ZOMBIE'S DOOM? Chronicles of Jack Doom Read online

  Some guy they called The Caucasian is supposedly the leader of that group."

  "The Caucasian in Indiana huh, sounds like a really fun crowd," I said chuckling, figuring that I had Jason completely cowed, but still not letting my guard down.

  "If the Shawnee site is so safe and secure, why would anyone want to leave there and go to a place called the Badlands?" I asked suspiciously.

  "That compound in Shawnee is just a way station, the people in charge only let you stay there for a few weeks tops, and then they send you packing, they need the space for the next weary travelers," Jason answered, forcing a smile to his face.

  "And what if somebody doesn't want to leave, then what?"

  "I don't know, I was only there for about two weeks and then I left on my own."

  I had gleaned all the information I was going to get out of Jason, so I smiled and told him.

  "You can put your hands down now, that is if you're going to stay calm and not do something stupid?"

  "I'm not going to do anything stupid to you Mr. Doom, you'd kill me, like I said before, I heard of some of the things that you've done."

  "Good, because here's the way I see it. Either you're with me, or you're against me, nothing in between," I told him, as I lowered my gun from his face.

  "I'm with you Mr. Doom, I truly am."

  "Then stop calling me Mr. Doom, my name is Jack," I said still smiling, although still ready to kill Jason anytime at the drop of a hat. Any hat!

  "Okay Mr. Doom, I... I mean Jack," Jason said nervously, still not ready to accept the fact that I wasn't going to kill him where he stood.

  "Relax Jason. If I were going to kill you, you'd already be dead," I said, smiling again as I lied to him.

  "Now since we're going to be all friendly like, you can help me find a suppressor for this gun," I told him, pulling out the Beretta I had stuffed in my belt, and pointing it in his face.

  "Sure thing Jack," Jason answered, as he began to nervously look around the room, not realizing that my new Beretta was not loaded.

  After searching Jason and knowing that he had only the M-4 type rife as his only weapon, I suggested to him that he might consider grabbing another gun, since after all, he was in a gun shop.

  "You could probably use another gun Jason, I prefer a 9mm pistol. Ammo is much more plentiful and it's lighter than the .45 stuff. And 9mm does an adequate job on the eaters, and anybody else for that matter."

  "What's that weird looking gun you've got strapped on your back, I've never seen anything like that before. It is a gun isn't it?" Jason asked.

  "This was my youngest son's carbine, it's a 9mm rifle, it's called a Sub-2000 and uses Glock mags," I told him. "It looks weird because it folds in half for transport. Pretty zoot uh?"

  I couldn't resist showing Jason the carbine that Jacob had used to kill so many zombies, so I laid my M-4 down on the floor beside me and pulled the rifle off my back.

  Because of the way the Sub-2000 was designed, you could carry it folded, with a fully loaded 33 round magazine inserted into its magazine well, and that's exactly how I was transporting it.

  Like I mentioned earlier in the apocalypse, "Mama Doom didn't raise a total fool".

  Jason had yet to make any sudden moves to alarm me, or show me in any way that he was a danger to me (that's why he was still alive), and I wanted to keep it that way. So I figured another little scare, just to keep him honest might be called for in this case.

  As I took the small carbine by the pistol grip of the weapon with my right hand, I released the locking latch with my left hand and flipped the barrel up and forward, snapping it into place. Then I twisted the gun to the left and I slapped the bolt handle down feeding a round into the chamber of the carbine.

  The whole operation from the time I had the rifle in my hands, to the time I pointed the loaded weapon at Jason's face, took less than three seconds from start to finish.

  "That's very impressive, but could you point that thing somewhere else?" Jason asked, not sure if I was going to pull the trigger or not. "Pointing guns at me seems to be becoming a habit of yours."

  "Like I said before, if I were going to shoot you, you'd already be shot," I answered, smiling once more as I lied to him again.

  ******

  As Jack leaned down to pick up his tomahawk, he noticed a silencer lying under it. He had inadvertently dropped his combat hatchet right on top of the very suppressor that he had been searching for before Jason had entered the shop.

