Chapter 19: Howitzer
Zoey stood irresolute in the middle of the dark storeroom, not quite sure what to do. Had she imagined a corpse lying there against the wall? But the bloodstain... She was sure there had been a body there. Where did it go? Maybe there hadn't been a body. Zoey did hit her head pretty hard in the crash. Maybe she had a concussion.
She just about jumped a mile in the air when she heard a loud metal CLANG nearby, as though something had fallen over. She immediately shone the flashlight in that direction to see a metal bucket rocking on its side on the floor, as though it had just been knocked over. Zoey took a deep breath to try and calm herself. She could not do much good if she shook herself to pieces.
She slowly aimed her flashlight around the room, revealing every corner, but frowned when she saw nothing out of the ordinary. She performed a second sweep of the room, but still could not locate the corpse. Where the hell did it go?
Zoey looked around the room one last time, and then turned to leave the storeroom. She had to get back to the others. However, as soon as she walked through the door, an arm flung out of the darkness and smacked her in the face, sending her pistol flying out of her hands. The young woman stumbled backward into the storeroom with the force of the blow, and then aimed her flashlight forward. She was met with the hideous sight of the horribly-disfigured body from before coming straight at her, its mouth curled upward in a viscous snarl.
Without thinking, Zoey swung her flashlight, striking her attacker across the face and sending it stumbling back a few steps. It growled in frustration, its dinner plans having been set back momentarily. However, Zoey did not plan on entertaining this notion. She reached over her shoulder and grabbed the crowbar slung across her back, the same one that Bill had given her earlier that day. Her attacker screeched, and she immediately swung the crowbar, smashing it in the face. Blood splattered across the walls, and the offender dropped like a stone.
Bill felt himself being shaken awake a while later, by a flustered-looking Zoey. "Are you alright?" he asked, immediately alert.
"Yeah, everything's fine," she replied. "Just waking you up to take over sentry duty."
"Um, Zoey…?"
"Yeah?"
Bill pointed to her face. "You've, uh, got some blood on you."
She put a hand to her face to find specks of blood from her recent attacker all over her face. "Oh. Thanks," she said, wiping herself clean with the leftover Molotov rag.
It was another overcast day in Fairfield as the four survivors picked their way through the wreckage of the industrial district several hours later. Fortunately, they were well-rested, and their spirits were higher. Not by much, though.
"Hey, Francis. Isn't this the alleyway where you were born?" Louis called out jokingly.
"Heh, real funny," he growled. "Isn't this the one you're going to die in?"
"Easy guys," Zoey interjected.
They made their way past several rows of warehouses, dispatching the occasional Common Infected that they came across. Fortunately, they did not run into any larger groups.
"There sure are a lot of barricades blocking the roads," Louis commented as they passed yet another wall of cement, adorned with barbed wire, blocking a road to the south.
"The army must have set them up to stop people from leaving the city," Bill said.
Louis looked at him in shock. "Isn't the army trying to help people? What do they say to the ones they've trapped here?"
"Collateral damage," the old veteran replied simply.
The group continued their march through the streets, staying alert for danger. However, as they moved closer toward the edge of the city, they found their movement increasingly impaired by roadblocks and barricades.
"Damn army. I hate the army," Francis growled.
They soon came across an abandoned military truck, with a mini-gun emplacement sitting on the back tray. A large artillery cannon was set up nearby. The area looked as though it had been set up as a defensive position, but was seemingly abandoned.
"That's a Howitzer," Bill said, looking at the large artillery cannon.
"Damn," Louis whistled, impressed. "That thing would do a lot of damage."
Zoey looked the Howitzer over thoughtfully, and then turned her head westward toward a large barricade blocking the road. "Barricade… big-ass gun." The others turned to look at her. "Anybody got any ideas?" she asked teasingly.
Bill thought her plan over. Destroying the barricade would be the quickest way out of the city. But there was an issue. "Speaking from experience, firing that gun will make a LOT of noise. It's sure to bring a whole shit-swarm of Infected down on us."
"That's okay, we can let Zoey handle it," Francis said sarcastically, turning to her. "Just pretend they're all helicopter pilots."
"Infected, Francis!" she exclaimed. "He. Was. INFECTED!"
After Francis had pretty much threatened to kill anyone who took control of the mini-gun bar himself, both he and Louis climbed up into the back tray of the military truck, while the others took up positions on the ground. Louis found a second Uzi in the truck and gave it to Zoey, who was more than grateful, while Bill swivelled the Howitzer around to aim it at the barricade to the west.
"When I fire this thing, all hell's gonna break loose," he said warningly. He nodded at the north side of the road, which disappeared down a steep dirt slope. "Louis, be ready to throw those Molotovs when you see 'em crest that hill."
