Doing Time

Zombie or Post Apocalyptic themed fiction/stories.

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Halfapint
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Re: Doing Time

Post by Halfapint » Sun Apr 15, 2018 11:27 am

Woohoo!!!!! Thanks! Weird I didn't get an update that this got updated. Glad I scrolled through and saw it was bumped up! Keep them coming Groucho you're a wonderful writer!
JeeperCreeper wrote:I like huge dicks, Halfapint, so you are OK in my book.... hahaha
Spazzy wrote:Tell ya what... If Zombies attack and the world ends I'll hook tandem toddlers to a plow if it means I'll be able to eat...

Johan
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Re: Doing Time

Post by Johan » Sun May 06, 2018 2:52 pm

Thank you for the uppdate!!
lf asking for Moooar works, count on me to keep asking, begging or whatever it takes, I love this story...
Firepower...
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Groucho
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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Wed Jun 20, 2018 3:01 pm

Sorry for the delay. Been getting my house ready to sell. :(


The Cessna circled around for a final approach, gently touched down and rolled to a stop. Trask hopped out, walked within reasonable shooting distance of the dead, then dropped to one knee. "The rifle was much pleasanter to shoot with ear plugs" the Captain thought, sending the remaining flesh eaters to a final rest.

Illion and his security detail drove up once the shooting was over. "Nice exhibition Sir" he greeted his superior, really thinking what a waste of ammo it was. Trask nodded at the Lieutenant and turned to the felons. " Thank you for the flight, that takes care of one of my goals. Would you care to know what my second goal was? It concerns you two".

Trey and Joker looked at the two officers, both had their weapons slung and the rest of their men hadn't been summoned. "Only if you care to share" Trey replied politely.

Illion was as interested as the cellmates were. "The Army would like their laser carrier back, please" the man in gray stated outright. Joker started to sputter, however Trask raised a hand to forestall the coming outburst. "I understand that you had legitimate grievances, but Barton is dead. You got to play with your new toy for a while, although I'd guess that it has been parked unused for some time now".

Joker never gave up anything that he stole on general principle, unless it was for cash, certainly not because somebody added a please to the demand. Trey was surprised that he'd thought the Army wasn't going to let this go, he should have known better. "My associate and I will need to discuss the situation" the bank robber stated flatly, promising nothing. The airplane's crew watched the others leave in the trucks. "Let's get out of here" Trey told his grumpy friend. The Cessna lifted off with Joker at the controls. Both men kept their thoughts to themselves during the flight. Joker made his approach, followed by a landing that was just as good as Trey's most recent attempt.

Joker broke the silence after he parked in the designated area. "Trask has a point" he commented surprising his friend. "We don't do anything with it, not lately anyway".

Trey attached the static cable and started on the tie downs. "I was thinking the same thing. Maybe if we saw herds everyday it would be different. I wonder if the military will actually use it though".

"Should we fuel the bird" Joker asked, changing the subject?

"What if somebody steals it" The taller man asked?

"What if we need it in a hurry" Joker countered?

"We have time, why not" Trey said, looking at the sun's position.

The two men began filling fuel cans and hauling them to the flight line. When the thief descended the ladder from his turn with a five gallon can, he griped "We have to find a new pump. Hit the hardware and plumbing stores. This is ridiculous".

"Don't forget a new landing spot" Trey reminded him. " There are a couple golf courses up here in Venango county, we should check them out. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, there are a couple closer to home in Mercer county".

"Nobody but you country bumpkins and rednecks live here and you got golf courses" Joker shook his head in wonder.

"Some people made a good living off you city folks that came up here in the summer. They'd golf, fish and stuff".

"All the planes are gone, where did they all go" Joker changed the subject?

"I'd guess they went north to Canada or west to Kansas or Nebraska. Maybe the Dakotas, even. I don't know how that worked out for them, they couldn't have taken much with them. Maybe they had summer places out in the boondocks".

"They were already in the boondocks" the thief said, referring to anything outside a city's limits in his opinion".

The cellmates drove off to the west when they left. Trey had Joker cut across country, changing roads when the one they were on went too far north or south. Upon reaching the north and south interstate, the men parked the Mercedes. The criminals didn't see any movement, so they crept up for a look. The lanes were clear to the south, with a few distant humanoid shapes to the north. Joker drove under the multilane highway continuing west. Finally, they emerged onto route 58 which was Greenville Mercer road. "Which way" the smaller man asked?

