The Death Doll (22 page)

The R.V. drove ahead on Isaac’s right with some asshole aiming out of a side window at him.  He hit the brakes, but the R.V. stayed with him—even though it was a little funny watching that fool hanging out the window push himself back inside.  The dude recovered and shot the tanker’s windshield, narrowly missing Isaac’s head.

Rachelle fired out of her window again, spending one shot at a time.  More gunshots from the last two bikers forced her right back in, showering her with glass from the windshield.

“This plan ain’t working,” he said.

Didi’s voice surprised him with, “
Don’t give up on me yet
.”

Isaac and Rachelle traded glances, then he sped up and yelled into his earpiece, “You were listening the whole time?”

“
Like a boss.  Get over it
.”

Isaac snorted.  “I suppose you saw this coming, too.  Maybe you see a way out of it?”

“
It’s called faith, Isaac
,” she replied.  “
Here’s how it works
.”

What the face-muncher said next floored him.

              *****

Passing the old middle school, Bob had no idea how to lose the posse.  With so many vehicles at their disposal, he was surprised they didn’t try ramming him off the road.  He wanted to break out the grenades, but he couldn’t let his panicky, inexperienced passengers get their hands on their limited stash of explosives and blow themselves up.

More vehicles turned onto Fifth Street a few blocks up and headed straight for him.  Ron shot at them, but it did little to stop them.  Hitting any one of them head-on would be catastrophic for the bus, no matter how much armor.  No one could throw a grenade far enough ahead to affect anything.  Out of options, he slammed on his brakes. 

The hulking bus screeched to a halt, throwing many of its standing passengers to the floor. 

All gunfire ceased, but Bob's temples throbbed like everyone was still shooting.  Crying slowly died down as the massive convoy encircled the bus.  Their enemies aimed their weapons from windows and over hoods.  There had to be well over a hundred of them.

The bus became his turtle shell.  He didn't know what to do but sit in it and watch the insane masses descend upon him.  The area had been cleared of the dead long ago—except the ones thrown at his home several blocks away—so nothing out there would break up this barrier of madmen.

Bob’s tribal stories told him nothing of how his people survived the invaders surrounding their lands with so many guns and wagons.  One of Didi’s Biblical stories came to mind; the one of the bus’ namesake fleeing from the wrath of Pharaoh Ramses, saved by a God, who parted an entire sea.  He wished he knew how to call upon such a deity that could swallow up such a fierce enemy for him now.

A motorcycle approached the barricade and stopped by one of the old camper trucks.  Its massive rider dismounted and strutted into the convoy circle with a sword strapped to his back, grinning as victors often did.  When Kenny stopped, he pulled something from his pocket and raised it to his mouth.  “
Evenin’
,” he said smoothly through the radio system.

A chill ran down Bob’s spine until he remembered the communication equipment Pat stole from Xing.  He took a breath and pulled his handset, but he didn’t know what to say.

“
In case y’all haven’t heard, your Death Doll is dead
. 
Jumped into a crowd of zombies.  It was truly sad.
”

The nearest passengers gasped.  Figuring it better to keep everyone in the loop, Bob patched his radio into the bus’ intercom system.  He clicked his handset.  “What do you want from us?”

“
Well, you're surrounded and quite outnumbered.  What say y'all come on out and maybe we can part peacefully before it gets darker?
”

“He's got to be kidding,” Ron said from his pedestal, hunched over like Max was.

“
Actually, I'm not
,” Kenny said, his grin widening like he had just caught them sneaking something.  “
The way I see it, y'all have what we want, and we need not shed any more blood for it.  Our little feud ended with the life of your leader.  I have no reason to harm any of you now.
”

Bob took up Ron's defiant stance. “I doubt that includes the lives we've taken from each other tonight.”

Kenny shrugged.  “
Y’all can make this harder on yourselves if you want to.  I assure you that shell won’t protect your children, though.
”

Clarissa stood and shouted, “How do you think you're going to get through it?”

Kenny’s grin widened as he waved his hand in a circle above his head. 

Engines revved on Sixth Avenue, where a few of the surrounding vehicles moved away.  Further down, a bulldozer headed straight for the bus.

