I went through the logistics. Machine-gun ammo comes in belts of fifty. Four belts in a standard ammo can. That’s two hundred rounds. Weighed around sixteen pounds, if I remember. It’s not the weight but the convenience. How would I carry that much ammo and feed it through the machine gun? For all that trouble I’d only get about twelve seconds of shooting time. Plus, I’d be spraying bullets all over the hills.
I set the machine gun back in its box. “Too complicated. Do you have anything simpler? More basic? Yet a little exotic?”
Time was passing, and I wanted to be ready by nightfall.
Eric turned from me, frowning and disappointed at losing this sale. He tapped along boxes and bundles on a shelf beside us. “Simple. Basic. Exotic.”
He yanked a bundle in a grimy cloth. He unwrapped a stubby antique double-barreled gun. “It’s a Pedersoli Kodiak elephant gun I bought at a police auction. In mint condition, it’ll be worth eleven grand. As you can see, the previous owners-crack dealers-weren’t interested in the gun’s pedigree.”
Eric ran his hand over the cut-down stock, the wood gouged and scratched. The metal work was pitted and rusted from the twin triggers to the truncated barrels. The twin muzzles still had hacksaw scratches.
Eric broke open the stock and showed the enormous chambers. “Ten-gauge.”
A 10-gauge elephant gun? “Got ammo?”
“Of course.”
Perfect. “I’ll take it.”
I left Eric’s place. Cavagnolo had to get his own ride home.
Jolie appeared behind me on her big BMW. We stopped in a little clearing along the river to discuss our plans to attack the zombies.
I handed her the Dan Wesson pistol. She accepted it with only a simple thanks. While I studied the topographical map, she played with the gun, disassembling it into a pile of shiny pieces, then in a blur of fingers had it back together again. She loaded the magazines and after slapping one into the Dan Wesson, dropped the extras into a leather fanny pack.
She said, “In case you wondered how the zombies snatched Phaedra from her uncle’s place, I found a bunch of footprints behind the little cottage.”
“How’d they get past Cavagnolo’s dogs?”
Jolie pulled a plastic ground beef wrapper and a prescription bottle of Ambien. “It’s a miracle the little poochies didn’t get poisoned.”
“Told you the zombies were clever.”
I sketched the layout of the zombie lair and we drew up our plan.
We’d get into position on her BMW, which could cover all but the worst terrain in a hurry. I’d dismount and she would draw the zombies away from me.
“Don’t try any stunts like running them down,” I said. “The zombies catch on quick and they’ll sacrifice one of their own to set you up. Don’t be shy about using the pistol.”
“I’m not shy about anything,” Jolie replied.
We spent the rest of the afternoon going through our shopping list. Afterward, we returned to the clearing and got ready as we waited for night to fall.
I tested the number of a cheapie cell phone I’d bought in a convenience store. It worked. I opened the phone case, removed the vibrating mechanism, and in its place attached an electronic fuse. I called the number and a red LED on the fuse illuminated. I turned the phone off-hell of a time to get a wrong number-and inserted the blasting cap into the fuse. I extended a talon and poked a deep hole into a stick of dynamite. I inserted the blasting cap into the hole and wrapped the cell phone tight against the dynamite with electrical tape. I taped the second stick of dynamite to the first.
After loading all the guns, I tucked my pistol into its holster and slipped spare magazines into the pockets of my cargo pants. I dropped a flare gun, flares, and the cell phone bomb into one pocket of the vest and dumped the 10-gauge cartridges into the other pockets.
The sun sank below the western hills and the long fingers of night reached across the valley. I sat cross-legged while Jolie stretched out and propped herself on her elbows.
I said, “Assuming the raid goes off okay…”
“There’s no assuming, Felix. Not after what you and I have been through.” She meant Carmen. “We get in and destroy.”
“I was getting at your partner, Nguyen. When we get done, what about him? I think he’s going to make a stink about not coming along.”
“Notice that he didn’t protest too hard about me bracing him.”
“I thought you were pulling rank.”
“I got no rank on him. He reports directly for the Araneum.” Jolie cocked a thumb to the sky. “The very top.”
“As?”
“As a snitch. Plus he’s a fake.”
“Fake?” I asked.
“Yeah. A real poser. He likes wearing the leathers and talking smack but he can’t ride a motorcycle worth a shit.”
“He looks tough.”
“In a vampire way but he doesn’t have what it takes to be an enforcer. Few will stick their necks out like you have to, to be one of us.”
“Would you have done it?” I was referring to the stake and the skinning knife.
“I don’t know.”
“You mean it depends?”
“No. It means I don’t want to talk about it.” Jolie plucked a stalk of grass and stuck it between her teeth. “I didn’t like getting tapped for this job, Felix.”
“I wouldn’t of, either.”
“There’s a lot the Araneum didn’t tell you.”
“About what?”
Jolie’s aura shrank to a simmer of worry.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Is it about the zombies?”
“No. The Araneum is in the dark about them.”
“So it’s about Phaedra?”
Jolie didn’t say anything, which meant yes.
We kept quiet for a long time. Jolie took off her jacket and began a series of katas, her legs and arms becoming a whirlwind of kicking and punching.
I made coffee over a Sterno stove, enough for Jolie and myself. I added blood. I didn’t need the caffeine or the nourishment-I was plenty jacked up on adrenaline-but the snack grounded me and softened my too-sharp senses so that I relaxed and became more aware.
At 1:00 A.M. Phaedra put her jacket back on and clicked the fanny pack around her waist. I did a final check of my equipment. She put on her helmet and started the BMW. I climbed on the rear seat and we rode two up from the clearing.
The Jeep remained on San Diego Avenue where I had abandoned it. Dust and scratches covered the windows and the dented body. The zombie I’d thrown aside was gone. When Jolie and I passed the cemetery, I asked her to turn off the motorcycle’s lights.
A half mile from Ghoul Mountain, we veered off the main road to approach Deadman’s Gulch from the northeast. The BMW crossed the gullies as nimble as a mountain lion.
We paused on a rise that overlooked Hennison’s house. Light glowed from the cracks around plywood sheets nailed over the broken windows. The gasoline tank-a military surplus water buffalo-was on a metal stand next to the garage on the eastern side of the house.
“Step one,” she said. We were here.
I got off the bike. Jolie turned the fanny pack to the front to get better access at her pistol and magazines.
Now for step two. Jolie would distract the zombies while I planted the bomb to topple the gas tank into the house.
Step three. Get into the house. Find Dr. Hennison. He was in poor shape the last I’d seen him. He might have used some of his black science to keep alive. This time I’d make sure he’s dead.
Step four. Detonate the bomb, drop the gas tank, and burn the house to ash.
Step five. Destroy any remaining zombies.
Step six. Maybe the hardest part of the plan. Escape and confront the Araneum about Phaedra.
Jolie adjusted her helmet and slugged my arm for good luck. She crept down the rise on the BMW, the engine rumbling in the darkness. Unless the zombies had gone deaf, they knew we were here.