Louis nodded nervously, while Francis swung the mini-gun around, testing its turning arc.
"Try not to hit me with that thing," Zoey called up to him.
"Try not to shoot down any more helicopters," he shot back.
She blew out a breath in frustration, choosing to ready her Molotovs and Uzi rather than waste her mental strength on a witty retort.
"Firing Howitzer!" Bill yelled.
A deafening crack whipped out from the barrel of the large cannon, followed by a loud blast as a shell slammed into the barricade, utterly annihilating it in a hail of debris, dust and smoke. As the sound faded away, it was replaced by angry howls and screeches filling the air.
"Here they come!" Bill shouted, climbing up into the tray of the truck as Zoey followed him.
Francis was the first to open fire, the muzzle of the mini-gun disappearing in a mass of flame as the barrel rotated, spitting out bullets at an incredible rate of fire. The unrelenting hail of lead tore through the Infected approaching from the west through the ruined barricade, reducing them to bloody pulps.
Louis and Zoey kept their eyes to the north, and immediately threw a Molotov each when they saw Infected beginning to appear over the slope. The bottles flew through the air and exploded in twin sheets of flame, setting fire to any who dared to cross them. The rapid-fire from their Uzis cut down those that managed to make it through the blaze. Bill, having borrowed Francis' shotgun, was busy keeping at bay the stragglers who managed to break through their defences.
"How's everyone doing?" he yelled.
It was a useless gesture. The roar of the mini-gun, intermingled with the collective cries of the Infected made his attempts to communicate all but useless. More and more Infected were appearing, and the gunfire was continuous. Suddenly, the mini-gun slowed to a stop.
"Shit! Out of ammo!" Francis swore, drawing his pistol.
He fired at the oncoming horde approaching from the west, but there were too many for him to handle with a simple pistol, and it was getting to the point where it looked as though they were about to overwhelm the truck. Suddenly, Francis saw a blur of red to his right and looked to see Zoey pushing past him, throwing her second Molotov into the crowd. There was a flash of light, and the once-dangerous wave of enemies was reduced to a burning crisp. Francis nodded at Zoey in thanks and she reciprocated. After a few more tense minutes, the gunfire finally ceased, and the military truck stood amid a ring of fire, death and blood.
"Phew!" Louis breathed, wiping his brow on his shirt sleeve. "That was intense!"
The biker immediately marched up to Bill. "I'd like my shotgun back now, old man."
"If I wasn't so tired right now, you'd have a size 10 army boot up your ass, Francis."
Zoey sat down, leaning her back against the tray, trying to catch her breath. The fight had taken a lot out of her. Suddenly, a hand was extended down to help her up. She looked up and was shocked to see that it was Francis.
"Alright, let's move, people," Bill said. "We definitely stepped on a few egg shells with that shootout, and knowing our luck, every infected son of a bitch in the city heard it."
With that, the four survivors walked down the road and ploughed through the destroyed barricade, stepping onto a high bridge. Far below, the smouldering wreckage of a derailed train still burned furiously.
"Wow…" Francis whistled. "Zoey must've shot the train conductor." However, he said this with a hint of teasing in his voice.
Zoey sighed. Was he ever going to let it go? "The helicopter pilot was infec – oh, screw it. The pilot was a ZOMBIE, Francis!" She put her hands on her hips indignantly. "Okay, you know what? He was a zombie. Zombie, zombie, zombie. Not a pilot. He was a ZOMBIE, Francis!"
The group crossed the bridge without incident and made their way down the far bank toward a cluster of metal transport containers. Thunder rumbled across the early afternoon sky.
"Are you kidding me?" Francis groaned. "It's going to rain again?"
Suddenly, Louis spotted a familiar symbol spray-painted on the road; a white house with a cross inside. The same symbol had led him to his first safe-room. "Guys! There's a safe-house up ahead!"
"Hot damn!" Bill said, pleased. "That is good news."
They walked in the direction of the arrow and soon saw a familiar red door built into a squat cement building.
"Nice!" Louis cried, running forward. "Man, are you a sight for sore eyes!"
As they walked down the hill toward the safe-house, Francis suddenly put a hand on Zoey's shoulder and stopped her, letting the others go on ahead.
"Hey, listen," he said awkwardly. "I, uh… Well, thanks for savin' my ass back there."
Zoey cocked her head to one side. Was this really happening?
"Also… I just wanted to say sorry," the big biker said sheepishly. "You know, for being such a dick lately."
Zoey smiled, and patted him on the shoulder. "Apology accepted, Francis!" She then continued down the hill, shaking her head in disbelief. Had Francis just apologised? And thanked her! Maybe that concussion she had was worse than she thought.
Francis watched her go. "Man, I hate apologising to girls…"
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Thank you to everyone for the kind reviews so far. You guys rock.