The Renegades (A Post Apocalyptic Zombie Novel) Read online

He had a point. Our town looked in worse shape than some of the housing projects in Harlem, New York.

  “There’s too many,” Jason yelled. The gunfire was attracting a slew of Z’s that were piling out of the alleyways. But there was no going back. I had run out of ammo, and left my baseball bat back at the bank. Dax had used up all of his, and was now firing off the few rounds he had left in a Browning M2. All I could do was use my legs and kick them back.

  “Just take out the fast ones,” Dax said.

  The slow ones were easier to take down.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Scot said.

  I could recognize a lot of the Z’s, even though their faces had eyeballs hanging out, and they were beginning to rot. We were nearing the gun store when more gunfire started. However, it wasn’t ours. I looked up and saw on top of the roof, Jessica and Izzy. Both of them had assault rifles and were laying down some serious heat on the biters in front of us. As they cleared a path for us, I was more worried about being hit by a stray bullet than having one of the Z’s chew into my arm. We ran towards the opening where the cruiser was, and Baja and I were the first inside. Inside the gun store, we immediately started looking for anything to block off the window once they were in. There was no doubt in my mind that the window wasn’t going to hold once the Z’s attempted to get in.

  As soon as Scot slid in, Baja and I jammed army fatigues into the hole, then piled several cabinets behind that but not before Scot fired a few more rounds. The noise of a gun going off inside was deafening.

  Jessica came running out with Izzy close behind. I grabbed hold of her and we hugged. She kissed my face, and then the tears came.

  “It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think any of us are.”

  Izzy glared at Dax. They had some history, and a whole lot of bad blood between them. Dax had dumped her before he went off to the military. But I think there was more to it than that.

  “Grab what you can now,” Dax said.

  We turned to see a wall full of weapons. There had to have been over three hundred stacked like fingers pointing to the ceiling. Tactical rifles like the AR-15, AR-10, bolt action, TAC shotguns, TAC pistols. Below that in a shattered glass cabinet that extended from one end of the store to the other were boxes of ammo, and a delicious selection of revolvers and handguns. Some had already been stolen. Turning around to face the next wall, I stood mesmerized by the amount of shooting gear, lasers, flashlights, knives, holsters, magazines, and optics. There was more here than we would ever need.

  That was one thing about our town that they had got right. We were gun lovers at heart. This was the Wild West and shit was about to get real.

  The first thing I grabbed was a large black duffel bag. Scot and Jason each grabbed AK-47 rifles and magazines, then kept a close eye on the main door while we started filling duffel bags.

  “Just take what you can carry. We don’t want to be slowed down,” Dax said.

  Over the next ten minutes we went on a shopping spree. For those few minutes we forgot that the world outside had turned into a flesh-eating fiesta. Smiles appeared on our faces. A new sense of hope could be felt among us. Though unless we could get over to Specs’s dad’s store, we weren’t going to be able to get our hands on any army fatigues, bulletproof vests, or clothing that might protect us from bites. They had gloves, but that was it. I tossed a pair in. The rest was just wall-to-wall guns, knives, and accessories. I threw in some suppressors and whatever else would fit in the bag. It was mostly boxes of ammo, 9mm pistols and a .44 Magnum as I was always partial to a good Clint Eastwood moment.

  “Matt’s dad?” I asked Jessica.

  She shook her head. Her eyes went between us. “Matt didn’t make it?”

  “No.”

  And like that the thought of his face flashed in my mind. A hole piercing his forehead before he vanished over the edge.

  “Anyone else here?” Dax asked.

  “Just us,” Izzy said.

  “The dead?”

  “There are three out back. We shot two when we got in.”

  “I hope you double tapped the head.”

  “They don’t have any heads now.”

  “Clean. I like it.”

