The Renegades 2 Aftermath (A Post Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller) (7 page)

I
t was
late afternoon when we rolled out. We stunk to high heaven but we were alive. Jess told us that if it hadn’t been for the three dead Z’s that had covered and smothered her like a blanket she wouldn’t have survived. Over the course of an hour she shuffled on her back using the dead Z’s as a shield until she had reached the dumpster. She then hid beneath it.

“You look like you are a newborn baby,” Izzy remarked as we tried to wipe off the grime. We had got used to smelling bad. It was odd how much hygiene was taken seriously before all this. Now, we didn’t care. Survival was more important.

While the CDC was where we ultimately wanted to go, we had initially targeted 102.5 The Wolf, a radio station. It was the largest of all the broadcasting stations in the city. Based on Benjamin’s advice, he felt that the signal could have only come from one of those two places. Knowing our luck, it never came from any of them. Izzy had argued home the point that anyone could have broadcast it. The city was overrun with the dead. The chances of finding where that initial broadcast came from was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

There were only five Z’s left in the alley, Baja finished them off with the axe Izzy was carrying. He looked like Thor wielding it, whereas she looked like she was trying to retrieve the sword in the stone. She could barely lift it, and she was a fit girl. How the hell she had managed to strap it to her back was beyond me. Both of them had got into a bit of a pissing match over who should have it. Eventually, Jess told her to let it go.

Baja was a bit of an oddball that way. Most of the time he was pretty lighthearted, but he could be pushy at times and a bit of an asshole when he wanted to be. Then again all of us could.

As much as the others were complaining about having to haul ass over to the radio station, I understood why Dax wanted to go. Even if the signal hadn’t come out of there, there was a possibility the equipment might be working off a generator. If it was, we might have been able to contact someone. It was a long shot. We knew that.

I had noticed that Dax and Izzy were once again keeping their distance. I shook my head in complete amazement. If ever there was a time to bury the hatchet, it was now. None of us knew if we were going to make it through the day. Petty disagreements seemed pointless.

We were in this together. Family. The only ones who would watch out for each other. In the short time together I had noticed how quick each of us listened to the other, even if we did moan over decisions made.

Dax had given us this spiel about what they taught them in the military. That no matter what, when they were out in the field, they were to make sure that no one was left behind. Of course there would be times when the enemy would overtake, when things would spiral out of control, but they were trained to look out for the safety of each other.

The station was three blocks from the alley. We stayed low, passing burnt-out cars. The charred remains of bodies lined the streets. Those who must have been attacked by gangs were brutalized. Their bodies strung up on fences or posts, or nailed to walls. Graffiti had been sprayed all over them. They showed no mercy.

We managed to get to the other side of the block with minimal interference from Z’s. A couple of times we had to hold our position under trucks until a group of walkers passed by. It wasn’t that we couldn’t have taken them out. But our best defense was not attacking it was avoidance. Anything else was a last resort, a means to an end to get us through dangerous sections of the city.

As we drew closer to the radio station located across from a large city park, we noticed there were heads everywhere. Someone had decapitated and strung them up like Christmas decorations. Their faces were battered as if someone had taken a pickaxe to them.

There was no point in telling Jess or Izzy not to look. They were as accustomed to the horrors of the apocalypse as much as us. You didn’t grimace at every sight. You became numb to it. The shock it once held was now gone.

102.5 The Wolf radio operated out of a large glass building. It must have been in pristine condition at one time. Now the bottom quarter of it was caved in from a truck that had careened into the side. Concrete steps and a part of an elevator were exposed. Its metal doors were crushed and bent. Rubble, papers, and blood were everywhere. The stench that hit us as we moved in was like a wall. Electrical wires that were no longer live hung down like spider legs.

We moved with our backs to the wall at a fair clip trying to get inside before the batch of Z’s that were shuffling around across the road spotted us.