"Let's try south".

The country held some homes, however most of the ground was farmed or patches of woodlands. The only goon they saw was a farmer, standing at a fence in his stripped, bib overalls and Casey Jones hat, over his knees in tall grass. He appeared to have been gnawed on pretty good and standing out in the weather had not helped his appearance. The once human became agitated when the car stopped. The zombie began pushing on the barbed wire, property fence. The barrier moved back and forth twenty yards in each direction. Trey's muffled, rifle shot dropped the goon forward, overalls snagged on the top strand of fencing, making it sag several inches.

A dozen miles north of Mercer the pair saw the road sign for Golf Road and made the right turn, arriving at the Mercer Public Golf Course a short distance down the road. Trey expected a gravel drive, however he was surprised at the nice sign and smooth blacktop. A thin belt of trees screened the parking area and club house from passersby. A recent model truck was surrounded by dead bodies. A trail of bodies led back to the drive, as though the dead had followed the truck when it entered the lot. The felons spied a lot of spent rifle cartridges laying among the stinking, dead bodies and empty, beer cans.

The two men stood, taking a slow look around the area, seeing and hearing nothing. They turned their attention toward the clubhouse. The glass had been broken out of the entrance door, covering the sidewalk leading up to the door. There was no avoiding the shards, which made a harsh grinding sound against the concrete when stepped on. The noxious smell accompanied them inside, the wet, carpet squishing when it was walked on. They found the an empty bottle of rum and truck's owner who had shot himself in the head. The suicide had occurred long enough ago, that the blood had corroded the finish of the rifle before drying into a hard crust. The body wore a heavy coat, so it must have occurred early on.

The crinkle of cellophane interrupted Trey's study of the dead man. His partner was transferring the snacks from a rack by the cash register to a handy plastic bag. "Cashews" the thief announced, "but no jerky". The small pro shop attached to the lobby held no interest for the bank robber. A drift of dead leaves against the base of the counter crunched when Trey went through the swinging gate to check behind the counter. His knuckles rapped on the lone door set in the rear wall. Receiving no response, the door was opened, showing a room that was half office and half storage. The shelves were only golf supplies and equipment, while the desk only held paperwork.

"When you're done shopping let's see if we can get that truck running". Trey had the German car's trunk open, looking for the jumper cables by the time Joker joined him. The truck was unlocked and the key was in the ignition. The pair were forced to move a few bodies to make room for the Mercedes, however the truck started right up. "I always wanted to four wheel through a golf course" Trey told his friend, who only grunted in reply. The truck seemed to run fine, for as long as it must have been parked. The men circled the parking lot, then set off through the yard. The course seemed rough for a golf course to Trey, who had expected a really smooth ride. None of the fairways looked long enough to handle the Cessna landing.

Back at the car they discussed what to do next. "There's another course closer to town" the bank robber said.

"Aw crap" Joker exclaimed after opening one of his bags. "This stuff smells like dead guy" said wrinkling his nose. "I really wanted some cashews". The angry felon spun the bag several times by the handle, then launched it into the air to burst out in the lot when it landed. The second bag followed the first. The truck pulled out onto the road, then sped away so the driver could see what it would do. The Mercedes tagged along behind, not in any hurry. Trey waited at the turn off for Joker to catch up. "I think it's down this way" was the Army veteran's plan. The truck turned onto Market Street, which became Old Sharon Road. The club was right where the road branched off giving a driver three choices.

The sign announced the location of the Spring Valley Golf and Country Club. Joker managed to open the gate despite the lock. An access road passed alongside a cluster of building, changing into a long, narrow parking area, paralleling the road out of Mercer. The lot would have been empty if not for the presence of a tractor. A snow blade had been added to the machine for plowing. Undoubtedly, the operator had a good reason for leaving the equipment there. Although, whoever it was took the time to lock the gate. The building itself had been extended several times. A decent sized restaurant had been added, as well as a separate pro shop and locker room. A large addition puzzled the two men until they reached a window. Forty golf carts were crammed in with a work bench and maintenance area. The most recent addition was a now empty swimming pool.