  Once we had gathered what we needed, we went up into the apartment above the store. It belonged to Matt’s father. It was strange how every family’s home had a different scent. You could go to four different houses and each one would smell different. Matt’s house always stunk of cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Just a whiff, and I was instantly transported back to a time when dangers were the furthest thing from our minds. Matt didn’t have any brothers or sisters. His father was an asshole. Wherever he was, I kind of hoped that karma had its way with him.

  We barricaded the door with furniture and settled in for the night. I began rooting through the cupboards and found boxes of pasta. There was no milk in the fridge. A few eggs and a piece of cheese that looked like it had seen better days. The bread on the counter seemed OK. There was only half a loaf but we couldn’t exactly be picky, at least until we could get to the grocery store. I snorted, at the thought. We’d be lucky if the place was still in one piece. I had visions of all the shelves being empty.

  A few years back a sandstorm had blown through our town. For some reason folks thought we were going to run out of water. I had gone to the store and every single bottle was gone except one. Another guy and I looked at each other and he grabbed it before I could.

  “Better luck next time, kid,” he said, chuckling to himself like he’d won the lottery.

  I wondered if he had ended up as some Z’s Happy Meal. I kind of hoped so.

  That night we ate like kings. Compared to the rations that we had on our roof. Which was pretty much junk food. I ate my way through two bowls of macaroni and cheese. Despite the cheese looking a little funky, once it melted, it didn’t taste too bad. I had a feeling we would get used to eating whatever was available.

  Once darkness came, so did the silence. The only sound was the occasional groan of the dead. Gunshots had stopped sounding, which wasn’t good news. It meant either people had run out of ammo or were dead. Either way it meant they were threats.

  I lay back on the ground with my arm around Jess. She had really long black hair, the kind that came halfway down her back. It was naturally curly. Her eyes were a deep blue, like the ocean, the kind you wanted to get lost in. After the shit we had just been through, she was a welcome sight. We’d hooked up when we were only sixteen. It was a kind of off and on thing. We never really took it serious. A lot of it was just messing around until we hit eighteen and that was when things got heavy. I kind of think it was because of her dad. She was super anal over not getting into trouble. Her dad had raked her over the coals after the one night when she came out with us to fire off rounds. She said her father, Officer Dan Wright, was a good guy at heart. But anytime I saw him, he had this look on his face as though he was trying to penetrate my thoughts. It used to freak me out.

  He and my father got along like a house on fire. I think it was because he was constantly visiting the saloon most evenings to turf out drunks.

  “Your dad?” I asked Jess.

  “I don’t know if he’s alive. We were just getting back from the store with my mother when this lady came out of nowhere and attacked her. I thought she was on drugs or something. When I saw the blood I froze. I would have probably been next if it wasn’t for Izzy. She KO’d her. I tried to help my mother but…” she trailed off. I could see her eyes tearing up. “There was so much blood. So much.”

  She stared at her stained hands.

  “Your brother?”

  “He was at the festival. I haven’t seen him.”

  “How did you get the cruiser?”

  “We ran. We just kept running until we reached the station. By that time all hell had broken loose on the streets. My father put us in a cruiser and told us to get back to the house and lock ourselves in. As yo
u saw, we didn’t even make it that far. There were too many. The sound of them hitting the top of the roof as we knocked them down. One after one.” She squeezed her lids shut. I ran my hand over her face. Jason was watching. He would look out the window, then back at us. He’d always had a thing for Jessica. They never went out with each other, but there was some definite fuck me eyes going on across the room. The thing was Jess had a body on her. Like it wasn’t model-like. But it was curvy and for her age, hot as hell.

  I didn’t want my mind to go there. But it did. What happens when society breaks down? When there is no infrastructure in place, or law to govern the actions of man? Sex was a deep need in all of us. A drive that could compel us to do stupid things even when there was a law, but now? I felt even more protective of her.

  We sat in silence, occasionally Scot would mutter something about a biter. Whatever had hit our town had swept through it like a wildfire. The devastation had hit hard and few had a chance to escape. Those that were alive, were probably holed up inside their homes. Most folks owned guns. It was just expected.