  ******

  "Here's what I've been looking for," I said, as I ripped the package open that held the silencer.

  "And here's what I've been looking for," Jason announced, as he waved a box of ammo over his head.

  ******

  The two men spent the next hour fitting their firearms with sound suppressors, and gathering ammunition for their guns. Jack kept a close eye on Jason as they did so, still not trusting the man he had just met.

  As the two men worked side by side, Jason's curiosity finally got the best of him and he just had to ask Jack the question that had been eating at him (no pun intended).

  ******

  "Hey Jack, I don't mean to pry, but why are you so interested in that guy Sarge and his girl friend?"

  "I never said Beth was his girlfriend."

  "Come on Jack, a guy traveling around the country in the middle of an apocalypse with a good looking female, she's his girlfriend, one way or another," Jason stated, as a smile broke out on his face.

  "Maybe?" I said. "I guess I'll find out when I catch up to them."

  "She's not your girlfriend is she? Did the Sarge run off with your girlfriend, and now you're going after them to get her back?" Jason asked excitedly.

  "Beth has nothing to do with it, at least not yet anyway, I hardly know her, so calm down and keep your dick in your pants," I answered, thinking that Jason was going to need a cold shower if he kept thinking like that.

  "So if Beth isn't your girlfriend, and you're not chasing after them to get her back, why are you chasing after them?"

  "I don't remember saying that I was chasing after anybody."

  "I saw the look in your eyes while you were asking me about them, you're chasing after them all right, and I wouldn't want to be this Sarge of yours when you catch up to them," Jason said, smiling even bigger now.

  "You must have misread the look I was giving you. That was the look I use when I'm trying to decide whether or not to kill someone like you." I said smirking, while watching Jason's smile fade away.

  "The Sarge is an old friend, we fought together in the sand box, we met up some time ago and then got separated.

  I'm just trying to join him again," I told Jason.

  I certainly didn't want to tell Jason the truth, which was what he had already guessed. So I told him a half truth and hoped that he would drop the subject.

  My dealings with the Sarge, past or future was none of his business, and if we did end up traveling together, when we caught up to the Sarge and Beth I didn't want him saying something to either one of them that might give away my true intentions.

  My answer satisfied Jason's curiosity, at least for the moment, but I was still left wondering why I was bothering to tell this perfect stranger anything.

  As we scavenged up as much of the new supplies as we could carry, I had a thought.

  "I wonder if Jason has a vehicle, he never did mention how he got here from Oklahoma?"

  Jason now was sporting his original rifle, and two 9mm pistols he had appropriated from the gun store, all with silencers attached, and several boxes of ammo for all three guns.

  "That's quite a load to carry, it's almost as much as I've got," I said. "You wouldn't happen to have some kind of a vehicle parked near here would you?"

  "I have an old pick-up truck parked a few stores down the block, I didn't want to just drive up here and stop in front of the gun shop not knowing if anyone was inside," Jason answered, seeming not to understand what I was getting at.


  "Well, my ride ended up down the road a piece with three flat tires, it was a nice ride but spare tires were a little hard to come by at the time, so I had to leave it behind," I told him. "Maybe we could ride together in your truck?"

  "There's nothing that I'd like better Jack, but we're going in opposite directions," Jason answered, oblivious to my hint.

  "No we're not, I'm going to Oklahoma to find the Sarge, aren't you coming with me?" I asked, now staring at Jason with a blank look on my face.

  Before Jason had a chance to answer my question, we heard a noise coming from outside of the building.

  "Quiet! Eaters," I whispered, pointing to the front door.

  I hoped that it was a couple of picaroon zombies and not a pack of feral dogs on the prowl that was making the noise. But I'd take the dogs over a raptor or two.

  "It's been a while since I've seen any of the dead walking around, that's a good sign, right," Jason concluded.

