the first line of creatures. They fell under withering fire. Blood, sinew, and chunks of flesh exploded out their backs, like in a bad B movie. I spun to the right and dropped more of them then changed magazines.
“What is the holdup?”
“Damn pipe won’t budge. I can’t get the oxygen to come out.”
Without the air being force fed into the tank, we would never have our explosion. All that gas in one place was a terrific chance at a bomb, but without air, it was likely to fizzle until it reached 750 degrees. We had rigged a couple of hoses into water nozzles designed to give a wide spread of the air. When it bubbled into the gas, we would have our accelerant.
“So the grenade won’t do what we want?”
“It’ll accelerate the explosion, but we need to get the gas moving to get the full effect.”