  Specs kept pacing the room. I could see he was agitated.

  “Sit down, dweeb,” Jason said. “You are starting to get on my nerves.”

  “Give it a rest,” I said.

  He scowled back at me.

  “What’s up?” I asked Specs.

  “My family. I need to know they are alive.”

  “Hell, dude, if anyone is alive in this town, it’s your family. They are the only ones who were ready for this.”

  “I don’t know about that. They were big talkers, but who can tell. This isn’t what they expected.”

  “No. But your father has the disaster shelter.”

  “That depends if they’re there. They said they were going back to the store.”

  Specs’s family owned an RV about two miles out of town. It wasn’t exactly an RV as it was a cover for an underground shelter. On the outside it looked like your typical family camper van. But when you went inside, they had a trap door, and a ladder that went down into an abandoned silo built into a mine. The mine stretched for miles beneath the surface of the town. If you had claustrophobia you just didn’t go down there. At least the one below our saloon and museum was tight. The tours only took you a small way into the mineshaft, just enough to give you a taste of the history. But you couldn’t live down there. But that was exactly what his family had done. Built it in an abandoned section. They had secured it with metal beams. The whole nine yards. It was fucking amazing. One hundred feet underground. The silo had penetrated three tunnels. It had five levels. A living area, bedding, and a place for storing two years’ supply of food, an arsenal of guns, and a ten thousand gallon water tank. It had Sub-Zero appliances, Wolf ranges, and everything that made it livable for years.

  Baja was a little anxious too. His family was out of town at the time everything hit. He was a strange guy. One moment he would be talking about his family. Worry spread across his face. The next, acting as if this whole thing was nothing more than a video game.

  Izzy kept her distance from Dax. I was keen to know what her story was. I never got to know her. She was someone who didn’t hang out with Jessica as she was one year older than us. She was a stunner. Blonde, green eyes and had long legs. Jess was hot in my opinion but Izzy certain gave her a run for her money. I could see why Dax had been banging her. I mean dating her.

  Out of all of us Dax appeared the most calm. He hadn’t faced a war like this. OK, he had done one tour over in Iraq but that was it. Maybe that better prepared him for it. The closest we had come to war was Call of Duty, and I was shit at that.

  “Man, I could go for some ganja around about now,” Scot said.

  I got up. That was one thing I remembered Matt’s old man having. He kept this little stash in a plastic container in his bathroom. There was a small hatch just beside the bath. It was meant to look like the wall, but if you pressed it, it would go in and boom. There it was. I pulled the bag out. The opening was full of papers, ganja, and a bottle of Glenfiddich, fifteen-year-old malt whiskey. It was entitled appropriately, Wounded Warriors. He had a liquor cabinet but he always kept the best stuff hidden away. Matt had found it by accident. The few times I had slept over and his old man was out, we would smoke up a mushroom cloud in his room, and do shots. I felt an ache. I missed him. He would have got a kick out of us being in here now.

  When I came back into the room, I tossed the container down and Scot’s eyes widened. Baja shot up like a spring was attached to his ass. He pointed his finger at me.

  “Dude. You. Are the man.” Baja was the kind of guy who always wanted first dibs on anything. Dax rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t touch it. That was just like him. His body was a temple, he would say. Like what the fuck was he expecting? To end up on the front cover of Men’s Weekly? If ever there was a reason to puff back on a little ganja, now was the time. Instead he opted to keep an eye out the window. Though he did have a drink of whiskey.

  With the window partly open, we all heard the moans of the dead. It was a reminder that we couldn’t get drunk. We had to stay vigilant if we were going to survive. It would only take a moment for us to drop our guard and it would be our last.

  However, that didn’t stop us passing around a joint like a pipe of peace.

  That evening we relished what little remained of our sanity. I knew the coming days were going to test each of us in ways we couldn’t even begin to imagine. We would need each other. This was only the beginning, and the future didn’t look bright. It was bloody, and full of possibilities, but more unknowns.

