Days Of Perdition: Voodoo Plague Book 6 Page 17

  The impact was loud, metal rending and glass shattering, but both vehicles were big, heavy American steel and kept going. The truck was pushed away by the force of the collision then slammed back into the driver’s side of the Suburban, metal grinding on metal as it accelerated and stayed pressed against me. Four men in the back of the pickup were struggling to regain their balance and bring their weapons to bear. If that happened, they were at point blank range and we were dead.

  I yanked the wheel to the right to get a few feet of separation then steered back into them. The heavy vehicles slammed against each other, knocking the men in the bed of the pickup off balance. Martinez had swiveled around in the back seat and opened up with her rifle. One of the men took three rounds in his chest and rose up, his body going above the cab of the truck. The slipstream caught him as he died and flipped him over the tailgate where his body came to rest on the pavement.

  The pickup slowed a half a second before one of the men in back was able to start firing his rifle. His rounds struck the rear side of the Suburban instead of punching through Martinez’ door as he intended. Without conscious thought I realized what the other driver was trying to do. He had slowed enough to align his front bumper with my rear bumper and was going to slam into it sideways and send me into an uncontrollable spin.

  This is called a PIT – Precision Immobilization Technique – maneuver and was originally developed by a police department in Virginia, but made famous by the LAPD with all of their high-speed chases. The best way to counter it is to not keep driving in a nice, straight line and let the pursuit vehicle get in position to deliver the blow. Lifting my foot off the gas I stomped on the brakes as hard as I could, the SUVs big off-road tires screaming as we suddenly decelerated.

  The pickup had already started swerving towards us, but my sudden braking prevented him from executing a successful PIT. Instead, the truck shot past us, its lateral momentum causing it to keep drifting until its right rear side impacted the Suburban’s left front. I jammed the accelerator back to the floor and steered hard left into the truck as it slammed into us.

  I had a scary moment when I thought I was going to lose control but finally got us back in a straight line. The pickup was ahead of us now, fishtailing as the driver sawed the wheel back and forth to overcome the violent sideways shove I’d just given him. The pickup was whipping violently across the road, one of the men in back finally losing his grip and tumbling out.

  We were less than thirty feet behind and I had the throttle wide open when his body struck the grill of the Suburban. I more felt than heard the thud as he was thrown over the hood. For an instant his face was against the windshield, terror filled eyes staring at me, then the glass shattered, bowing in towards us but holding in its frame at the last moment. He was thrown over the roof of the SUV and I heard a couple of bumps as he tumbled along the top before falling to the pavement behind us.

  I stayed on the gas, closing the gap with the pickup. The driver was starting to get it back under control when I rammed into the rear bumper. It was a hard impact and I had hoped it would be enough to cause the truck to lose control, but it did the opposite and helped him straighten out the heavy vehicle. Moments later bullets started punching through the damaged glass as the guys in the back found their balance and were able to bring their weapons up.

  “Knock the glass out!” I shouted to Rachel, swerving to not make it any easier for our attackers.

  “How?” She screamed back over the roar of the engine and wind noise whistling through the bullet holes.

  “Use your feet! Kick it out!” Martinez shouted from the back seat.

  Rachel lifted her feet onto the dash, scooted her ass forward and braced her shoulders against the seat back as she started battering the compromised windshield with the soles of her boots. She did an admirable job of focusing on the task as I kept us swerving and the occasional bullet punched through, showering us with powdered glass. Finally it popped lose and I reached forward and helped push it out of the way.

  Now I could see, but the wind whipping directly into my face was intense, immediately causing tears to form in my eyes and blurring my vision. The truck in front of us was swerving, the driver intent on not allowing me to get next to him and attempt my own PIT maneuver. Rachel laid her rifle on the dash and started pumping bullets at them. I drew my pistol and joined the fight, driving with my left hand while I shot with my right.

