The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle (27 page)

Chuck had taken control now, his expertise being defence on
the ground, survival of the fittest. The survival training the two pilots had
received as long haul pilots was a tongue-in-cheek gesture. All it was supposed
to do was extend their ability to survive for a few hours in the event of being
able to walk away from controlled flight into terrain, or CFIT as it’s known in
the trade.

*

Earlier in the day, two men, real chancers, named Earl and
Wayne, had found themselves in Chautauqua Park. They were exhausted; their
forays into Boulder for supplies had been largely unsuccessful, almost ending
in their deaths when they had become surrounded by dozens of those living dead
things. Someone, God knew who, driving an armoured personnel carrier with a
machine gun mounted on top, had driven along the street they’d been on, and had
machine-gunned everything standing. Only their canny survival instincts had
allowed them to realise that by dropping to the ground and playing dead, they
might survive this onslaught. The noise and destruction seemed to go on
forever, the large calibre slugs ripping through bodies like they were bottles
of coloured water, spraying the area in thick, red juice with bits.

By the end of the attack, Wayne had been close to madness,
gibbering like a man possessed. It was only when Earl had slapped him, out of
sheer frustration, that he had come back to normality. Both had been shaken to
the core by the sheer violence of the incident, and swore never to be caught
unawares again. They had scoured the town for bigger weapons to replace their
pistols, deciding their salvation lay in firepower; after all, had they not
just seen proof positive of this?

Due to their own body heat and sweat, they were beginning to
stink from the blood in which they had been drenched, as it began to rot in
their clothing and on their skin. At last they found an abandoned house with a
swimming pool. The power must have still been working, as the water was warmer
than they had expected, and it had been wonderful cleaning the disgusting
remnants off.

“This is amazing, Wayne,” Earl had cried, throwing himself
around in the water like a child, “Gee, wouldn’t it have been great to grow up
with this stuff?”

“Nah, couldn’t stand the ‘Burbs. Too many nosey bastards,
just waiting to see who failed next.”

“Yeah, but with a pool like this, can you imagine the
barbeques and the hot chicks in bikinis? That’s the life.”

“I think you spent too much time watching MTV, you ass. Life
ain’t like that.” Wayne had simply removed his soiled clothes and used the pool
as an oversized bath, washing the muck off. Now he was standing by the edge,
shivering in the cold air. “Let’s get some clothes. I’m goddam freezing.”

Sighing in surrender, Earl got out of the pool and picked up
his pistol and newly acquired rifle. Using the butt of the rifle, Earl easily
broke the double glazed French Windows, and entered the house, pistol at the
ready. Discovering no occupiers, they ransacked the place, and managed to find
enough clothing to suit their needs. The family that had lived there were
heavily into skiing, and their warm clothing reflected that fact. As a result,
they now looked like trendy ski bums, their military style boots looking oddly
out of place with the new look.

The pair now found
themselves in Chautauqua Park, skulking behind a stone wall, further hidden by
shrubs that demarked the edge of the park. Trying to determine their next
actions, they had been startled as an elderly man had suddenly, out of nowhere,
arisen from behind a hedge, and begun to wander around the area, dazed, clearly
looking for something, before finally giving up and collapsing on a stone
outcrop in one of the gardens. He then rested his head in his hands, and had
cried. It was at that point the two crooks finally agreed he wasn’t one of
those zombie things; Wayne had wanted to take a pop at him to try out their new
guns. Earl felt guilty watching the man crying, it was a very personal moment.

“Hey, Wayne. Why don’t we get him to come with us? Seems
he’s all alone.”

Wayne looked askance at his life-long buddy, wondering what
was happening to him. Ever since this infection thing had struck, he was
behaving differently, almost like he was getting soft. It made Wayne sick. The
opportunity they now had to make their lives better would take real guts, and
he was beginning to think Earl didn’t have what it would take.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear you say that. Who the hell
wants some old fart tagging along, slowing us down? Huh?” Wayne replied.

“He reminds me of Pa.”

“What? Your Pa? If that’s what you wanna call him, the
bastard, he used to take the belt to you so much, that in the end you’d run
away to my place until his temper settled. Jeez, what are you on?”