“Wait.” Dax held up a clenched fist. We dropped behind a burnt-out cab. At first I thought he had spotted a horde of Z’s. But that wasn’t it. The sound of wheels slowly churning over filled the air. It got louder, until we saw a forest-green tank come around the corner. We figured it was military doing their rounds searching for survivors. It wasn’t. Five men dressed in blue bandanas controlled it. One of them was driving; another was manning the machine gun on the front and taking potshots at Z’s. The other three were spread out over the front and back with assault rifles. One of them threw a grenade. Another fired a rocket launcher at thirty Z’s in the distance. The echo shook the ground. A cloud of smoke and debris went into the air. That was followed by laughter. They loved every minute.

“Stay low,” Dax whispered.

We hugged the ground. The only things between us and them were two vehicles.

“Homie, get the three on the left,” we heard one of them shout out.

“Ah, look at that bitch’s tits hanging out. Watch this.”

I peered around the cab in time to see some female Z get her body drilled and rearranged by an excessive amount of bullets. They didn’t aim for the head. It fell to the floor.

“I’m grabbing it as a mascot,” one of them barked.

Two of them jumped down, grabbed her arms, and began dragging this thing across the ground while the others covered them. They tore off what remaining clothes were clinging to her body and then impaled her on the tank’s gun like a soft toy on the front of a Mack truck. The large, lengthy barrel went through her chest like a knife slices warm butter. The Z’s legs dangled there while it gnashed its teeth. If that wasn’t bad enough, the two men sat on the front of the tank laughing, and taking turns spanking her rotten, mutated ass.

This was nothing but a game to them. The tank surged forward rolling over Z’s that attempted to reach them. Blood splattered. Jess shook her head.

“Animals.”

We waited until they were gone before we slipped inside the radio station. The stairs had been partially blown out. We had to jump three steps just to continue. Within a matter of minutes, we were on the second floor. We stared at the offices in complete disarray, wondering what they must have gone through when this had hit the city. Had it been night or day when the infected struck? Did they have time to escape?

“Stay tight,” Dax said as he took the lead. We were looking for the main studio. We passed by several framed pictures on the walls of guests that had attended the station. There were the Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart, the Dixie Chicks, and a whole host of bands that had made a name for themselves. There was more than one control room that would have been used for live radio. We peered in thinking that no one was there. I saw a large desk with computers and microphones all over the floor. A smeared blood handprint on a window separated the hall and room. As I got closer a Z came into view. At first it startled me. I jumped back. It smashed repeatedly on the thick glass. Each time a part of its face would cave in.

We soon came to realize this wasn’t just one radio station but seven combined into one facility. We split up. Dax went with Izzy, Jess came with me, and the other three went up to the next floor.

“How are you coping?” I asked Jess. The whole incident back in the alley had shaken her up. We’d come close to losing her. We all realized that it could happen to any one of us. That’s why we had already said our goodbyes. I know, it sounds odd, but we had to be realistic. The idea that we were going to live long into our sixties, see grandkids, and wind up in a nursing home was a joke now. There was more chance of us getting bit before the day was out. We’d told each other that if things did go bad, no one would get to decide how we would end it. Whether that meant turning the gun on ourselves or waiting until we turned, we each got to choose how we would go.

And yet, all of us had said we would rather shoot ourselves than turn.

“I’m as well as I can be under the circumstances,” she replied.

“Over there.”

We stood at a corner. Inside a control room three Z’s walked back and forth. One of them had its arm ripped off, another, part of its jaw hung low. The sound of my blade coming out of the sheath was all it took for Jess to know what to do. She moved close to the door, gave me a nod, twisted the handle, and I booted it open. We had learned it was best to let them come to us when faced with a room. Only a few could get through the door at one time. In this case the door was only wide enough for one. I stabbed, retracted the blade. It dropped. Jess followed suit with the next and I finished off the last.

On the wall inside smeared in blood were the words,
Long Live The President!

