The Great Wreck (28 page)

I
peered into the gloom and saw a small crowd of dead drifting back and forth. A
few cops, a few civilians, and many others that were so far gone from decay
that I couldn’t identify what they were when they were alive. So no going in
the front door. I backed away from the door quietly and circled the perimeter
of the station around to the back. Here was a large fenced in area topped with
multiple rings of barbwire. One of the entry gates had been smashed outward so
I made my way in through there.

Inside
there were a few police vehicles parked along the back of the station including
two armored all-terrain personnel carriers. If only I knew how to drive, I
could use one of those to plow my way down the highway.

I
crept past the police cruisers and personnel carrier to the rear entrance of
the station. Even before I reached the doors I could tell what the inside held.
The heavy, decayed stench hit me like a sledgehammer. I pushed forward through
the reek until I could see what was inside.

It was a mess.
Between the dead who were crammed in there so tight they could barely move
around, to the mass of decomposing bodies piled up on the floor, the odor was
overwhelming. I did my best not to puke as I backed away covering my mouth with
the sleeve of my shirt.

I
was not getting into the station so I scavenged the shotguns shells out of the
cruisers and picked them over for anything that might be useful. When I was
done I figured I’d find a safe spot and try to locate a National Guard or Army
depot to get what I needed when I spotted a large warehouse built like a small
fortress across the enclosed police parking lot.

You
don’t build something like that, I thought, unless you have something very
valuable, very deadly, or both inside and you really want to keep people out. I
trotted over to the huge concrete doors of the warehouse keeping alert for any
walker that might be braving the heat. They were sealed shut but I was not
discouraged. I walked around the edge. Along the top of the walls were tiny,
thick windows that appeared to be sealed shut. I wondered if any survivors had
been able to barricade themselves in?

When
I rounded that back corner, the answer became clear: one of the huge concrete
doors had been knocked off its recessed metal tracks by one of the armored
personnel carriers from the inside leaving nearly a ten foot gap between the
two doors. If anyone had been inside, they must have been in a huge hurry to
get out.

I
peered into the half light of the warehouse and could see one or two dead
drifting around. I slung my rifle over my back and pulled out my pistols. I
could handle a few dead but if there were more than five or so, I’d have to
back out in a hurry.

I
crawled over the hood of the personnel carried onto the roof and scanned the
interior of the warehouse as I let my eyes adjust to the semidarkness. The
warehouse was crammed full of gear on shelves, in locked cages, and small metal
sheds. It looked like the world’s largest arms bazaar. Automatic shotguns,
sleek looking sniper rifles, M50 machine guns, rocket launchers, grenade
launchers, you name it.

Up
to the right was another interior building with a large sign that said
“Evidence Archives.” I didn’t know what might be in there, but I’d take a look
after I cleaned out the dead.

From
what I could see, there were only three walkers moving about. I carefully
sighted on the first one and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Pfft!
The walker’s forehead blew apart and the thing collapsed after taking a few
more steps. The other two wandered on. I sighted on the second one and put the
bullet right behind its ear.

Pfft!
A second rotted volcano erupted and the thing dropped. The third seemed to
sense something was afoot and cocked its head and stopped moving about. Pop!
And down it went. I crouched on top of the roof of the vehicle and waited to
see if any other walkers would drift into sight, then looked behind me and
verified that the yard was still clear. I climbed off the vehicle still holding
my pistol in front of me. I scouted the perimeter, looked in the dark corners,
and checked between all the shelves before I was satisfied that I was alone.
I’d seen too many movies where the dead popped out of some hidden corner,
closet, or cranny to assume the place was empty, so I’d stay on high alert
until I was ready to leave.

This
place had everything you might want to outfit a small army. Or a large army for
that matter. The first row I came to had every type of explosive I had ever
heard of. I grabbed a few grenades from shelves that were overflowing with
metal boxes of them. I grabbed three claymores as well. James might have
laughed at me when I picked them up outside of Blyth, but they seemed to come
in handy. They had a huge selection of plastic explosives, wire explosive, and
other types that I couldn’t identify.