“He had his good moments,” Earl replied, defensively.

“When he wasn’t
drinkin
’, which
was never. The answer is no, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

Earl settled down to sulk, and so they had remained out of
sight, waiting, grateful for the protection of their ski-wear against the
biting cold. With the arrival of the military truck, things had become more
interesting. Two men got out and had gone over to one of the burnt out homes.
It had clearly belonged to of one of them. They’d met the old guy, who they’d
nearly shot in fright, and after some conversation, he’d shown them what looked
like a hatch leading underground. Earl and Wayne had moved along the wall,
remaining under cover, to get a better view of the proceedings.

“Good things come to those who just sit and wait,” Wayne
paraphrased. He was patient when he wanted to be, especially if he thought he
would profit.

“Wonder what’s in it?” Earl wondered.

“Whatever it is, it was hidden, so it’s worth something.”

 
Once the men had
started to load the truck with goodies, Wayne’s grin of satisfaction grew
bigger. Whatever Earl wanted to do, Wayne’s intention was to hijack the load.
It could be the seed with which to grow his black market enterprise, after all,
bad times always needed one. He sat back and let those men do the hard work.

*

Tom and BB had generated a serious sweat from loading the
truck, and their bodies were really appreciating the exercise. Up to this
point, they had spent a huge proportion of their journey sitting. The exercise
was a blessed relief.

Having sorted out a suitable quantity of weaponry,
ammunition, tooling and ingredients to enable the reloading of spent shells,
Chuck had finally joined in the heavy work.

After an hour, they had finished loading and securing the
supplies. Pleased with themselves, the only thing left to do was to cover their
tracks. It was imperative that no-one discover the stash of remaining goods,
they had no idea how necessary and precious they might be in the near future,
and certainly didn’t want to offer them gift-wrapped to someone else. Tom had
phoned Daniel earlier, before commencing the loading, and told him of the
change of plans. He could hear that neither Daniel nor Rob were happy about it,
but at least they did understand the imperative that was driving Tom to make
this decision. They would meet up again, hopefully sometime late tomorrow, all
things being equal.

Satisfied there were no signs of disturbance amongst the
burnt debris, they walked out to the vehicle. To their surprise, they were
confronted by two men wearing flashy ski-wear, carrying automatic carbines. If
the situation hadn’t been so scary - neither Tom nor BB had ever been on the
business end of a rifle - the three men might have been inclined to laugh at
the spectacle.

“Freeze! Stay where you are!” one of the ski-clowns cried,
looking slightly nervous. It was clearly his first time performing highway
robbery.

Tom, BB and Chuck froze at the command, staring at the new
threat.

“Right. Now, take those gun belts off, slowly. Toss them
over there,” he commanded, pointing with his gun. “Don’t try anything stupid,”
he finished. The other one stood nervously next to his mate, his gun wavering,
unsure where to point it for best effect.

BB and Tom began to comply, using slow movements, so as not
to excite these two amateurs.

“You too, old man,” the first one said, seeing Chuck not
moving.

“I ain’t got no gun belt,” he replied. Put off-guard by
Chuck’s frail, unthreatening looks, they were further distracted by his
truculent tone, and failed to see his lightning swift movements. Four gunshots
cracked, and the two gunmen adopted surprised looks, as two small holes
appeared in their chests, down feathers puffing out of their coats like a
pillow split. Slowly, they collapsed and lay still on the ground. Calmly, Chuck
walked over to them and delivered coups de
grâce
to
their heads. “Just in case,” he mumbled.

Turning around, he looked down at his two companions, who
had hit the deck when the shooting started, and were still there.

“What are you guys doing
lyin
’
around. We’ve got places to go, ain’t we?” he said, smiling as he helped them
to their feet. “You have a lot to learn about survival, but at least your
reflexes are good, I can work with that. I don’t like killing, never have, but
I wasn’t about to negotiate with them cheeky bastards. You should think about
adopting the same attitude. Hereon in, anyone that ain’t with you is against
you.”

The End …