Wicked Read online

  “You?”

  “Oh,” Lisa began. “I work for a national chain of banks based in Los Angeles. Also not married. I've no time for any of that.”

  “Which bank?” Pam asked.

  The last thing Pam wanted, aside from being eaten by starving undead, was to have the one man she'd been so fond of taken away from her. If that meant bullying her way into a conversation to remind Derick that she was still there, so be it.

  “One you probably hate,” Lisa smiled. “I actually run a handful of branches and was headed to Charlotte for a conference. One of the dreadfully boring ones, where the hotel lobby is filled with salesmen and cheap buffet food.”

  “Might want to reschedule that conference.” Derick grinned.

  “Feel free to jump up and help whenever you're ready, Romeo.” A.K. said.

  He shook his head with frustration. He was trying to shore up the roadside diner in order to stay alive, with a guy ten feet away doing what he could to charm the skirts. A.K. thought it best that Derick kept that semi-hard pecker of his in his pants and did some work.

  Derick looked at him for a moment, disliking the man more and more. It wasn't like the half-ass table tops would hold an undead horde off for long anyway. If he was going to be running for his life, Derick wanted to get to know his running mates. Especially the cute ones.

  “Of course I've achieved more than some.” he smiled. Glancing to both ladies before standing up to help the mouthy prison guard.

  ** **

  Gunshots are always distinguishable, especially in the dead of night. They have a way of bringing panic into the heart of a soundly asleep man.

  “What's going on?” A.K. asked. Jumping to his feet.

  There was no rubbing a hand against his eyes for a moment, which he normally did. No piping hot cup of coffee to help him begin his morning. Just a set of frantic hands scrambling around for the nearest weapon.

  “Dunno, but it's just down the road. Half a mile or less I'd say.” Murphy replied. Staring through a wide crack of nailed boards like a snitching neighbor on Friday night. Unlike the rest of the soft-palmed pansies, he'd not slept a wink.

  “Sounds military.” A.K. said.

  “.50 cal machine gun. I know my guns.” Murphy replied.

  He dared someone to say otherwise. Murphy shot guns for pleasure and collected them like normal men collected baseball hats.

  “Sounds close.” Carlos asked. Inching his way over to the men.

  A half-mile. You hard of hearing? Murphy thought.

  “Too close,” A.K. replied. “OK people, listen up. From the sound of it, our military is right down the highway tearing shit up. It could be our rescue party or, when they get here, it could go south pretty quick. Either way, we need to be prepared.”

  “Fight them?” Pam asked.

  “Those guns you hear popping off could cut this building down,” Murphy replied. “So no, we'd need a lot more than steel pipes and a couple of revolvers. There's a better chance of them laughing themselves to death if we tried using force against force.”

  “I've got this.” Raymond said, holding his shotgun up.

  “And I can tell you what to do with it, too,” Murphy replied. Still sore over the diner's owner flexing his muscle on them. “I mean we may have to haul ass if they show up on unfavorable terms. If that happens, we make our way up into the woods where they can't take the Humvees. If they're dead set on chasing us on foot, at least we stand a chance. Up in those woods, a .50 cal machine gun won't amount to a hill of dog shit if they can't find us.”

  “They could be coming to help.” Lisa suggested.

  It was wishful thinking, no doubt.

  “Could be,” A.K. replied. “But they got rid of my partner like he was a Kardashian sex tape, so pardon me if I'm skeptical.”

  “Never trust a man with a gun.” Carlos added. Much to the dismay of A.K. and his new friend Murphy.

  The prison guard could already sense it. He'd eventually have to put Carlos down. Mixing oil and water never worked out for long. He was a man of the law – always had been. Carlos was a convict. A showdown between the two was imminent.

  “In any event, we need to sit here quietly and be ready for anything.” Derick said. Even he could see the icy stare between prison guard and convict.

