The End Has Come and Gone zf-4 Page 9

  “AJ?” Aaron asked. His 4 year old son was standing with his back to his father over the prone body of his mother. Wendy was lying face down on the floor; an ever expanding pool of blood encircled the pair. The fatherly part of Aaron wanted to put his gun down and rush to the aid of his wife and son. The cop part of him hesitated. “AJ?” he asked again. AJ acknowledged his father’s presence this time. He turned, his face bathed in blood, strips of flesh hanging from his mouth. His hands were covered elbow deep in gore.

  “AJ, what did you do?” Aaron asked his son. AJ took a step towards his dad. Aaron backed up until his back was against the far hallway wall. AJ kept coming. “AJ, please. Please stop,” Aaron said, his gun shaking wildly. AJ teetered a step, almost losing his footing in the slick liquid that coated the flooring. “That’s a bad boy,” Aaron said. AJ was beyond caring about his father’s approval and relentlessly pressed on.

  Aaron closed his eyes as he sprayed the immediate area with three pistol shots. The first shot popped into the doorframe sending a shower of splinters into his child’s room. The second shattered his son’s left leg and the third completed the deed. The round entered to the left of the child’s nose and exited at the base of his skull. The sound of the bullets being shot could not compete with the solid thud of impact as AJ’s body met the floor. Aaron spent a few more seconds looking past the lifeless body of his son to that of his wife. There would be no recovery from the 3 inch wide, 2 inch deep wound in his wife’s neck; blood had already ceased to flow.

  He shut the bedroom door, walked down the hallway, grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat down in his favorite chair. His headache had begun to crystallize into a white hot inferno of pain. He pressed the cold container against his head before taking long pulls to quench the sickness that begged to issue forth. Within minutes he had fallen asleep. When he woke, Aaron Gibson, respected policeman, loving husband and doting father would never view the world in the same way again. The bleeder in his head, his dead wife and the son he killed would never allow it. He didn’t remember lighting his house on fire, but as his police cruiser pulled out of the driveway and he took one last glance at his house, it sure did seem like the right thing to do.

  “Company!” Wes said, startling Aaron out of his drug coma.

  “Why they sitting there?” Kyle asked.

  “Because they’re smart,” Officer Gibson replied as he took out his binoculars and looked at the car and truck that were a quarter of a mile or so away. “Looks like they got plenty of stuff in there too.” “Any women?” Wes asked.

  “Hell,” Job said. “If you were so horny why didn’t you hook up with that lady?” he asked, pointing to the approximate location where Mrs. Pinchant’s body rested.

  “I’ve got my standards,” Wes said sardonically.

  “What about the women’s standards?” Kyle asked, laughing.

  “Shut up. All of you,” Officer Gibson said. The constant talking got to him sometimes, but when his head was throbbing like it was now he couldn’t take any of it. “It looks like there’s at least two of them and plenty of stuff from what I can tell.” His vision had cleared somewhat since his nap but it wasn’t the 20-20 he was used to.

  “Let’s play this cool.” Job told Wes. “And maybe you can fuck a live woman this time.”

  “She was still warm,” Wes said in his defense.

  At one time Officer Gibson would have just put a bullet in the degenerate’s head. Now, he just didn’t care. The world was anarchy and he was doing his part to keep it that way.

  *

  BT had tried to place some well-aimed shots in the second cruiser as they passed it by but Meredith had nearly lost control of her car after she slammed into the police car.

  “Okay, I know you act a lot like your uncle, do you need to drive like him too?” BT half wailed as he pulled the rifle back in.

  “Sorry,” she replied softly. “I… I just tried to kill a cop.”

  “No you didn’t, you tried to save our lives. Now drive faster!”

  Tracy had passed on the left as Meredith fought to regain control. The two cars came close enough that sliding anything thicker than a folded piece of paper between the two vehicles would have been impossible.

  Dizz’s eyes had grown to twice their size as he watched BT get closer and closer. “That would have been bad,” he said as Meredith slid further back .