The
first three rows I looked at were dedicated to explosive. What in the world did
the police need all of this stuff for? The next few rows were dedicated to
exotic weapons that I had never seen used on the streets. Each section of
shelves had a picture of the gun or rifle on it. I assumed each of the boxes in
that section had the gun pictured. Most of them I couldn’t even figure out how
to use. I saw a picture of an automatic shotgun and pulled a box from the shelf
and onto the floor. I flipped the latches and pulled the monster out. It was
huge. I picked it up and tried to aim it but it was too heavy. I put it back in
its box and sealed it up. Somebody with stronger arms than me might be able to
use it later.

I
found a lightweight submachine gun but couldn’t find a silencer for it. I found
another fully automatic machine gun that the silencer I had picked up in Blyth fit
and swapped it out with my own. The new machine gun was much lighter but used
the same type of ammunition that the heavy AR-17 I had been using The last few
sections were dedicated to handguns, machine pistols, and other hand held
weapons. I moved on after taking another look around the warehouse for
intruders. All was quiet.

The
next shelves had what looked like rocket launchers. Rocket launchers? What
would the police use that for? Same with grenade launchers. None of that was
even remotely useful to me. I quickly passed more shelves until I found one
dedicated to ammunition. I stocked up on shotgun shells and bullets for my
pistols and rifle. There was so much here I had to limit myself to what I could
take or I’d overload myself. I stacked up the boxes of ammunition neatly at the
end of the row with my new rifle and explosives. I would find a pack to carry
them out with later.

Finally,
as
 
I neared the evidence room, I came to
an area with shelves of body armor, police uniforms, helmets, and other specialized
equipment. I scanned the rows and the shelves until I found what
 
I was looking for. The night goggles were all
stacked neatly between tactical gloves, and cargo pants. I slid out a box, set
it on the floor and opened it up. Inside the box were the goggles, spare
batteries, a charging station, and a user’s manual. The goggles were sleek and
black with four sets of lenses, an adjustable head harness, and a set of dials
on the top that looked like you could choose what level of brightness you wanted,
whether the moon was out, if you were in an urban environment or a wilderness
one, and an array of other functions that I couldn’t identify from the little
pictograms marked on the dials. I packed it all back neatly into the box. I’d
find a place to stay tonight and experiment with them until I was ready to use
them for real.

The
last few rows had what looked like camping gear including tents, camouflage
nets both for wilderness and urban environments, back packs, combat packs,
ropes, and other equipment for any and all possible situations the police might
encounter. I didn’t see any zombie survival kits so I’m guessing the police
didn’t foresee that eventuality.

I
grabbed a urban combat pack and two sets of netting, one a gray color that
would help me hide amongst the buildings and the other of the desert camouflage
design, then I grabbed and industrial looking flashlight. I left the tents.
There was no way I’d sleep in a tent where I couldn’t see out, had only one
exit, and anything could sneak up on me while I slept. Fuck.
That
.

I
packed up all my new gear in my new pack and tried it on. It was heavy but I’d
been building up muscles I never knew I had on my walk from Los Angeles so it
felt OK. I decided to take a quick look in the evidence archive. The light from
the warehouse penetrated the gloom but only about halfway in leaving the back
half shrouded in near complete darkness that could be hiding just about
anything.