  "I've noticed that the lack of eaters in a given area usually means that there's a pack of feral dogs nearby, or worse," I informed him as I slowly made my way toward the front of the shop.

  "Feral dogs? That doesn't sound good," Jason declared, as he too moved in the direction of the front door.

  As I approached the door, I could see two mutts running south down the street, then a moment later another three dogs passed by the doorway on the other side of the street, all heading south.

  "Stay still," I order Jason. "They haven't seen us yet."

  Being fortunate enough not to have crossed paths with any of the feral dog population as of yet, Jason should have done as I ordered and froze in his tracks.

  However, never having seen a pack of the roaming curs, and not realizing the danger that these vicious mongrels posed, he continued to walk forward to my position.

  Strike two!

  "Freeze you dumb-ass, you'll get us both killed," I barked in my best drill instructor whisper as I set my M-4 to full auto.

  But it was too late, a straggler that had allowed the main pack to advance a couple of blocks ahead of it, caught a glimpse of Jason's movement as it passed the doorway.

  The malicious K-9 abruptly skidded to a halt, and turned its full attention to the doorway of the gun shop. Then, in a split second, it bolted toward Jason and leaped into the air with the intention of landing on my new found partner's face.

  Standing only a few feet from Jason and the malevolent attacking dog, I leveled my suppressed M-4 at the lunging crossbreed and pulled the trigger.

  At between 600 to 800 rounds per minute, my rifle spit out a fusillade of full metal-jacketed projectiles of the 5.56 variety into the attacking animal in mid-flight.

  The effect of such a myriad of bullets hitting the beast almost simultaneously was to slam the vile critter against the doorjamb just inches from Jason's face, killing it instantly.

  Apparently, Jason still hadn't learned his lesson, the dog I had just killed had barely hit the ground when Jason sprang out the front door of the gun shop to see where the other dogs had gone.

  Strike three!

  "Look, I think they're after that group of dead!" he shouted, pointing at a small clutch of zombies in the distance.

  "Better them than us," I whispered back to him, as I pulled him back inside the shop by the collar of his shirt. "I've never seen any live dogs and eaters together, but in this crazy world who knows, there's a first time for everything I guess."

  With three strikes under his belt, at this point, I realized that Jason was a little too high strung to be traveling with me. He didn't seem to be able to follow simple instructions (like stop moving), and immediately after almost being ripped apart by a feral dog, he jumped out into the open and started shouting.

  Fortunately for us, the main pack of dogs were busy a few blocks away running around doing whatever it is that feral dogs do when they're not attacking me, and didn't hear him yelling at the top of his lungs.

  It was only a matter of time before his antics would get him killed, and I didn't want to be his conjoined twin when it happened.

  I felt that in the light of what had just taken place, I had only two options to choose from.

  Option number one (my preferred option), I could ask Jason nicely for the keys to his truck, and then send him on his way. I would take his truck and follow the Sarge and Beth's trail into Oklahoma, and Jason could continue his journey south on foot until he found himself another vehicle, or was torn apart by zombies, feral dogs, or raptors, whichever came first.

  Option number two (not my preferred option, but still on the table), I could ask Jason nicely for the keys to his truck, and if he refused, I would kill him. and leave his carcass to be torn apart by the zombies, feral dogs, or the raptors, whichever came first. Then I would take his truck and continue to follow the Sarge and Beth's trail into Oklahoma, while he was slowly being digested by whichever pack of carnivores decided to choke down his dumb ass for lunch.

  Whichever option was to be chosen, the choice was going to be solely up to Jason.

  Even though I had no intention of reviewing his options before the fact.

  He could choose to cooperate, and allow the zombie apocalypse to choose the time and method of his ultimate demise. Or, he could choose not to cooperate, and to die a quick and relatively painless death in Amarillo Texas by my hand.

  Either way was fine with me, but one way or another, I was going to take possession of his truck and head into Oklahoma in search of my prey.

  "That was pretty stupid of you Jason, first you didn't stay still like I told you to, and then you went outside and started shouting," I asserted, still whispering angrily.