From a pilot's point of view, there was only one area where they could land the plane. Between the forest to the south and narrow rows of trees planted on the course, a east and west landing would be possible. The Cessna would be either beginning a trip or ending it right next to the pool. The approach would be over a long stretch of empty farmland. Trey drove the perimeter in the big truck, checking that the fence went all the way around. Most of it could be seen from the ground's building, but not all. The bank robber led the way into the forest, walking along the fence. Along the way, they removed large limbs and small trees that lay on the fence. The staples had popped loose from the force, however the two men braced the wire with study hardwood limbs.

Back at the clubhouse, they discussed its merits. Joker was all for using the location, but he could see his friend had doubts. "What's wrong with it" the thief asked?

"The prison is right down there" the taller man pointed south. "Sure, we can do a low altitude approach so they don't see us. Unfortunately, they could hear the engine. Plus we'll be coming in from the east, it could pull in any goons that are on the interstate" Trey listed each point on his fingers.

"You're a killjoy. Did you know that"?

"Yes. I don't mean to brag, but it's one of my many talents" Trey retorted with a smile. " There's a couple more courses west of here, but I think we should be looking at farm fields instead. Most of them are fenced in and up here they're pretty level. ".

"Why were we looking at golf courses then" Joker?

"I remember reading about planes making emergency landings on golf courses. It seemed like a good idea at the time" the bank robber explained. The men began driving around the country roads, checking out the fields. Most of the ground they were seeing wasn't long enough, was too rolling in nature or had tall trees at the end.

"We should be doing this by air" Joker suggested. "You know we'll have to haul fuel if we find a place".

"Yep, things are getting complicated. We should still have an alternate though, just in case".

Trey drove for awhile longer before Joker spoke again. "So what do we do about the laser"?

"They came to see about the explosion, the laser is sort of an afterthought". The ex-soldier paused "Maybe if we give it back they'll all go away. The Army has a lot more to think about these days".

"Fine by me" the small man said. He wasn't in the habit of returning stolen goods, but an army had never come after him before. Of course, there was that one time he had a problem with the Philadelphia mob. Not only did he have to return the score, in addition, he had to do another job they needed done as a sort of fine. Both groups had machine guns and weren't afraid to use them. "Do we just drive it up to the Prison and say here you go".

"No, that would seem like we're licking their boots. We'll show them where it is, although we'll probably have to drive it until they get the rig on a four lane".

The felons arrived back at the farm in time for supper. Parking was a little tight, as Illion, true to his word, had sent some troops to do the hoeing. The grumpy, sunburned soldiers with blistered hands, sat on the porch waiting to be fed. Joker heard the grumbling among soldiers and said "Skilled labor never does the grunt work boys".

Before the well fed soldiers departed, Trey gave the Corporal in charge of the detail a message to deliver to Trask and Illion. The cellmates were outside with the kids, playing a game they made up. The youngsters were laughing at the rules the two men made up as they went along. When they were called to the radio, they passed an imaginary crown to Bridgett putting her in charge. There were groans of disappointment from the children until Joker asked "What did I teach you"?

"Bidness is bidness" the four answered with smiles, although they weren't sure what it meant.

Inside, Joker grabbed the microphone "That was quick".

"What do you want" Illion asked politely.

"We decided in the spirit of cooperation to show you where the laser is".

"That's good news" the lieutenant responded. There was a pause, then the radio came to life again "How about tomorrow"?

"OK. Send a different bunch of soldier boys tomorrow. The ones from today are all tuckered out".

The next morning after breakfast, the convicts checked out the new truck. The tires needed some air, however the fluid levels were good. They didn't have duplicates for everything they were used to packing, but what they did have was loaded. The good medical kit was in the missing truck, as well as the better tool kit, flashlights and the water cans. Joker picked out what to take to get the big rig running if necessary. "Ammo is getting low, we should stop at the stash and pick some up" Trey suggested.

On the way to the Penitentiary, they made a stop for gas. The dead, who had been conspicuous by their absence, now seemed to be everywhere they went. Three goons were waiting at the old station when Joker stopped at the last bend. Trey used the binoculars to take a good look at the place before driving up. The truck idled toward the station, stopping once the reanimated humans became aware of them. "My turn" the thief said, sliding from behind the steering wheel onto the road. As the dead drew closer. he noticed the lead figure was a little faster than the others. It's clothing wasn't as faded as most of the goons', although they were stained with the black ichor that dribbled from the wounds they died from.