  Neither of us was finding a target, but we did manage to keep their heads down and stop the incoming fire. Ahead I could see an intersection as a major east-west road crossed our path. At the last moment I jammed on the brakes and cut the wheel to the right. We were still going fast, probably close to 60 miles an hour, and the Suburban started to drift to its left as I held the wheel to guide us through the turn.

  The pickup shot through the intersection, unprepared for my turn. From the corner of my eye I saw the one unbroken taillight come on as the driver stood on the brakes but I didn’t have time to check on what they were doing. The SUV was still drifting, the rear trying to come around and send us into a spin. Steering slightly to the left I fed some throttle, hoping to straighten us out, and slowly we started to come back into line.

  “Look out!” Rachel screamed.

  I took my eyes off the pavement directly to our front and looked up to see a road full of infected coming our direction. There wasn’t time to tell male from female before we blasted into the front ranks of the pack at speed. Some bodies were knocked aside, some battered under the tires, others flying off to the side. That would have been fine, but a female was flipped over the hood and slammed through the opening where a windshield would normally be, bouncing off the dash and landing on Rachel and me.

  The infected are tough. Impervious to pain and injuries. A normal human would have already been in shock and immobile by the time she landed face down in my lap, but the female began thrashing and trying to bite the instant she landed. I couldn’t risk using my pistol and having a bullet travel through and go into me, so I settled for grabbing her hair and yanking her teeth away from my legs.

  She screamed and fought harder, but fortunately she had sustained a lot of injuries when first hit by the Suburban’s grill guard. She might not have felt or reacted to them, but she must have broken both arms as she was unable to use them to any degree of success.

  “Kill this bitch!” I shouted at Rachel, keeping my foot down on the gas and pushing us through the herd.

  “Here!” Martinez shoved an eight-inch stiletto through the wire cage separating the back seat from the front. Rachel snatched it from her hand and rammed it into the back of the female’s head. The infected went limp and Rachel started to lift and drag her lower body towards her open side window.

  “No. Put her up on the dash. Her body will give us some protection.” I shouted over the constant thuds of infected against the vehicle as we smashed our way through.

  It took some doing and a lot of help from Rachel, but we finally got the female’s body over the steering wheel and resting on the dash. She blocked the entire lower half of the opening, and no sooner did we have her in place than another infected was thrown over the front of the hood. This was a male and he slammed into the dead female, almost pushing her back into our laps, but Rachel and I braced the body until I was able to lean forward and shoot him with my pistol.

  Finally the small herd began to thin, then we were through, roaring down a dark, empty street. I looked in the mirror and could see the herd pursuing, but there was no sign of our attackers in the pickup. But just because they weren’t chasing us through a herd of infected didn’t mean they weren’t racing down a parallel street to intercept us.

  Keeping the speed on, I wrenched into a tire screeching left at the next intersection to get us heading back north. The male slid off the hood, body tumbling across the pavement where it slammed to a stop against an abandoned car. The female stayed in place, more inside the vehicle than out.

  “Everyone OK?” I
shouted to be heard above the engine, road and wind noise, looking around to try and see my three companions.

  “I’m good,” Rachel responded in a shaky voice, turning to look through the cage into the back seat. Dog stared back at her and stuck his tongue through the wire to lick her hand when she held it up.

  “Fine,” Martinez said from the back seat, but I didn’t like the way she said it.

  Scanning the area I didn’t see any immediate threats and braked to a hard stop in the middle of the road. Jumping out I yanked the rear door open, pushed Dog aside when he greeted me and climbed into the back seat.

  “Rachel!” I shouted and a moment later she opened the far door, supporting Martinez who had been using the door for a backrest. With the doors open the dome light was on and I could see blood soaking the front of Martinez’ shirt.

  31

  Rachel worked on Martinez while Dog and I stood in the street keeping watch. I shot a couple of females that came running out of an alley, but so far they were the only threats we’d seen. Stepping to the driver’s door of the idling Suburban I reached in and shut off the engine so I could listen for any approaching vehicles. The fuckers that had attacked us were still out there somewhere, and I had no doubt the only reason they weren’t climbing up our asses at the moment was they just hadn’t found us.