  “I think I crapped myself,” Sty revealed.

  “Please tell me he’s trying to be funny?” Tracy asked as she pressed harder down on the accelerator.

  “Not so much!” Ryan yelled as he pinched his nose closed.

  “Sty pooped himself!” Angel said happily from underneath the dashboard. “Poopedy-poop!” And then she went into her own made up song that was drowned out by the sound of the wind whipping through the car as all four windows were opened to capacity as they sped down the highway.

  It took five full miles, but even at speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour the ‘cops’ soon caught up to their prey and they were pissed.

  Shots began to ring out but at these speeds nobody was in a rush to stick their head out for too long and take a well-placed one . Meredith had scooted so far down she looked like a 99-year-old osteoporosis sufferer.

  “There is no way you can actually see where you’re going,” BT told her.

  “I can see enough,” she answered, her hands almost above her head on the steering wheel.

  “Meredith, BT! This is Ron, what’s your status?” blasted from the radio.

  BT reached his arm over the bench seat to grab the handset. He took the cue from Meredith that maybe a low profile was a good idea.

  “Hey, Ron!” BT yelled over the noise of the road and the percussions of the bullets. “We’ve got two very angry cop cars on our ass, we’re topped out at about a hundred and five and I don’t think their cars are even laboring. We won’t be able to do this for very long, her heat gauge is already starting to move up.” “How far until you get to Route 3?” Ron asked.

  BT looked over to Meredith.

  “Twenty minutes Dad!”

  Ron’s heart dropped as he listened to the anguish in his daughter’s voice. “When you get to Route 3 remember to keep going straight, but you’re going to have to slow down, I’ll never be able to catch up.” “Speed is the only thing keeping us in the game, Ron,” BT explained. “How far are you from there?” “22 to 25 minutes,” Ron said. Even over the airwaves BT could hear the rev of Ron’s truck tach up an extra thousand or so revolutions.

  “What if we start to slow down now?” BT asked.

  Ron immediately grasped the implicit meaning.

  “Ambush?”

  “You got it.”

  “Dad, hurry!” Meredith threw in at the end as if that wasn’t already a foregone conclusion.

  “I’m coming honey,” Ron reassured her.

  “Ever watch Nascar?” BT asked.

  “Are my front teeth missing or something?” Meredith shot back.

  “Okay, point taken. Listen, I want you to drop down to around 70 or so. When you do that, Tracy is going to start to pull away and I guarantee you that one of those cop cars is going to try and get her.” “Uh-huh,” Meredith said slowly, taking in the information.

  “You’re not going to let them though.”

  Meredith stole a glance over towards BT as if to see if he was bullshitting her, “Um, how am I supposed to do that?!” she fairly cried.

  “Well, see, if you watched car racing you’d know,” BT said with a smile he didn’t feel.

  “Um, excuse me, you don’t look much like a Nascar follower yourself.” “You’re right, more of an Australian rules football fan myself. Brisbane Lions are my team.” “You’re kidding me right?” Meredith shot him an incredulous look.

  “Never about the Lions.”

  “Fine, what do I need to do?”

  “Just stay in front. When they swerve to get over, you swerve to block them .” BT knew it was an exercise in futi
lity, but it would buy Tracy and Ron a few very precious minutes. Eventually the two trailing cars would see the ruse and instead of following in a line they would come up side by side. No matter how much Meredith swerved, she would not be able to block both at the same time.

  “I’m scared, BT,” Meredith said as she took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know if it’s appropriate right now, but somehow your crazy Uncle Mike convinced me that this was sound logic and I fell for it. We were surrounded by zombies, no hope of rescue, and low on bullets. He looks over at me, his face serious as a heart attack and he shrugs his shoulders and goes, ‘What the hell BT, you only die once.’” Meredith mulled it over for a few seconds and then looked over at BT and started laughing.

  “That’s exactly what I did! Ease up now,” BT cautioned, placing his hand on her arm.

  Tracy began to rocket down the roadway. In a few more minutes she’d be a fading memory.

