Author's Note: Well shit! It's been 8 years since I've updated this fic! Obviously other projects came along that got in the way and lately, I've just been having some lingering feelings about this story that finally drew me back in and here I am.
Basically, this literally is a case of dead rising!
Now on with the story!
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Chapter 8: Hunger Pains
"Over there!" Chuck shouted while pointing hurriedly towards the nearby alley, which was mercifully clear from any threats for the time being.
Brad was right behind him with his gun raised, only to think better of it as the other zombies were far enough away and he wouldn't have wanted to risk drawing any more attention. He chased after Chuck and they made their way to the rare spot free from immediate danger.
"Shit! That was close!" Brad huffed doubling over with his hands on his knees.
Chuck did not reply, listening intently for the zombies that weren't too far away. According to the map provided him they would be near the entrance to the maintenance tunnels and not far from that was the entrance to their intended destination, the West Docks.
Having regained his composure, Chuck slowly crept toward the parking lot and spotted the closed gate leading to the docks, even through the horde of zombies shambling about in front of it.
"Damn, there's too many of them," Brad whispered while checking to see how many bullets were left in his current clip, "We might have to find another way in."
Chuck was about to reply, when he suddenly noticed the nearby motorcycle with its keys still left in the ignition!
"Wait, I've got an idea!" Chuck gestured to the motorcycle, "Maybe I can use that bike over there to draw them away, take a lap around the park while you make your way over to the gate. It'll buy you some time."
"Good thinking," Brad nodded readying his pistol, "I'm already low enough on ammo as it is. You just do what you can."
"Right," Chuck nodded and ran for the waiting bike, while Brad took off into the corner near the maintenance tunnel entrance. He waited until Brad had picked up a discarded lead pipe and gunned the engine loudly.
"Hey freaks, over here!" Chuck shouted to the zombies while revving the bike up and then loudly screeching the tires.
It worked almost immediately as the zombies turned their attention away from the locked gate and instead, set their soulless eyes upon the tasty human morsel before them, their arms shooting outward as they shambled after him.
"That's right! Come on!" Chuck called out turning the bike around and starting towards the alley, "Come and get me you rotting fucks!"
He moved along at a slow speed, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Brad split the skull open of a zombie that had gotten too close for comfort. Once the agent was out of sight, Chuck picked up speed and made his way back into the open park, where by now more zombies were attracted by the roar of the motorcycle's engine and began lurching after him.
Chuck again slowed down as more zombies came staggering onto the concrete path and was forced to swerve around a few that had gotten close. "C'mon, 'cmon," he whispered to himself as he passed the food court's exterior entrance, where another mass continued to congregate in front of the doors, some feasting on the remnants of the zombies he plowed through with that lawn mower earlier.
He abruptly looked away to avoid gagging at the gruesome sight and drove past a pond where a few more zombies trudged through the knee-high water in an effort to get at him, including one who had stumbled onto the concrete and would find its head turned into hamburger meat as Chuck ran it over.
Chuck had just passed the Paradise Plaza entrance when a trio of gunshots sounded from the nearby docks, diverting the attention of nearby zombies who now began to ignore the ex-racer and shuffled back towards the alleyway. For Brad's sake he couldn't let that happen and began honking the motorcycle's horn and stopped to fire a few of his own shots into the air, only for his pistol to click empty.
"Damn it!" he shouted, tossing the empty gun into the face of an overweight woman in a soiled flower-patterned dress before picking up speed and gunning it back towards the alley.
More gunshots rang out as he drew nearer and he floored it as fast as the motorcycle would take him, skidding to a halt as he nearly collided with a parked red convertible. There were still a significant amount of zombies lurking about in the parking lot and they were still trying to get at Brad, who by now was behind the gate, but struggling to hold it closed as the zombies tumbled over each other to get at him in one massive dog pile of rotting flesh.
"Well, here we go again," Chuck said slipping his knife gloves back on and charging for the horde, punching his knives through the skull of a lanky fellow before cutting up another zombie in his path and then reaching for a third when he was suddenly grabbed from behind.