Joker leaned against the hood of the truck waiting for his adversaries to close the distance. Bored, he scooped up a handful of rocks that a hard rain had washed onto the road. His first efforts were misses, although his aim improved as the distance shortened. Even a solid hit drew no response from the dead.
With his last rock he managed to strike the lead goon right on the forehead. The dead man stopped in his tracks, slightly tipped it's head back and rolled it's eyes upward. The thief burst out laughing at what may have been a look of surprise on the dead face. Even his partner watching the scene play out was amused.

The small man walked a short distance off the road and the goons adjusted their courses accordingly. His first thrust with the spear was like attempting to pierce a tree with his weapon. The dead man was knocked over with the force of contact. Joker struck a second and then a third time before the blade penetrated into the skull. Its eyes rolled up with the pupils out of sight and began to shake as though having a seizure. In the end, he had to put a foot on the figure's chin to withdraw the spear. By then the other two were uncomfortably close. Trey had left the vehicle to back up his friend, however the spear quickly destroyed the other dead.

"Hey, come look at this one" Joker called out. Trey joined him, watching as the thief thumped the head of the first goon. "It sounds like I'm hitting a dead tree". The zombie convulsed, making the two men jump back. Trey shot the goon in the head with the silenced handgun. Examining the wound revealed a crack in the skull, rather than the hole normally expected. "Weird" Joker said, staring at the freak.

"A statistical anomaly" Trey replied. "I suspect the same variation in reaction to disease live humans often have".

The smaller man stared at the speaker for a moment , then said "That's good to know Doctor McFaren".

When they arrived at the prison, Captain Trask and his party were waiting outside the gate. "Good morning" the MI officer smiled.

"Been waiting long" Joker asked? Without waiting for an answer, he continued speaking "We ran into some of the dead we had to deal with".

"Oh, about ten minutes" Trask replied to the question. "So where are we going" he asked his own question?

Trey half turned away from the group and without looking pointed with one hand "Southeast. I have to warn you guys though, the road gets really narrow. It will be slow going on the way back, we barely got it in there".

Trask didn't care much for the crazy grin on Joker's face at his friend's comment. "If it went in, then it will come out".

"Theoretically, yes, but you know what they say" the bank robber stated.

"What do they say" the man with the scar asked?

"Drive it like it was stolen" Joker crowed, making the younger soldiers smile.

Can anyone here drive a truck" Trey asked? The soldiers reacted as groups often do. Those who couldn't drive, looked at everyone else to see if someone else could. "I'll take that as a solid no then". The group drove out the access road, following the criminals who turned south on route 8. The trip went smoothly and they soon reached I-80 where their customary stop was made. Trask caught up to the cellmates as they crept forward for a look at the four lane. "Why are we stopping"?

"If there's a horde walking by, we'd just as soon not interrupt them" Trey answered seriously.

"Well, that does make sense" Trask agreed with the practice as he eyeballed the empty interstate in both directions.

From that point on the travelers encountered more of the dead. The third time they stopped to destroy a handful of dead in the road, Trask asked if this was normal. "Nope, they're all moving for some reason" Joker answered. "Maybe it's the weather, summer's over".

In Harrisville, where the felons had raided the gun shop, they stopped to shoot half a dozen dead who blocked the intersection at the village's only traffic light. The goons began filtering onto the road from between the houses. Impatiently, Trey pointed back at the soldiers who didn't know that they were being surrounded. Illion had the good sense to initially order only those with suppressors to fire. A small voice began whispering in Trey's ear that it was time to go. He banged on the hood getting Joker's attention, "We got to go"!

Trey spared a glance behind them when he clambered aboard the truck. Nobody was looking in their direction. "Reverse" he instructed the driver. The thief shift into reverse and punched the gas while beeping the horn. Illion jumped out of the way to keep from getting hit and the bumper flattened three flesh eaters, who were closing in on a panicked trooper reloading. "Time to go LT" the bank robber yelled over the gunshots of the rifles without supressors who had joined the fray. Trey continued to fire from his window, giving the soldiers time to mount up. Joker watched his mirror until everyone was off the ground, then hit the gas. In response to his navigator yelling "Right", the driver over steered sliding into a turn, corrected the slide and sped though a gap in the wall of the dead.