  I didn’t understand their mentality. Never had. I’d witnessed the same behavior in half a dozen third world countries over the years. There always seems to be a group of guys who think that because there’s no civil authority they have the right to impose their will on anyone and everyone. Most of the time they’re the only ones with guns and the people can’t stand up to them. More than once I’d been pleased to show the bad guys the error of their ways.

  Reagan had been President when I earned my beret, and he had never hesitated to send in some boots to kick ass when some two-bit warlord decided to act out. Granted, it usually happened to coincide with US security interests in the region, but there were still plenty of times it was just because he didn’t like bullies. After Reagan, the backbone in the White House steadily softened until we wound up being openly challenged by every piss ant dictator on the planet.

  They knew they could thumb their nose at us and we wouldn’t do anything except whine and cry to the UN and go through a series of self-flagellating exercises in front of the world’s media. Personally, I wished for Teddy Roosevelt to return from the grave. Walk softly and carry a big stick.

  The US military was the biggest stick the planet had ever seen, but somehow our politicians decided it was better to talk and threaten and gnash their teeth for months or years while people were dying, or while some regime led by a mad man developed nuclear weapons and openly stated they wanted to use them on us or one of our allies.

  International politics are really no different than high school. If someone knows they can do something to you and get away without any real repercussions, guess what? You’re going to find yourself stuffed into your locker with your underwear around your head. But if they know they’ll get a bloody nose for crossing your path, life is generally a much more pleasant experience.

  I shook my head, dismissing my musings before I got any more distracted. There wasn’t time to be worrying about things I could do nothing about, or that no longer mattered. I needed to be focusing on watching for infected and listening for shit heels, as Sergeant Timmons had called them. I couldn’t help but grin, thinking I’d probably have become friends with the man if circumstances had been different.

  Circling the Suburban, I glanced at Dog who was on high alert but not showing that he was detecting any threats. Stopping at the driver’s side rear door I looked in on Martinez. She sat in the middle of the seat, vest and shirt off as Rachel worked with a suture kit.

  “How is she?” I asked, turning my head to check the area.

  “Nothing life threatening,” Rachel answered without looking up. “ She took two rounds. One through her left bicep. Tore the muscle up, but missed anything vital. The second one was a through and through in her right breast.”

  “Ouch,” I said, taking a closer look at Martinez’ chest.

  “No shit, sir.” Martinez gasped in pain as Rachel kept sewing. “But at least now I’ve got an excuse to get the boob job I’ve always wanted.”

  I snorted, tried to hold in the laughter but failed. “There’s probably some tire inflator in the back. Want me to grab a can? We can pump up your tits through one of the bullet holes. Save you a fortune in plastic surgeon fees.”

  “There’s something seriously wrong with you two,” Rachel said, shaking her head as she worked. “You, go away so I can concentrate. And you, quit laughing unless you want your stitches to look like something from a Frankenstein movie.”

  I took the hint and moved on after giving Martinez a wink. Damn the woman was tough. She was sitting there joking but had to be hurting like hell.

  Dismissing those thoughts I turned my head when I heard the faint sounds of an engine. The vehicle was still a good distance and the noise echoed in the empty streets, but it sounded like it was approaching from the south. We needed to start moving before we were found again. If they showed up in force we were in trouble.

  “How long, Rachel?” I asked.

  “Five minutes.” She said.

  “You’re going to have to sew while I drive,” I said, Dog and I climbing into the front after I shut the rear doors. “We’re going to have company before then.”

  She didn’t say anything, just reached up and turned on the overhead light that had gone out when the last door closed. I started the engine and gently accelerated, not wanting to make the suturing job any more difficult than it already was.