“Odd thing to write. If I was about to die, I would be more inclined to write the words, fuck this life, or suck my dick, Z’s. But instead someone writes, LONG LIVE THE PRESIDENT?”

“Maybe they were patriotic.”

“Patriotism I’m pretty sure came to an end when this great nation did.”

We began looking around inside the booth for anything. Notes, anything that might have been left behind. Some indication that whoever was here knew about a safe zone.

“You think there are people still in the White House?”

“If they are, they’re probably dead.”

“But I mean, continuity of government and such? They are usually prepared for the worst-case scenario. You know, mass evacuation and relocation of federal government agencies and the White House,” Jess added.

I heard her but wasn’t paying attention. I had put on a pair of blood-stained headphones and was playing with dials. There was nothing. If they had a generator it wasn’t on.

“Let’s keep moving.”

O
n the next level Baja
, Specs, and Ralphie were exploring the rooms.

“I’m thinking I could have been a radio presenter,” Baja muttered as they peered around corners fully expecting a hungry Z to pop out.

“Really? Give me your best radio voice,” Specs replied.

Baja tucked his handgun away, cupped his hands over his mouth, and cleared his throat.

“Puh, puh, one, two, one two. This one goes out to all the brothers and bitches.”

Specs immediately cut him off. “Okay, you’re meant to be doing a radio broadcast not preparing for a rap battle.”

“I know, I know. Hold up. I was just getting warmed up.”

Ralphie smirked as he covered them from behind.

Baja took a deep breath and then belted out, “Good morning, Vietnam.”

Specs and Ralphie cracked up.

“Dude, that was Robin Williams.”

“I know. He was the king radio.”

“He was an actor playing a radio presenter.”

“Whatever.”

“Let me have a try,” Ralphie said, straightening up. He stood in front of the other two and took a deep breath.

“Zombies,” he muttered in a barely audible voice

“Oh man, that was shit. Even worse than mine,” Baja said.

“I dunno about that, yours was pretty bad,” Specs retorted.

“Z-Z-Zombies.”

“Okay, what is that meant to be? Reverb?”

Ralphie’s eyes went as wide as two large coins. Specs cast a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh shit.”

Coming down behind them were seven Z’s. All of them were obese, probably the result of spending all their time sitting down doing radio shows and eating nothing but vending machine food. One of them looked like he must have been a body builder in his past life. The guy had more meat on him than a pregnant cow, even after he’d died.

Baja twisted around, thinking they were winding him up. By that point they were just a few feet away. He reached for his two guns and fired round after round. The entire hall filled with dust as they unloaded their weapons. Specs jumped back just in time as the first Z came down hard on Baja. Another followed. One by one they collapsed on top of each other. Then it went quiet. Somewhere at the bottom below it all was Baja gasping for air.

“Get these fat fuckers off me.”

Specs and Ralphie chuckled.

“Now that wasn’t a bad radio voice,” Specs said, between laughing.

“Yeah, that was actually pretty damn good.”

“Glad you liked it. Now, a little help!”

D
own below Dax
and Izzy were scouting around. They were having about as much luck as the rest of them. There was nothing but empty rooms and the odd Z kicking around.

“So what do you miss?” Izzy tried to make small talk with Dax.

Dax was easing a door open with the tip of his barrel. “What?” he replied, barely hearing her.

“You know, since all this shit happened. What do you miss?”

He smirked. “Big Macs and fries.”

“Come on,” she groaned.

“Truthfully?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He paused, doing one final check in another control room.

“Sex.”

She huffed. “Oh you would. You always were a horn dog.”

He let out a chuckle, keeping his eyes fixed ahead of him. The lighting in half the hallway was out and there was very little daylight making its way in. Darkness covered the tail end of the hall.

“I think we’ll leave that part. Let’s head back.”

“What about in here?”

Izzy ducked into a room without any thought to what might be hiding in the shadows. Up until that point they had been so careful.

“Izzy,” Dax called out when he turned and saw she wasn’t there.

A second later she poked her head around the corner.