Bob's heart jumped into his throat, while the others started to panic.  He knew that thing could punch through the bus’ armor like a nail through wood, and his engine wouldn't handle the strain of trying to push through the barricade of cars.

The monstrous machine's plow rose at the command of a scruffy-looking man under a John Deere cap, its lower teeth aiming to scoop the seats right out of the reinforced shell. 

“
Just sit tight, folks
,” Kenny said nonchalantly.  “
We'll have y'all out in a jiffy.
”

A few passengers ran for the door, but Ron hopped down and stopped them with Oscar’s help.  They argued for their safety and their children’s, but Ron warned them they could get shot down the instant they stepped off the bus.  Even Clarissa got in Ron and Oscar's faces about taking her chances with her baby. 

The grinding bulldozer closed in. Bob struggled with his faith in the plan, wondering if he was crazy to follow it this far.  He wanted to believe he was still a step ahead of Kenny like Didi had insisted, but the massive convoy changed the game too much to hold onto faith.

A single gunshot took out the bulldozer’s driver.  His body slumped forward onto his console, stopping the monstrosity in the street.  The convoy faced their fallen comrade.

Flames burst behind the bulldozer, where a line of trees in the park had somehow caught fire.  Just ahead of them stood a single figure, who stared at Kenny with that telltale grin.

“I hope I'm interrupting,” Didi’s voice echoed through the streets.

Bob found faith again.

LEVERAGE

Kenny watched the pale, leather-clad wench stroll up Sixth Avenue like a virus coursing through his system.  His rage burned hotter than the flames behind her.  He reached for his pistol, but a gunshot skipped across the street in front of him.  He searched every window and rooftop for the shooter, as did his people behind him.  No one saw a thing.

“You should put that down,” she said smugly.  “Someone could get hurt
.
”

Hotheaded Jimmy Pruitt cursed the woman and aimed his rifle at her.  Blood and brain matter burst from his ear before he could pull his trigger.  The poor bastard collapsed, dead as a doornail, while the Death Doll stopped before Kenny, still grinning like a boss.

Everyone else kept searching.  Still nothing.

She frowned lightly at him.  “So much death.  It could be such a nice night if we all just got along
.
”

“How’d you survive them things?” Kenny insisted on knowing.

She shrugged playfully.  “I’m special that way.  Now, how about you and your friends clear the road for us?  We've got places to go.”

Kenny stopped himself from charging her, knowing her hidden gunner was too well trained to test.  His people felt the same when he saw their panicky eyes on him, rather than fanning their hardened asses out to find the son of a bitch.  All he could do was stand his ground.

Her brows flew up expectantly.  “Not going to move?”

He shook his head.  “You know I won't.”

She nodded, then shouted, “Convince him
.
”

He backed up a step, expecting to be shot down.  Instead, he heard grunting behind him.  Through those long slits on the bus, he made out a few bodies moving toward the front.  The driver's eyelid window plates slid open, making several of his people twitch.  Then they stared agape as someone shoved Cynthia's head onto the sill with a pistol aimed deep into her fiery red hair.  Her eyes were full of fear, more than he’d ever seen in her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“
Kill her, Kenny
,” Cynthia screamed.  “
She's a fucking z—
”

A hand from inside covered Cynthia's mouth and yanked her head back inside.  The window quickly closed behind her.

The Death Doll had him.  He couldn't risk losing the respect of his people by letting Cynthia get killed, but he couldn't let this little whore get the best of him or the Pride of Life.  No, he couldn't let all he had built die like this. 

So, he used what always worked for him.  “People keep saying the nastiest things about you, darling.”

“They just need to get to know me,” she said with a sweet grin.  He was surprised she didn’t bat her eyelashes at him.  In fact, she didn’t blink at all.  She wasn’t just strong; she was crazy.

Still, he had to keep pressing her.  “Kind of hard to when we have each other over a barrel.”

“You'd think that would be fun,” she said in a flirty tone.  Oh, if only.

He briefly chuckled, then offered an olive branch of sorts.  “Maybe we could be more reasonable.  My beef is just with you
.
”

“You know you're not going to win this, beefcake.  My people can outlast you as long as they need to in that bus
.
”

“They might, but your friends in the tanker might not
,
” he said, which finally made her snooty grin disappear.  “That was pretty clever how you snuck them around us, but we can live without that fuel, and it would be such a terrible way for such a pretty young girl to die.”