"Gah! Get off me!" the ex-racer screamed as he felt the bony fingers gripping his arms and feeling the warm, rancid breath washing over his neck.
Acting out of desperation, Chuck shot his head backwards and felt the zombie's nose cracking beneath the force. It was enough to loosen the freak's grip and he fell backwards slamming the zombie into the pavement with all of his body weight.
Fatigue was already getting the best of Chuck and he was slow returning to his feet, enabling another zombie to grab him from the front.
"You bastards are really starting to piss me off!" Chuck grunted as he shoved his hand beneath the ghoul's chin to hold him back. "I'm so going to be happy when all of you fuckers are dead!" he blurted out before driving a haymaker into the freak's face. With his opponent weakened, he grabbed him by the head and fell backwards, driving the undead human into the ground head first with a sickening DDT that split the zombie's head open like a watermelon.
"Chuck, forget about them! Just get over here and help me damn it!" Brad shouted, struggling to hold the gate shut as the zombies piled against him.
He needed to think fast as the zombies were just seconds from breaking through and devouring Brad whole. There were still too many of them for him to handle with just his knife gloves alone. He would need something bigger.
And then his mind drifted back to the convertible.
"Fuck it," he said shoving another zombie aside and bolting over to the car, pulling himself inside and searching the glovebox, yet there were no keys in sight. Nothing in the center console or beneath the visor either.
"Remember what Alex showed you that one time," he suddenly thought to himself, back to when he was a teenager and the time he and his friend had snuck out to go to a concert their parents forbade them to attend. He sat there and watched his friend hot wire his father's fancy convertible and was confident he could still remember everything Alex had done.
He reached down for the wires and quickly ripped out the ones he needed to, with the same practiced speed and precision he had learned all those years before, which made several of his friends jokingly comment that he would have made a good thief himself because of his quick hands.
"Almost there," he grunted to himself, only to be interrupted by another bony hand clamping down on his arm.
"Get away!" he shouted to the bespectacled zombie, who was just inches away from sinking its teeth into his forearm before he swatted him away with a blow from his knife glove. The commotion caught the attention of a few other zombies and they staggered towards the car.
"C'mon! C'mon! C'mon!" Chuck hissed to himself until there was a spark and the engine roared with life.
"Brad, get ready! I'm coming!" the former champ shouted to his companion and with a honk of his horn plowed through a trio of zombies that had assembled in front of him.
The next few seconds would be a crimson blur for the former champ as he plowed through the mass of undead, blood and body parts flying everywhere as he cut a trail of carnage through the horde. It didn't end there as he made sure to back up and catch any stragglers before pulling to a halt in front of the gate, the once pristine convertible now an even darker shade thanks to its "paint job" and its front end severely crumpled.
"Hurry up and open the gate!" Chuck shouted as he could hear more zombies approaching in the distance.
The agent replied with a quick nod and pulled the gate open while at the same time struggling through the gore left behind by Chuck's little stunt and trying not to slip on the pooling blood beneath. Once there was enough space left, Chuck drove through and the gate was pulled shut behind him.
"That was too damn close," Brad huffed wiping the sheen of sweat away from his forehead.
"Let's just get that food and get the hell outta here," Chuck replied wiping some gore away from his exposed skin.
The three garage doors were all closed with no means to open them from the outside, leaving a nearby gore-streaked white door as their only available option. Both men approached and listened for any commotion from the other side with weapons at the ready.
Brad reached down and turned the door's handle, only to jump back as they were met by a loud crash. His instinct kicking in he pointed his pistol through the opened door, but calmed down when he realized he wasn't the source. The crashing noises were coming from deeper within.
"Hey!" another man's voice called out, followed by the jarring clang of metal on metal, "I know you're holding out on us. Where's the keys!"
The cries of a distressed woman followed before the man shouted again, "I know you have them. Now hand them over!"
"I don't have your keys!" the woman called back.
Chuck and Brad knelt down behind one of the shelves and peered between some stacks of boxes to see six men, all wearing matching maroon hooded sweatshirts that had 'Willamette, Colorado' embroidered upon them in golden letters and matching blue bandanas covering the lower portions of their faces.