  "I just got excited, that's all," he replied.

  "No, what you got was us almost killed," I challenged. "That's all I need, is a letter sent back to my family that reads; Jack Doom was killed because he befriended an idiot named Jason."

  Jason had no idea whether any of my family was alive or not, but the curious look on his face when I stated that a letter might be sent to them announcing my premature death, was almost worth the price of admission.

  "Letter?" Jason asked curiously.

  "Never mind, I need the keys to your truck, hand them over," I sternly ordered.

  "That's okay, I don't mind driving," he replied.

  "No, it's not okay, you won't be coming with me, give me the keys," I demanded once more, slowly turning my rifle in his direction.

  "I don't have the keys, I left them in the truck, take the truck, just don't shoot me Mr. Doom," Jason pleaded, now again visibly afraid.

  "I intend to do just that," I said, now pointing my rifle at his chest.

  "Th...th...that's fine, y...you take the truck, I...I'll find another truck, or a car, or som...something," Jason maintained, as he began to stammer again.

  "I'm glad you see it my way Jason, now let's go get my truck, and for your sake when we get there the keys better be in it," I stressed firmly, secretly hoping that he was telling me the truth about the truck's keys.

  We cautiously retreated from the gun shop with Jason leading the way. He claimed that his vehicle was only two blocks away, so I allowed him only one knife to fend off any peril that we might encounter along the way, or that he might run into on his way back to the gun store to retrieve his other weapons after I had gone.

  "There it is; the primmer gray one parked by the curb."

  "As soon as I confirm the keys are in it and it starts, you can go back to the gun shop and pick up the rest of your guns," I affirmed.

  Jason now began to act strangely, turning his head back and forth as if he were looking urgently for something.

  I had seen this type of behavior before, in Afghanistan. Some of the hajji's we had captured had exhibited this type of behavior when they were close to panicking and trying to decide whether to make a break for it or not.

  I quickly tossed my paraphernalia into the bed of my new gray truck and glanced inside, and seeing that the ignition had no keys d
angling there.

  "Son-of-a-bitch Jason, I tried to be nice," I said.

  At that moment, Jason turned and began to run back toward the gun shop.

  "Damn it Jason, I really didn't want to shoot you in the back," I mumbled to myself, as I took aim at Jason's lower spin.

  My M-4 let out four quick muffled pops as I pressed the gun's trigger to the rear. My shoulder felt a mild shove from the recoil of the weapon as I watched Jason fall to the sidewalk just yards from me with four bullets in his back.

  I had forgotten to put my rifle back into semi-auto mode before shooting Jason, so the quantity of bullets entering his body disjointed his spin on impact, splintering several of his vertebras and severing his spinal column, killing him instantly.

  Fearing the smell of blood in the air would hasten the return of the feral dogs, or bring in any wandering zombies or raptors that might be patrolling the streets; I quickly rifled through Jason's pants pockets searching for the keys to my new truck.

  "Ah, here they are," I said quietly to myself as I pulled a blood soaked keychain out of the dead man's pocket.

  I had killed Jason with a quick twelve-yard volley to his backbone, which had severed his lower spin. As I stood up to walk back to the truck, I flipped the control on my rifle to semi-automatic and pulled the trigger once more, putting a single bullet into Jason's head to prevent him from becoming one of the living dead.

  I thought I at least owed him that much, as payment for the truck if for nothing else.

  I had searched Jason earlier, and had missed the truck keys, but in my own defense, I was searching him for weapons, not for keys.

  Upon returning to the pick-up truck, I inserted the key into the ignition and heard the engine turn over, sputter, and then start up.

  In moments, I was on the road once again and making good time, I was headed into Oklahoma and back on the trail of the Sarge.

  However, as I pushed northeast in the new and unfamiliar ride, I couldn't resist adding two more of the living dead to my tally of felony hit and runs, by sideswiping a couple of hitchhiking corpses and sending them spinning clear off the road, and temporally clear of their adopted flies.