  It didn’t take Officer Gibson long to see the ploy for what it was. He grabbed his police radio. “Job, get up here and get that other car before it gets good and gone. This one is mine,” Aaron said as he tapped the bumper of the slowing truck.

  “He hit us!” Meredith yelled.

  BT was thinking they’d be lucky if that was all he did. BT didn’t hesitate as he blew out the back window with rifle shots.

  Officer Gibson swerved to the left as a bullet came dangerously close to his ear. “He shot at me!” he yelled to Wes as if that was beyond the realm of any conceivable possibility. “Wes?” Aaron looked over to Wes and saw a gaping wound in his chest pulsing blood. Wes looked over towards Aaron, the hiss of air as it escaped his punctured lung louder than the air that came in through the damaged windshield.

  “I think I’m hit, Boss,” Wes said without any volume to the words.

  Aaron was amazed Wes could even speak; his body was hissing like a blown out tire. “Wes, I know we went to the Academy together but I’ve never really liked you.” Wes looked more hurt from the words than the wound. His breath started to hitch as he struggled to get elusive air into his system. Blood and carbon monoxide were becoming his biggest enemies, but none of them could compete with Officer Gibson.

  Aaron removed his pistol from his holster and drilled Wes straight through his outstretched hand and into his forehead. He was dead before what was left of his head collided with the passenger side window. “Now I’m going to have to clean that!” Aaron shouted as the gore from Wes’ head streaked down the window and the upholstery.

  BT watched the entire exchange, hoping that the wounding of the cop’s partner would take him out of the game. When it didn’t he turned to Meredith, “You should probably speed up now.” “Make up your mind!” Meredith screamed, partly because of the voluminous amounts of air that were cascading in from the rear but mostly because she was scared shitless.

  “Definitely faster,” BT said as he started to reload his magazine, fingers fumbling nervously with the shells. ‘If the cracker was crazy enough to shoot his own friend that doesn’t leave much room for doubt with what he’d do to us,’ BT thought.

  Aaron stopped long enough to push Wes from the car.

  “Jesus, Aaron. What the hell happened?” Job asked as he pulled his car next to the other cruiser.

  “Did I tell you to stop?” Aaron screamed.

  Job rolled up his window and floored it.

  “Dude, I watched him shoot Wes,” Kyle said, looking nervously back as Aaron got back into his cruiser. “That man is crazy, we need to get out of here.” Job looked at his rear view mirror. Aaron was gaining rapidly even though Job himself was doing 95. “I think you’re right, he’s been acting crazier than an evangelist on acid.” Kyle stopped looking back to look over at Job. “What does that even mean?” “How the hell do I know? I was under pressure for an analogy and that was the best I co uld do. But think about it.” “Yeah, I guess that would be pretty bad.”

  “He’s almost on us. No, don’t turn around, he might suspect something. Let’s just have some fun with these people, kill them and then we’ll maybe leave tonight. When he takes those pills he’ll be out for hours.” “Good plan, then hurry and catch them because I want to get away from him as soon as possible.” The cruiser easily climbed to 110 and Job had his foot only about three-quarters of the way down.

  Tracy ripped onto the Route 3 off ramp, tires squealing like live pigs shoved through a deli counter slicer. All the occupants were thrown to the left, threatening to overturn the car with the inertia. Angel was damn near in Tracy ’s lap. Dizz, Sty and Ryan were pressed so tightly together they could exchange undergarments and nobody would be the wiser.

  “Damn, lady!” Sty said as he tried to pry his mouth away from Dizz’ elbow. Ryan was closer to another man’s junk than he ever hoped to be for the rest of his life. He almost tore a muscle in a straining attempt to keep his hand off of Sty’s thigh. His face hung dangerously close to plopping straight down into Sty’s lap.

  “Like what you see?” Sty said, smiling slyly as Tracy finally hit a straightaway and the g-forces of orbital release were removed.

  “Kiss my ass, Sty,” Ryan said as he turned bright red.

  “I think the left side of my head is flat,” Dizz said, referring to where he made contact with the window.