I
glanced at the shelves lined with bins full of sealed plastic envelopes marked
“evidence” and figured that there wasn’t anything in here I could use that I
didn’t already have. I turned to leave and caught a glimmer of something out of
the corner of my eye. I didn’t need anything shiny that would give away my
position out in the sunlight but I was drawn to it none the less. It lay on the
first shelf and was wrapped in a large plastic bag. I pulled back the plastic
keeping an eye on the shadows revealing a long wooden box inlaid with gold and
silver metal in an intricate design. I popped the finely crafted latches on the
box and slowly opened it. Inside was a shotgun. But not just any shotgun,
no-sir-ee
! This one was a double barrel
pump shotgun that had been sawed down to the very base of the wood stock making
it just under two feet long. The wood stock was also inlaid with silver plating
on the side that gleamed dully. I picked it up and put it against my shoulder,
It fit snug and was incredibly light weight. It would be easy to hide and very
easy to handle for a young teenager like me. I put it in its box and picked the
box up from the shelf turning to head out of the warehouse.

I
heard something shift behind me. I dropped the box and pulled out my pistols
expecting to see a few dead stumble out of the back of the evidence room. I
turned and instead saw nothing. Maybe the building shifting in the heat? I
stood there motionless then heard the shuffling sound again.

People
learned early on during the event not to call out “who’s there?” or “hey [
fill in the blank with name of a dead loved
one
], is that you?” They learned early or got eaten. So I stood there
complete silent. Then I could hear the breathing, a low, wet wheezing.

I
thought maybe it was a dog until I heard someone deep in the darkness whisper
so low I had to strain to hear it, “Someone’s been pick, pick,
picking
…”

I
didn’t bother to ask if they were all right. I knew they weren’t. I had
traveled with James for so long that I already knew the sound of insanity, of
madness, and of death so I picked up my shotgun box and began to back out of
the evidence room keeping my pistol training on the voice.

 
“Sneak sneak little mouse and go away. Leave
us to our darkness…” I thought I might have caught the reflection of two eyes but
it most likely was my overheated imagination. The nut job hiding in the dark,
however was not my imagination and it was time for me to leave.

As
I spun and headed towards my pile of gear, I heard the voice call out, “One
warning! If you come back, I will have you tended to,
YOUUU
….!” The voice screamed at me rising at the end in a high
pitched screech.

First,
I ran. Grabbing my new gear and heading out the warehouse doors still careful
to look around and ensure no dead had crept into the area.

Second
I wasn’t coming back. I could guarantee you that.

And
third, fuck you looney tune, I’m out of here.

I
got out of the warehouse, back out onto the street, and away from the police
station. I quickly found my bike and began repacking my equipment looking back over
my shoulder expecting to see a tattered figure stumbling around the corner of
the police station crying after me, “One warning little mouse! One warning!”
and calling the dead down on us both. I quickly finished and strapped my old
pack onto the bicycle cart, then mounted up and peddled away from the police
station at to the onramp and quickly as I could.

I
felt the fear begin to fade as I made it up the freeway and headed east. It was
still hotter than a furnace but the hot breeze blew away my sweat and the feel
of the wind as I peddled down the highway felt wonderful.

I
slid effortlessly by the burnt out and abandoned wrecks of cars, busses, and
trucks and soon found myself momentarily free of the urban traffic jams that
clogged the roads. In front of me was the open highway with no dead in sight.
Behind me was Phoenix still afire. I peddled away moving faster than I had for
months and for a moment felt free. Free from death, free from worry, and free
from James. I knew he was out there somewhere, running around the wreck,
playing with the dead, but I planned on putting as much distance between him
and me as I could so he could never, ever catch up to me.

How
naïve I was to think he’d let me go that easily.

*
     
*
     
*

I
only had a few hours left of sunlight and I still needed to find a place to
sleep for the night. I stopped peddling and pulled out my map. Just a few miles
further east was Gila River Memorial Airport. I’d try that first.

I
peddled off the highway and down to the frontage road and soon found myself at
the airport’s perimeter fence. I found an open gate and peddled onto the
runway. There were a few planes here, mostly private commuters or fancy jets
for millionaires, but none of the larger planes of the commercial carriers. On
the far east side of the airport, I could see a large assortment of military
hangers, vehicles, planes, and helicopters. I thought about exploring all the
equipment they left behind later but figure I already had everything I needed.