Caldera Book 7: The End Is Here Page 21
She turned the radio down and stared at Broussard. “What do I do?”
He reached out and took the radio from her. “How far away are they? We’re almost set up down here.”
“Two…two and a half blocks. Over.”
Broussard keyed the radio again. “Notify us when they reach the end of our block. If they don’t turn away, let us know and we’ll take cover. We’ll lay low until they’ve left.”
“Copy that. Over.”
He shoved the radio into his pants and hefted his bag again. “I suggest we now put as much distance as we can between us and that building.”
She glanced around then pointed to a car. “Maybe we can find transportation? Surely somebody left their keys?”
Broussard raised a brow at her. “This is California. I doubt that anybody would leave their car unlocked much less leave keys in it.”
“The world ended, remember?” She shrugged. “It can’t hurt to try.”
Broussard shrugged. “Perhaps, as you say.”
The pair continued toward the coast, checking doors on various vehicles as they went, doing their best to remain quiet. Carol pulled the handle on a small import and nearly jumped when the door opened and the interior light came on. “I got one!” she whispered excitedly.
She stuck her head in the car and looked around for the keys. She pulled the visor down to no avail. She lifted the floor mat and even checked the ashtray. She shut the door as quietly as she could. “Maybe the next one.”
“Maybe we should stick to our feet? We will arouse much less attention that way.” Broussard turned and began walking down the road. Carol fell into step beside him.
“Come on. Don’t give up on me yet.” She reached out and grabbed at door handles as they walked.
“I think you are wasting your—”
Both researchers froze when a car alarm went off, lights flickering and the horn blasting in the evening shadows. Broussard grabbed her by the coat and quickly dragged her across the street and into the darkness of an alley. She stood trembling by the entrance as screams echoed off of the surrounding buildings.
Broussard pulled her deeper into the shadows, his hand reaching to cup her mouth. “Shhh,” he whispered in her ear.
The pair turned to make a break for the end of the alley when Broussard came up short, his hand falling from her mouth. “Oh, no…”
Carol stared at the Zed standing just feet away, his head cocked to the side as he stared at the pair.
Simon worked the action on the bolt action hunting rifle and peered through the scope at the front of the compound. “…Let my people go you sons of…” He squeezed the trigger and felt the 30.06 rifle jump back into his shoulder again.
He worked the bolt then bent to peer through the scope. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He squeezed the trigger again and watched as one of the wall sentries grasped at his shoulder and spun away from his post. “Bingo, muthafucker.”
He worked the bolt again and scanned the top of the wall for another target. He placed the crosshairs on his next victim and squeezed the trigger.
CLICK.
Simon pulled away from the rifle and stared at it in disbelief. “Son of a BITCH!” He threw the weapon into the bed of the truck and reached into the back seat for the next rifle, pulling out the AR and propping it on the open window sill of his driver’s door. “I’m sure you won’t be as accurate, but we can play spray and pray!” He giggled to himself as he began squeezing the trigger, flinching as hot brass ejected into the front cab of his truck.
He emptied the magazine and reached for another. He pulled the charging handle, loading another round into the chamber, and took aim. “This is funner than shooting Ragers!” He continued to squeeze the trigger, peppering the front of the compound with as many rounds of hot lead as he could.
He ejected the spent magazine and reached for another from the bag in the back seat. “Thank god for rednecks!” He slammed the magazine home and jerked the charging handle again. He didn’t notice the first shot in his general direction as it popped a puff of dirt up behind the truck. He continued to fire at the building, praying to hit any of the heads that dared to pop up from behind the wall when something went thunk on the front of his truck.
He pulled his head away and listened for the sound to repeat itself. He was just about to start firing again when wisps of steam mixed with the sweet taste of antifreeze hit his senses. “Oh, HELL NO!”
He pulled the AR from the window sill and marched to the front of his truck. He could see the steam rising from the grille of the diesel and he spun to face the compound. “I’m gonna kill ALL you sons of bitches now! This is a brand new truck!”
The headlight closest to him erupted in a spray of glass and plastic and Simon dove for the dirt. “You bastards!” He dragged his AR around and propped it up on the magazine. He shouldered the rifle and did his best to peer down the scope. “Eat lead you fuckers!” He squeezed the trigger until the carbine stopped firing.
Scrambling to his feet, Simon crawled to the driver’s side and stuffed his hand into the canvas bag, slapping at the contents in search of a fresh magazine. His hand gripped the cold steel of the military thirty-round mag and he slammed it into the well while trying to hide behind the open door of the truck.
He propped the rifle along the window sill again and nearly pissed himself when the front tire popped and hissed at him, air escaping as the bullet ripped through the rubber.
“I ain’t changing that shit!” He leveled the rifle again and began taking pot-shots at the wall. “I’m gonna kill you all and take YOUR truck home!”
He emptied the magazine and turned to reach into the bag again. He froze when his eyes met the red-eyed gaze of a tall male Rager standing at the rear of the truck.
“Fuck me…”
About the Author
Heath Stallcup was born in Salinas, California and relocated to Tupelo, Oklahoma in his tween years. He joined the US Navy and was stationed in Charleston, SC and Bangor, WA shortly after junior college. After his second tour he attended East Central University where he obtained BS degrees in Biology and Chemistry. He then served ten years with the State of Oklahoma as a Compliance and Enforcement Officer while moonlighting nights and weekends with his local Sheriff's Office. He still lives in the small township of Tupelo, Oklahoma with his wife. He steals time to write between household duties, going to ballgames, being a grandfather and the pet of numerous animals that have taken over his home. Visit him at heathstallcup.com or Facebook.com for news of his upcoming releases.
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Charlie Johnson is your average American teenager. He’s a good student, he’s a good son, his girlfriend is the love of his life. He’s a nice kid. Charlie also murders people for their sins. A serious car accident leaves Charlie comatose and when he comes to, he suffers from visions of unspeakable horror that keep him awake at night. He soon discovers that when he touches people, he can sense their evil and see their greatest sins. Some crimes are too terrible to describe. Some crimes are too terrible to go unanswered. Some crimes can be averted…but only if you’re willing to step into that world.
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www.devildogpress.com
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