  HAVE FAITH

  The largest grocery store for the town of Castle Rock was located a fair distance from the gun store. It was east, just off the main road. We had two options. Navigate our way over to Jim’s Gifts, break in and climb to the roof, and then proceed to move across the tops until we got to the far end of the town. We would then have a half a mile trek to the parking lot. Alternatively we could risk checking vehicles and attempt to blow our way through the undead that came at us.

  We flicked for it.

  I tossed a nickel in the air. Heads we hit the roof, tails we attempted the suicide mission of finding a car that still had keys and gas inside.

  When I removed my hand, it was tails.

  “Best out of three?” I suggested.

  Specs laughed when it came up tails again.

  “You won’t be laughing when they bite you in the ass,” I said.

  Heading out that morning, we felt a hell of a lot more prepared. Specs, Baja, Jessica, and I had volunteered to do the run. Dax didn’t like it one bit. He wanted to be in on anything that was about to go down, especially if it involved me taking charge. It wasn’t because he cared. He was a control freak.

  Scot and Jason told him to hang back. They wanted to figure out the logistics of getting around to all of our homes and checking on families.

  Our plan was simple. Jessica and Baja would check cars, and Specs and I would cover them. Before we left, we went up onto the roof to get a better view of what vehicles might still be operating. Specs suggested we take the cruiser that Jessica had crashed into the store. But that was the only thing standing between us and a herd of Z’s. I spotted a cruiser outside the police station, and a red van a few feet from it. Beyond that we would have had to run by foot down two blocks to three cars that were still in parking spots outside the stores.

  It was early still. A deep orange sun was coming up when we slipped out the back door of the store. We had made a point to use knives at least until we got to the cars. The last thing we needed was to be chased by some of the fresh Z’s. It was getting hot already. It had to have been seventy-five out there. I was sure it was going to rise higher. This was meant to be fall. What the hell was going on with the weather? Then again last year’s winter had been extremely mild.

  Before venturing out, I pulled out my handgun, popped out the magazine, and checked the load.

  “How many?” Sp
ecs asked.

  I was counting the number of Z’s that were roaming around outside. There had to have been close to twelve. They were milling around near a dumpster. It was unusual, to be honest. I figured a cat had dropped in there and they were eager to have it for breakfast.

  “Twelve.”

  “Good chance they will go for us. Run as fast as you can behind the stores. Don’t stop even if you see anyone who is living.”

  “What if we can help them?”

  “Too risky.”

  “You are starting to sound like Dax,” Specs said.

  I ignored him, motioned for the others to follow and we filed out. We kept low and close to the wall. The first building was about twenty feet away from the back door but it might as well have been four miles. We raced our way over while stabbing a few Z’s in the head. The feeling of a knife going into a skull was different for each one. Those who were badly decomposed were the worst. Your entire hand passed through. It was like putting your fist into a cold apple pie.

  The fresh Z’s were solid. It was actually tough to get the knife back out. I had to use my foot on one. I ended up crushing his head just trying to retrieve it.

  The sound of the undead, their groans, their feet and bodies hitting the pavement, was sickening. Our town seemed frozen in time. For now the power was still working, so streetlights automatically turned off as the morning sun was just beginning to peek its face over the horizon.

  As we made it to the corner of a building, we were about to run across to the next when we noticed a huge group that was busy chewing away on what must have been fresh kill. The bottom half of the body didn’t have any blood on it. We crept by thinking they would be distracted with their human Big Mac when Baja tripped. His nunchucks hit the ground. The group turned. Old and young cast their milky eyes on us. Had they been the slow ones, a light jog would have done the trick. But these fuckers were the ones that shuffled like apes.

  “Don’t shoot. Whatever you do…” I called out.

  A gun fired, taking the left half of one of the Z’s face off. I glanced at Specs, who was holding the gun.