  As the conversation came to a halt, the thumping sound of massive .50 cal machine guns screamed out. It was certainly the U.S. Army and whatever they were shooting at – there was a lot of it. At first, the gunshots had seemed well-controlled. Now they seemed sporadic at best. A good indication of desperation on the Army's part.

  ** **

  “Hey,” Derick said with a whisper. Startling Lisa for a moment, though she soon calmed down and smiled. “It's time to get up.”

  “Are we OK?” she asked. Sitting upright. “Did they come to-”

  “Dunno. The gunfire stopped about two hours ago. Daylight is breaking and we're considering sending a couple of folks to check into it. The important part is that we're all still alive. Coffee?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Lisa smiled. “You're really a sight for sore eyes.”

  Please bitch. Pam thought. Rolling her eyes. There was no way that the Derick she knew would fall for Lisa's sad attempts at flattery.

  “We need to go. There's no debating that.” A.K. said.

  “Who's going?” Murphy asked.

  It was a damn good question, considering none of them knew anything beyond the few minutes of television or radio they'd heard the day before. And the fact that a prison guard was laying dead out beside the diner.

  “We can draw straws or-”

  “I'll go.” Carlos volunteered.

  “Good. Then it's settled.” A.K. replied.

  If the convict wanted to go and get himself killed, fine. It saved A.K. the hassle of killing him with his own hands. It also looked good in front of a group of survivors that he knew he'd ultimately be leading.

  “He can't go by himself.” Lisa looked at them sternly.

  “I'll go along then.” A.K. replied.

  All the better. He'd follow the convict out, wait for a horde to approach, injure him with a single gunshot and let the rest take care of itself.

  “No offense,” Carlos pointed his finger. “But if you don't trust me with a gun then I don't trust you with my life.”

  It led to a confrontational stare between the two men. Carlos had been direct about things. A little too direct. But he had good reason to be.

  “I'll take one of those two.” Carlos finally said, pointing into the direction of Derick and Lamar.

  “Oh hell no.” Lamar replied fast.

  “I'll do it.” Derick said. Swooping in to save his new friend in hopes of becoming something more than an oxygen delivery guy.

  “What?” Pam asked. Disagreeing completely. She didn't want to watch the man she'd grown so attached to go walking out into the arms of death.

  “Pam, it's right down the highway. An hour, tops. I know these roads just as well as anyone here. I can help.”

  “You guys need to slip down against the edge of the woods and look around, that's it.” A.K. ordered.

  “I know what the fuck I'm doing.” Carlos said. “Ready?”

  “Absolutely.” Derick replied. Feeling anything but ready. For all he knew, it could have been a death march. But it still felt good having people look at him with respect.

  Pam would have pleaded with Derick some more but saw it in his eyes. There was no talking him out of it.

  Like frat boys slipping out of a recently divorced woman's bedroom during the average walk of shame, Carlos and Derick eased away from the diner while staying close enough to the woods to disappear if they ran into any hungry stiffs.

  “So, what'd you do?” Derick managed the courage to ask.

  It was better than listening to his feet crunch against soft leaves below him, just waiting for zombies to find them. Which he suspected they would at any moment.

  Carlos looked back to
him with suspicion.

  “A.K. said you killed someone. I just wondered-”

  “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “I'm not the kind to judge anyone, I-”

  “I said I don't want to talk about it.”

  “OK.” Derick backed off.

  “You believe all of this zombie shit?”

  “I dunno,” Derick continued to walk. Now completely out of sight of the diner. “I mean if your comics say it can happen-”

  “I've never read any comics.”

  “But you said-”

  “I just got tired of them ragging the boy about it, that's all. He's got enough shit to worry about.” Carlos admitted.

  “Oh, well that's cool.”

  Who was he out here with exactly? Derick soon realized that he knew absolutely nothing about Carlos beyond the fact that his hands were in chains the day before. In fact, he still wore the bright yellow jumpsuit that came standard at Alexander Correctional. Leading him to hope that the infected were color blind. Otherwise, he was traveling with a man who might as well have been holding up a sign with a pork chop printed on it. Who should he fear more, the convict or the zombies?