The other trucks followed close enough behind to keep the gap clear, except the trail vehicle. The dead man that walked into the front fender flew into pieces, spraying decayed flesh and black bile onto the hood and windscreen and crumpling the fender. The dead were out of sight before Trey had Joker make a left turn to continue south. That was when he realized they were short one vehicle. Knowing they couldn't wait long, he dismounted and walked toward the road. The lost truck limped up the road, also making the turn accompanied by the sound of rubber rubbing metal. The remnants of the fender were pushing hard against the tire. There weren't any volunteers to grab the zombie coated metal to try and bend it. Joker saved the day with a piece of old pipe he'd found long ago. Using it as a lever the soldiers bent the metal away from the tire.

The felons were concerned about the loud reports of the stock rifles attracting the attention of the dead. The side road they were on connected back to route 8 a short way south of the village. The goons that were spotted along or approaching the major two lane road may have been there anyway. the goons were out in force today. The closer to Butler the group went the more built up the area became. Trey had the driver make a left turn by the drive-in, then a right so they moved toward the east. At the next intersection, Joker made another left turn that circled the Mall while staying out of sight. The two men called out to each other when a goon was spotted. They entered town on the back streets and even at their slower speed dodged the attracted dead.

At the first glimpse of the six story hospital, Trey had Joker make a left and then a right turn. The street dropped down a hill with trees on both sides, coming out on the floor of the valley. The entrance ramp to 422, the east, west traffic way, was in view two short blocks away. The short convoy squeezed past the SUV that had run up on the guard rail of the ramp. At the top of the ramp Joker nudged a small car sitting on its roof. The wreck rotated ninety degrees with a harsh scraping sound, taking some paint off the lead truck in the bargain. The sight that greeted the traveler merging onto the four lane surprised all but the two convicts. Nearly straight lines of dead bodies ran up the road ahead.

Trey and Joker were especially interested, since they were the ones who had used the laser to such good effect. Joker drove slowly, letting the others have a good look at the results. Trey was sure Trask would make the connection without being told. There were gaps in the bodies at each bend and hill where the weapon didn't have line of sight it needed. The pair even stopped to get out and look around at the bottom of a hill. They were searching for the spot that the laser had contacted the pavement after exiting the last goon. The men expected a hole, but found only a shallow melted spot on the pavement.
Trask got out to look also. The captain looked at the felons, the string of corpses and back at the felons.

When the convoy reached Worthington, they turned north on a narrower road. Joker followed Trey's directions because he recognized some landmarks. There was the old building that looked ready to collapse, here was the lone tree out in a field, another place had a power pole whose cross tie sat at an angle. They disagreed on which way to go at a crossroad and ended up dismounting. "It had to be down the hill" the bank robber pointed to the left.

"I don't remember going down a hill" Joker stated flatly. "How can you be so sure"?

"Remember the narrow bridge over the creek? Creeks are at the bottom of hills, not the top". Trey smiled at his friend.

Joker grumbled under his breath as he turned downhill. The rest of the party crossed the iron bridge over the creek, wondering how a large truck had managed to cross. Trask now understood Trey's comment about getting the truck out the way it went in, "in theory". The Captain's understanding was reinforced by a series of sharp bends they passed through after the bridge. The road had drop-offs in some places, although it was bordered by tall banks in others. The felons turned off into the clearing where the old building was located. The rest of the group stopped, some parked in the clearing while there was room, while others were forced to remain on the road. All looked at the last couple feet of the trailer, wondering what the building's purpose was and why it was located here. Trask commented to Illion, "If any of your guys are mechanical, you better send them over".

Two men were sent in case Joker needed help. The drivers stayed with their vehicles and sentries were posted so the soldiers wouldn't be surprised. The thief started by checking the batteries. Thanks to the solar chargers, dead batteries wouldn't be a problem. He had the hood up, with only his feet visible as the small man went about checking belts, fluid levels and looked over the engine in general. Soldier one was from a family of shade tree mechanics. Olsen was in the Army because his daddy had been a soldier and the family had trouble feeding all those mouths. Soldier two was an experienced car thief. Winstead had stolen more cars than most people had owned. He hadn't started counting until he was well into a career of crime, however he was positive the score was three hundred and then some. Like most survivors, his occupation had disappeared with the resurrection of the dead. Joker had the two find a grease gun and begin looking for grease fittings underneath the rig.

Figuring he was management in this case, Trey sought the company of the officers. "In case you're guessing, the truck went in there slick as snot" the bank robber smiled.

"Do you think you can get it out" Illion asked?