"Bullshit! I know you have them. Now hand them over or else I'm gonna get in there and split your fucking head open like I did to your worthless friends!" the apparent leader of the group shouted to a young woman locked inside a corner office before pounding away on the door with his crowbar. Behind him were the remaining thugs, two of whom were packing shotguns.
Not too far away was the very food truck that had brought them here in the first place and it was surrounded by the corpses of various zombies, in addition to three fresh looking corpses that appeared bludgeoned to death.
"Here, let me at her!" one of the shotgun-toting thugs shouted before pumping his shotgun and firing a blast at the door's handle.
The deafening blast made Chuck jump and caused him to bump a nearby tool box, sending it clattering noisily to the floor.
"So much for the subtle approach," Chuck told himself as the hoodlums turned to face him and Brad, "Time for hero mode."
"Hey, dirtbag! Why don't you leave her alone?" the biker demanded.
The six thugs looked at the two men and began laughing hysterically, "Why don't you mind your own business, Gramps?" the leader called back.
"That's exactly why we're here. We came for some supplies. That's all," Brad replied.
"And you think we're just gonna hand it over?" the leader laughed, "Take a good look, pal. You do realize you're outnumbered, don't you? Want some food? We ain't giving you shit! But since I'm in a generous mood, we might be able to spare you some painkillers. You'll need them when we're done with you."
"Well, talking to your punk ass is giving me a headache," Chuck retorted.
"Get 'em, boys!" the lead thug shouted pointing his crowbar at Chuck in a threatening fashion, while one of the shotgun-toting thugs pumped his gun and fired a round of buckshot at the former champ, who barely dove out of the way just in time and scrambled for his submachine gun.
"Fuck 'em up!" another thug called out as more volleys of buckshot were fired in their direction, jagged shards of wood raining down on the two men as they clutched their firearms.
"Think Chuck! Think dammit!" the ex-champ told himself as he looked around, wincing at the loud explosions.
It was then he saw the fire extinguisher hanging on the nearby wall and he fired a round at it, causing a cloud of smoke to envelop an approaching looter, who then fell in a hail of submachine gun fire.
"You're so dead, fucker!" another looter screamed as he charged at Chuck with a tomahawk raised high above his head, only to be halted as Brad popped up and fired three bullets into his chest.
Chuck fired a barrage that took down one of the shotgun-toting looters and fired upon the others, yet his submachine gun clicked empty.
"Of all times!" he grunted, just as he was forced to dodge a swing from a looter's crowbar.
Chuck rolled backwards as the looter swung at him again, brushing against the same tool box he had knocked down earlier. He quickly grabbed the metal box up and tossed it into the thug's face before noticing a saw blade had fallen out, which he then scooped up and tossed like a frisbee into the throat of the other shotgun-toting looter before he could fire upon Brad, who in turn, fired three shots into the stunned looter who had been terrorizing Chuck.
That left only one looter behind and the man stood shaking before finally snapping himself out of it.
"Fuck this shit!" he blurted out before rushing for the nearest exit.
With the looters out of the way, Chuck approached the corner office and knocked on the door, "Ma'am, you can come out now. The looters have been dealt with."
A low whimper was his only response before a sheepish voice squeaked out, "Are you serious?"
"Yes ma'am, they won't be bothering you again," Chuck replied.
The door opened and a young brunette woman in a pink and white striped shirt peeked her head out.
"Oh, thank god! Those maniacs thought I had the keys to the delivery truck, but I don't know where they are. The driver is missing!" she gasped.
"Shit," Chuck muttered before returning his attention to the woman, "Ma'am listen, we have other survivors gathered at the security office and they are going to be there for a while, so we're going to need to get supplies over to them."
"There are others out there? Oh, thank goodness! I thought those masked freaks were all that was left around here," the woman replied.
"Well, don't worry. We'll figure out some way to get this stuff over to our people, and we'll get you out of here too," Chuck spoke.