  Suddenly, Carlos grabbed him by the shirt – forcefully. Holding a finger to his lips and then pointing.

  “Holy shit.” Derick whispered.

  The guns they'd heard had indeed been U.S. Army and from the look of things, the soldiers had been overrun. Derick estimated at least a hundred dead bodies laying on the ground, with three Humvees disabled in the middle of the highway, along with several large trucks. One of them smoked; two others had been burned down to the frame.

  “We should take a Humvee,” Derick whispered. “They don't use keys – not the military editions, anyway. We flick three switches and we're good to go.”

  Derick shook his head.

  “No, the rumbling would bring them in droves. Maybe if we were driving long distance, but the diner's too close. We'd just get followed back.”

  Carlos had a good point.

  “I see three.” Carlos whispered.

  “Three what? Humvees? He'd just turned the idea down.”

  It was a legitimate question. Whatever they were, three figures were kneeling over the fallen soldiers and were completely unaware of the two gawking men.

  “Fuck if I know,” Carlos said. “But they're gut-munching something fierce. The woods around us are probably full if they had enough to overrun these soldiers.”

  “Oh-” Derick began. Also spotting the figures digging into the torsos of the fallen and feasting like orphans on Thanksgiving. There was blood splattered about, as was the occasional severed limb or small pile of expended shells.

  “We need those guns.” Carlos said.

  “What?”

  “I mean there must be two dozen M-4 carbines down there laying near the bodies, and that's just what I can see. All the soldiers had sidearms, hell, military radios for all we know. I can't scoop it all up, but... how fast can you run kid?”

  “What?” Derick said once more.

  “How fast can you run?”

  “On a normal day or as to not get my innards eaten – If it's the latter of the two, I'd say pretty damn fast.”

  “OK listen,” Carlos began. “I need time to get inside one of those Humvees and see what I can rummage. Then I'll grab what I can from the fallen soldiers on my way out. It'll have to be a quick in and out. I just need some time.”

  Derick began to pull the watch from his wrist – uninterested.

  “Not that kind of time, smartass,” Carlos grinned for a moment. “I need you to lure them away long enough for me to look around.”

  “Lure them away?”

  Somehow Derick had hoped that his quick wit would get him out of the obvious. He'd hadn't run in quite some time.

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?”

  “When I'm ready, I'll whistle. You bring them back around and whatever they are – I'll ambush the bastards. It'll bring more out of the woods, but if we're quick on our feet, I think we can be gone before they stumble out to have a look.” Carlos replied.

  “But you're not going to shoot me?” Derick asked with concern. One stray bullet could have easily turned him into a feast for sloppy dead grins.

  “I'm not shooting anything. It'd draw more of them our way.”

  “Great.” Derick said. Regretting it already.

  “Ready?” Carlos asked.

  Standing up with timidness shaking his knees, Derick eased down to the highway – still unnoticed. Finally, holding his arms up and waving them wildly. “Do you folks happen to know the way to Charlotte?”

  All three figures turned suddenly. With bloodied mouths and the look of stank all over them, they may have been unfamiliar with Charlotte but they certainly knew the way to a woman's heart – literally. They had day old meat laying on the ground in bloody clumps, but fresh flesh sounded better. Standing fast, each of the zombies came at him. Much slower than he could move, which bolstered his confidence a bit.

  Just don't get cornered. He thought.

  He began to run from one side of the highway to another, backing up as he went. Likewise, the mindless rots in front of him also zigzagged. Derick could see Carlos slip in behind them like a real-life Grinch on his way to steal Christmas presents. Many of the bodies had already been chewed clean through and while Derick found it easy to avoid the three clueless bastards, he wondered what brought anything to the point of gnawing into human flesh.

  Derick could see Carlos skimming his hands through the soldiers on the ground.