The convict shrugged in reply. "We didn't figure on going back the way we came. I really try not to do that. I do predict we're going to have to cut some of the banks away as it is. Going back is probably twice as much digging" he pointed out the shale road banks. Trey laughed at the concerned looks he received. "We brought some shovels and a pick" he added helpfully. "Of course, there are no guarantees in either direction". Illion rounded up the drivers leaning against the fenders of whatever they were driving. Once each soldier was armed with a tool to displace obstructions, Trey walked them to trouble areas. Like most back roads in the area, one or both sides were lined by ditches to carry away the runoff from rains or melting snow.

"These banks need cut down" Trey declared dragging a stick along the road bank, the loose shale tumbling down from the light contact. "This is where the trailer deck will make contact. Luckily, whatever you dig out can go in the ditches and spread out on the road" the convict finished, assuming the officers agreed.

Meanwhile, Joker thought it was funny to have assistants searching for muffler leaks. He looked at them like they were idiots when they protested that the engine wasn't even running. His insane smile convinced them that they were dealing with nut case, so back under the truck they went. He gave them ten minutes before banging on the frame with a wrench, ordering them to finish up. The group outside all turned their heads at the staccato noise the starter made. On the third attempt the motor caught, the operator feathered the accelerator with the rising sound, once it was running even pushed down making it roar. The diggers added effort to their task, the sentries had taken rifles off their shoulders, who knew what the noise might bring.

Speaking loudly over the sound of the truck, Trask was ordering half their escort in front of the big rig and half behind. "What if we get hung up" Trey asked. "Your support will be split and most of you guys don't know the way home. I suggest in front, so we're not back tracking, if the worst happens. Trask sighed, thinking "So much for military intelligence", before agreeing with the crook.

Joker had his assistants posted as ground guides at the rear of the trailer. Without thinking of telling anybody, he backed the semi truck out of its storage space barely above an idle.. Nearing the edge of the road, he braked to a stop. The driver steered the cab to the left, barely missing the front corner of the building, but angled away from the back corner. The guides had run to the front of the truck, however not much could be seen through the knee high grass. The front tires bumped over rocks, boards and assorted trash. Belatedly, Joker thought that he should have checked the area first, but carried on hoping to avoid getting a flat tire.

The front bumper almost touched a Hickory tree when the truck stopped. Shifting into reverse, Joker repeated the word "Finesse". "Make her want to go where she has to ". The huge machine slowly moved backward, the ground guides racing from the front to the back bumper. The cab tilted when the left front tire rolled up a high spot in the drive, the front bumper brushing bark from the closest tree. The driver turned the steering wheel to straighten the tires. The diggers and ground guides watched the corner of the flatbed rub the shale bank, causing a cascade of finely stratified, sedimentary rock. Joker left the cab to check how much room he had to pull forward. Seeing he only had a couple of feet, he beckoned the diggers with a wave, falling back to his past as a foreman on a job site.

The sweaty soldiers began attacking the bank with their tools. Panting heavily, they moved away when Joker called a halt and climbed into the cab once again. The big truck bumped and scraped its way back onto the road. Trask called in his troops, who scrambled into their vehicles, happy to be moving at last.
Trey joined his partner with a big smile and the comment "Well, it's about time". Thief wouldn't be baited "Hey, they're amateurs". Twice more the convoy was stopped for some light shovel work. The next holdup occurred when they arrived at an intersection where the only choices was right or left. "We're going that way" Trey said, pointing to the left.

The diggers set to work on the areas that Joker decided need to be reconfigured. The road the truck was on widened at the intersection and the adjoining road was wider than the one they had been following. The right side of the old road was slowly carved away, as was the left side of the new road. The big rig made the turn, the front bumper knocking shale from the bank on the left and the side of the trailer grinding against the right side. Trey had the group avoid the mall they had passed earlier, on a different road. He had selected route 308, instead of the busy route 8 they had driven south on.

Almost immediately, the collection of vehicles was traveling through sparsely built up area. Much of the land was used by farms, although there were also homes on several acres of land. The village of West Sunbury delayed them only long enough to dispose of the single goon that populated the settlement that once numbered just over one hundred souls. A mile north lay the high school for the surrounding area. The lawn was a sea of various transportation, from cars to buses and recreational vehicles. Trash covered a large part of the grass and asphalt. Surprisingly, there wasn't a goon in sight.