The Death Doll fumed. Kenny sopped it up like his late mama's biscuits and gravy.

“You have to face it, darling,” he said as he flashed his cell phone at her, “you can't beat a family with eyes and ears everywhere.”

Her blasted smile reappeared on her slutty mouth.  “Unless the ears don't know what to listen to,” she said, then touched her cell phone on her belt and said, “Do it, Isaac,” which he did not hear on his cell phone.

*****

Pat smiled at the sight of the fuel truck’s broken windshield.  Behind him, mean old Bart Townsend reloaded his rifle while his underlings Leland Todd and Gus Saffron took turns shooting out the window.  Bart yanked the two out of his way and slithered through the window.  He was a mean, thick-headed bastard, but he was a useful one.

“Hold onto somethin’,” Bart shouted as he slipped back in and under the table. 

Pat looked back and saw the tanker speeding straight at him.  He hugged the huge steering wheel in time to absorb the massive shock that rocked the R.V. 

Leland and Gus got tossed like clotheslined shirts on a windy day.  Bart slid back out of the window with his rifle, but another crash made him drop it.

Pat hit his head on the wheel and nearly lost control.  He fought the wheel to stay on the road while the tanker shot past him.  He was pissed.  He shook off the painful swirling in his head and hit the gas as his last two bikers sped up alongside the semi, each on a different side. 

One of them aimed his submachine gun at the driver window, but a big black arm slung out a pistol and shot the dumb son of a bitch.  The semi rammed the other, but that one was quick enough to grab onto the side ladder before his bike tumbled off the road.  That guy—whatever his name was—climbed atop the tank and ran up to the cabin.  He tried sticking his gun in their windshield, but he got yanked in and tossed out in short order. 

The passenger door remained open, leaving an opening to get that little bitch riding shotgun.

Pat smiled, then yelled back, “Come take the wheel, Bart.”

Bart cussed him out, then demanded of the other two whelps, “Gimme another ‘un,”

“You had your chance,” Pat shouted.  “Now get up here.”

Bart cussed him out again and went into the back room.

Having had enough of the dumbass, Pat ordered Gus to take the wheel, ran to the back of the R.V., and rammed his fist between Bart’s stupid little eyes.  He grabbed a shotgun, shoved the barrel down the asshole’s throat, and warned the wannabe cowboy, “Don’t you ever ignore me again.”

The dumbass’ eyes quivered at him like a little boy about to get a whooping. 

Pat dropped the sorry son of a bitch and marched toward the open middle window.  He shoved Leland’s dumbstruck face through it with the shotgun and ordered him to shoot down those assholes in the tanker, pointing to the open passenger door.  Then he yelled up front, “You waiting for an invitation, Gus?  Catch them colored bitches.”

The skinny little cuss behind the wheel finally got a clue and sped up.

Pat grabbed one of the fallen rifles and stuck it through the window behind the driver seat.  He waited as the R.V. drove up on the tanker, knowing sooner or later that wetback little cunt riding shotgun had to stick her head out if it didn’t already get blown off.  He hoped not; he wanted that opportunity.  The itch to kill grew into a full-blown lust as they drew closer, loading a weapon he would almost prefer to use on little Rachelle over and over. 

She rolled into view and tossed something at him. 

He ducked as it shattered the glass over him, then aimed at the little whore with a grin.  “Goodbye, bitch,” she said aloud.

“
GRENADE
,” Leland shouted, making Pat flush with panic.

*****

Rachelle watched with satisfaction as the R.V. exploded.  The massive sucker veered off the road and tumbled into empty farm country.  It was a waste of a luxury home on wheels, but it was oh, so good to see a couple of homicidal nut jobs get theirs.  She closed the door, sat back, and smiled at Isaac.

“Stone cold killer,” Isaac said, patting her shoulder.

Rachelle briefly smiled, but that disappeared as she faced forward. “So, where are we going?”

“Gotta find a place to turn around,” he replied, which surprised her.  “What?  You heard the woman.  We got somewhere to be.”

Rachelle smiled again.