  He watched the convict pull a tactical vest, a few sidearms and he even hoisted a rifle. Then he turned to the Humvee that seemed to be in the best shape. It wasn't burned or smoking, so maybe, just maybe, there was loot to be had.

  The muscled man began slithering into one of the windows as the vehicle lay on its side. Derick did what he could to keep an eye on the living dead in front of him, while also casting glances toward the Humvee. He could hear banging around inside of the military vehicle's cab. For a moment, it sounded like Carlos worked at a railroad yard and Derick worried that so much damn noise would draw the rots out of the woods. Then what would he do? Leave Carlos? Truth be told, the convict would have likely left him for much less.

  Get your ass out of there. He thought.

  Finally, after several minutes of being the official pace car of the undead, Derick heard a whistle. It came right as Carlos' head poked through the window like a mole squeezing through dry soil. Gripping both sides of the window entrance, Carlos pulled himself up and out with a single motion.

  Sprinting forward, Derick narrowly escaped the grasp of one of the rots. Turning just like a running back would do for his favorite professional football team. The zombies followed, almost single file like cattle to the slaughter. Carlos stood up and slammed the thick blade of his knife into the skull of the first to approach.

  “Stay behind me kid!”

  Raising a foot up, Carlos pushed the dead flesh away from his knife and went after the second. Starting to do the same. Suddenly, with the third nearly on top of them, Derick saw no choice in the matter. He grabbed a piece of singed metal from the ground and swung it like a baseball bat, cracking into the skull of the last zombie. Carlos sprang to his feet, glanced to Derick for a moment with thanks and then thrust his blade into the beast's skull just to be damn sure.

  Without so much as a word, both men sprinted for the same treeline that had brought them to the fight. It just so happened that one of them carried a sack of goodies that banged around like a bushel of horny jackrabbits.

  ** **

  “The diner is up ahead.” Derick said nearly ten minutes later. Pointing to a small building off in the distance.

  “About earlier,” Carlos said. Hoisting the sack of supplies over a single shoulder. Cheating death had him feeling a bit more relaxed. “Rap sheet says I killed a man and I did. When you have kids, you'll do anything you need to in o
rder to protect them. That's as far as I want to get into it.”

  “OK.”

  “I'd never been locked up before. When I got to prison, it was just like you'd imagine it would be. There are sharks and there are fish – you either adapt fast or the sharks will tear you apart. I had to kill again in prison – twice.” he continued. This time offering up some of his story without curious prodding.

  “Oh.” Derick replied.

  “It was them or me, but the courts don't see it that way. They just see a guy with three murders to his name and a couple dozen assaults. I was North Carolina Inmate number eight-seven-eight-four-zero-zero. That's all a judge sees.”

  “I think we live in a different time now.”

  “No,” Carlos said. Confiding in the one man among the group he trusted. “I still see their faces every night when I try to sleep. A.K. and guards just like him see me as a number, and that's fine. Because I'd like to think my son is still alive out there somewhere and I'm part of the reason he's OK.”

  “This will stay between us.” Derick said.

  “I appreciate that,” Carlos replied. A bit relieved. “And I appreciate you saving my ass back there. Don't think it went unnoticed. When this group splinters – and it will – I'll remember the people who had my back. I just hope you do the same.”

  “I think everyone will get along OK after-”

  “Trust me,” Carlos said. “We've got too many queen bees and not a lot of worker bees, if you know what I'm saying? It won't be long before the dying starts. Just be sure you choose the right side when it happens.”

  Derick nodded. He wasn't quite sure if the ex-con was extending his friendship or dealing up a threat. Either way, Derick felt uncomfortable with the idea of a group of survivors killing one another from the inside. Though he suspected that Carlos was right. Each of them had their own strategy when it came to staying alive and he was willing to bet that none of them were willing to risk their own ass on someone else's plan. With a sackful of new guns about to enter the diner, it was a recipe for disaster.