  “Didn’t Mountain Man say we were supposed to stay on that other road?” Sty asked.

  “I saw a chance for us to get away, it’s called improvisation and I learned it from my husband,” Tracy explained briefly, looking through her mirrors for any sign of pursuit.

  When she turned forward, her heart lurched at the sight of the approaching truck until she realized it had to be Ron. She frantically waved him forward; she did not want him to stop as he barreled to intercept the cops. To his credit, he slowed slightly to look but immediately regained his forward momentum and hurtled on.

  “Where are we going, Pretty Lady?” Angel asked.

  “That’s a good question, sweetie,” Tracy answered. “I don’t know.” And she didn’t, should she follow Ron and see if she could help, or hide somewhere around here and wait for whoever remained alive to drive by. Or did she just keep driving and go back to Ron’s?

  She knew she couldn’t go back into the fray with the kids. The whole reason BT had done what he had was so that she could get away with them. She damn well couldn’t go back to Ron's house without the rest of them. What would she say?

  She pulled into an Arby’s parking lot. It had a ring of juniper trees that encircled the entire place. On ly the most prying diligent eyes would see the car. Then Mike’s paranoia crept in on her thoughts. ‘Yeah, but aren’t cops very prying and very diligent?’ “You suck sometimes, Mike,” she said out loud. Tracy parked the car behind the building and started to undo her seatbelt.

  "Whoa lady, where you going?" Sty asked, grabbing her shoulder.

  "Are they open?" Angel asked, looking up at the big Cowboy Hat sign. "I like curly fires."

  "Fires?" Tracy questioned the girl.

  "She means fries," Ryan explained.

  "I don’t think they're open sweetie," Tracy told the little girl. "I'm going to the front of the store and see who passes by. You guys need to all stay in the car."

  "Wait! Out here? By ourselves?" Dizz looked on the verge of a panic attack.

  "Eyean, do they have Happy Meals here?" Angel asked her older brother.

  "I don’t think so sis," he said and watched as her face sank in resignation, "But we can check." She immediately perked up.

  "Absolutely not," Tracy said, "Nobody is leaving this car."

  "You are," Sty pointed out.

  "Except for me," she said, shooting him a withering glance.

  "Pretty lady just told you!" Angel squealed with delight.

  Sty sat back hard; teenage brooding came to the fore.

  "Eh," Tracy said. "You've got nothing on my daughter," she finished mockingly. "I'll be right back. Dizz, you get in the driver's seat. If anything happens to me, you
get out of here. Understand?"

  "God help us all," Sty said sarcastically.

  Dizz looked sick although he nodded once in acknowledgement. Tracy was out of the car and had taken a step away. "Dizz, I meant now."

  He gave her thumbs up, swallowed back some gorge and got into the front seat. Angel immediately got serious. She sat up straight in her seat and allowed Ryan to buckle her in with absolutely no extra added squirming.

  "Which way is reverse?" Dizz asked, looking at the shift box.

  Tracy turned back around. "Get out," she told him. A look of relief flooded his face as he extracted himself from the seat that he was so reluctant to take. Tracy turned the car around and backed up into the parking spot.

  "You crossed over the white line," Dizz told Tracy, referring to her less than stellar parking job.

  "Better than most times," she said looking down. "Now get back in."

  "I'd rather go with you lady," Sty said. "It's way safer."

  "Blow me," Dizz said as he determinedly got behind the wheel.

  "Like a pinwheel?" Angel asked.

  "No, he actually…"

  "Dizz!" Tracy and Ryan yelled.

  "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

  "I'll be right back. Okay?"

  Dizz' thumbs up reply was about half mast.

  "How about a little more enthusiasm?" Tracy asked him. He brought two thumbs way up and the cheesiest false smile he could muster. "Better, but not great,” she said as she went around to the front. Even behind an 8’ high, 4’ wide juniper she felt completely exposed. ‘Didn't even bring my gun. What the hell is wrong with me?’ She was torn between standing at her post or returning to get her weapon.