"Chrystal. My name's Chrystal," the woman replied.
"I'm Chuck, and he's Brad," he said motioning to the DHS agent, who offered a curt wave.
Brad walked over and opened the doors, smiling in satisfaction as he found plenty of cases he could take back to the office. "There's plenty here we could use to tide everybody over for a few days, but we'll need to find another way to get it back over."
He then turned his attention to his companion, "Chuck, why don't you get some of this stuff rounded up? I'll see if what other options we have."
"Right," Chuck nodded as the DHS agent disappeared from view.
Chuck found a dolly and proceeded to load up a few boxes filled with food and was about to load on some water when he was cut off by Brad's frightened cries.
"Gah! Get off me!" the agent shrieked.
"Stay here!" Chuck shouted to Chrystal as he ran down the hall and through an opened door, only to halt when he saw what was happening.
"For real?" the ex-champ asked.
"Get this damned thing off a' me!" Brad shouted as his "attacker" licked his face furiously.
"Well, what do we have here?" Chuck asked, his tone lightening as he found Brad pinned against the wall by an excited Dalmatian. The dog took notice of him and barked happily.
"That's right, come here boy!" Chuck said as he knelt down to receive the overjoyed dog, who began to lick his face. "Yes, I'm happy to see you too," he shouted in between licks before reaching for the red collar around his neck and noticing a nametag. "Sparky, huh? Who's a good boy?" he asked while scratching behind the dog's ears.
"Will you just get that damned mutt away from me?" Brad grumbled as he reached for a towel to dry his face.
"What's the matter? You don't like dogs?" Chuck asked.
"No!" the agent shot back, "Let's just get what we need and then get the hell outta here!" he said walking briskly past.
"Don't mind him, boy. I'm not leaving you here," Chuck said as the canine barked happily in reply, "This poor guy's owner probably isn't around anymore. I can't leave him like this. Katey has always wanted a dog."
"Chuck, we might have something here," Brad called out.
Chuck made his way further down the hall and took a right, where there was another small room filled with maintenance and lawn care supplies. In the center was a small cart.
"We can use this to get all the supplies we can back to the others," Brad said, before looking down and noticing Sparky at Chuck's side.
"Yes, he is coming along to!" Chuck asserted.
Brad grumbled something unintelligible to himself, "Alright fine, but that flea-bitten mongrel is not riding with me!"
"That's fine," Chuck said patting the dog on the head, "More time we can spend together."
The Dalmatian barked happily, while Brad shook his head and they got to work loading up the cart with whatever goods it would carry.
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It took a while, but Chuck and Sparky made their way back to Paradise Plaza and crawling back through the duct, where the dog barked happily at the sight of another human upon spotting Otis.
"Well, hello there fella," he said reaching down to pet the dog, "Lord knows how long you been out there. We need to get you somethin' to eat and somethin' to drink."
"Sure, go ahead and find him something, Otis. But first, I need to take him somewhere. C'mon boy," Chuck said leading Sparky to the back, where Katey still sat on the couch in the middle of one of her games, yet looked up to see the happy dog running towards her.
"Oh my god!" she cried out as Sparky ran over and began licking her face furiously, "Can we keep him?"
"Sure thing, sweetie. His name is Sparky," Chuck said kneeling down to scratch the back of Sparky's neck, who then rolled over for Katey to scratch his belly.
"Thank you so much Daddy! What an awesome gift!" she exclaimed.
"Anything for you honey," Chuck said before rising to his feet and stretching out.
This ordeal was far from over and it would only be a matter of minutes before he was being sent back into the shit hole, but for now, he was determined to make the most of what time he had left with his daughter.
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Author's Note: It took me 8 years, but I actually updated this motherfucker! It's probably a bit shorter compared to some of my previous chapters, but now I'm hoping to get things back on track where I left off in the original version, which I can then put out to pasture once I get this caught up.
For survivors rescued in this chapter:
Chrystal Kennedy, 22
Sparky, 3
Until then, read and review! This is Metal Harbinger telling you to KEEP IT FUCKING METAL!