  I got us up to 45 and held that speed. Any faster and the wind in my face was too strong and I was constantly having to wipe tears out of my eyes. What I wouldn’t give for a set of goggles or even a pair of glasses. Anything to protect my eyes. Dog, on the other hand, seemed to love the idea of a missing windshield. He sat up straight on the passenger seat, head thrust forward and looking straight ahead into the wind; nose twitching and I swear a smile on his furry face.

  A few minutes later Rachel trimmed the final stitch, smeared some antibiotic ointment on the wounds and set the med kit aside. She dug through Martinez’ pack and found a clean shirt which she helped her slip over her head, then got her vest back in place.

  “How do you manage it?” Rachel asked me as she dug through the med kit.

  “Manage what?” I asked.

  “Driving around with topless women,” she said. “First me in Atlanta, now Martinez. You must think you lead a charmed life.”

  While speaking, Rachel had found a vial of antibiotic and a large syringe which she filled and held up to the light. Tapping it to work bubbles to the top she gently pressed the plunger to purge the air. I chose not to respond to her comment, instead pulled out the GPS while Martinez leaned over on the seat and pulled her pants down so Rachel could administer the injection.

  96 miles to go. Not far, but too damn far in today’s world. I concentrated on my driving and what I was going to do to Roach when I got my hands on him.

  32

  The casino was massive. There was no other word for it. After cutting her free, Roach had followed Katie through a door that opened onto the main casino floor. Row upon row of slot machines sat silent, seemingly stretching into infinity. Glass fronted rooms with giant poker tables and plush chairs looked out onto the gaming area and every couple of hundred feet was a restaurant or snack bar.

  Roach kept Katie to his front, his short barreled H&K rifle not quite pointed at her, but if he wanted to shoot her it would only require an adjustment of a couple of inches. She surveyed the area, careful to appear docile. She needed to get an idea of the layout, and at the same time lull him into believing that she was cowed and wouldn’t put up any form of resistance or make an attempt to escape.

  “How are the lights on?” Katie asked, realizing they’d a
lso been on in the VIP suite.

  “Solar,” Roach answered. “We’ve got power, food, water and a secure location until time to move.”

  Happy she’d gotten that much information from him, Katie decided not to push her luck and ask any more questions. Instead she kept walking forward at a slow pace, casually looking around. Roach seemed content to let her lead the way, following half a dozen feet behind. Close enough to maintain control with his rifle but far enough away that she didn’t have an opportunity to attack.

  Working their way the length of the building they passed several more poker rooms. There was no sign anywhere in the building of a struggle. No overturned tables or chairs, no spilled drinks, no chips scattered on the red and blue carpeting. It looked like the casino had been neatly shut down and abandoned.

  “In there,” Roach finally said, gesturing at a set of wood paneled swinging doors that blended well with the décor.

  “What’s in there?” Katie asked, hesitating.

  “Food. Aren’t you hungry?”

  Realizing she was, Katie pushed through the doors and entered a large, commercial kitchen. Roach followed her and pointed at a giant walk-in pantry.

  “Plenty of food in there,” he said. “Don’t open the cold storage. The refrigerators must not be connected to the solar so they’re out and full of rotting meat and vegetables. The stoves still work. They’re propane and there’s a whole row of tanks outside. Water’s on. It’s from a well and the solar is powering the pump. Make us something to eat. I’ll be right here.”

  Roach settled down on a hard chair where he could keep an eye on the pantry and most of the kitchen. Walking into the room, Katie was momentarily taken aback at the amount of canned and boxed food stacked on the shelves. She was getting a good idea of why Roach had selected this building.

  As long as there was sunshine they had power and water. If there really was a whole farm of propane tanks they’d be able to cook for a long time, and just this one room had enough food to last the two of them for months, if not a year. As she thought about what his plan might be, Katie slowly selected cans, taking the opportunity to check the room for anything she could use as a weapon. Finding nothing, she returned to the kitchen and set about preparing their meal.