In the valley behind the school was a lake on the state game lands. A hilltop close to a mile away was his father's favorite spot for early goose season. Trey , his brother and the old man waited for the large birds to cross the ridge before dropping down to the open water. Often serenaded by the high school band practicing prior to football season. Trey was shocked at the feeling of sadness the memory evoked. He shook his head angrily before pounding his fist on the dashboard. The truck swerved on the road when the surprised Joker reacted to the outburst. "What the hell was that" he asked? The bank robber didn't trust his voice to answer and only waved a hand, while looking out the window.

Arriving at I-80, the criminals and the officers crept forward for a covert look at the interstate. Two figures far to the east were all there was to see. Even the binoculars provided little detail, other than the fact that they staggered like the dead. The convoy arrived back at the prison without further difficulties. Joker circled the area inside the wall, then parked facing the gate across the common area. A few curious civilians and the FBI agents had gathered to watch their arrival.

The criminals left the truck walking towards the officers. "Here she is, safe and sound" the thief said, extending his hand holding the key to the big rig. Trey got a bad feeling, but before he could act the criminals had half a dozen weapons pointed at them. "I apologize, it isn't fair, however those are my orders" Trask said. The agents relieved the two men of their weapons. Trey and joker, with their hands against the side of the truck, were searched and their possessions taken. By the time they were in cuffs, Joker was so mad he couldn't make a coherent sentence. Trey had shaken off the melancholy feeling and laughed when the long list of charges against them were read aloud by Agent Tooker.

The agents, Mr. Swann and a handful of soldiers escorted the convicts to the isolation cells, they had previously occupied by order of Major Barton. Swanny looked embarrassed when he opened the cell doors and then locked the doors behind them. Illion looked as mad as Joker did, although he didn't protest. None of the soldiers had any previous type of contact with the convicts. Trey sat on the bunk, picking up the magazine he'd been reading on the last stay here. He looked at the page, however his mind was running different scenarios. Things didn't look good.

Joker paced back and forth like a tiger in his cage. "Trey was taking this awfully well" he thought. He hoped his partner had a plan. The small man had an edge, he'd just have to wait and see how things played out. His anger gone, he sorted through the reading material in the small cell. The institutional part of his brain asserted itself, "Never let them know they had gotten to you". He leaned back on the bunk, crossed his legs and began to read.
Three men and a woman trapped in a building, send help. If you can't send help send two more women. Groucho Marx-Duck Soup

USAF SP 72-77,US Army reserves 84-92

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Re: Doing Time

Post by bodyparts » Fri Jun 22, 2018 7:45 am

thanks for the update Groucho !! good stuff as always ! looking forward to MOAR !!

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Halfapint » Sat Jun 23, 2018 12:10 pm

My notification didn't work. Great update, thanks Groucho!
JeeperCreeper wrote:I like huge dicks, Halfapint, so you are OK in my book.... hahaha
Spazzy wrote:Tell ya what... If Zombies attack and the world ends I'll hook tandem toddlers to a plow if it means I'll be able to eat...

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Re: Doing Time

Post by teotwaki » Thu Jun 28, 2018 4:17 pm

Thank you very much Groucho! I was out of country for about 10 days and it was great to have something really good to read today :mrgreen:
My adventures and pictures are on my blog http://suntothenorth.blogspot.com

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Aries0704 » Thu Sep 06, 2018 11:48 am

Loving this story thanks for all the hard work :)

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Texican2 » Sun Oct 28, 2018 9:04 pm

Groucho,

Hope you have sold your house....

Outstanding writing....

Up to 4 am twice reading....

Made it through the last 5 pages today....

Moar would be greatly appreciated....

Will keep this one on my quick access bar....

Thanks,

Texican....

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Halfapint » Fri Dec 07, 2018 8:29 pm

Hoping for an update!
JeeperCreeper wrote:I like huge dicks, Halfapint, so you are OK in my book.... hahaha
Spazzy wrote:Tell ya what... If Zombies attack and the world ends I'll hook tandem toddlers to a plow if it means I'll be able to eat...

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Lakewalker » Thu Dec 13, 2018 12:41 pm

Enjoyed this story. Thanks for happy diversion!

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Sun Jan 06, 2019 4:15 pm

For three days, the new routine didn't change. Trey and Joker slept, read and did exercises to keep the blood moving. The food wasn't up to Peach's standards, but way better than prison food. Their guards were always familiar faces, but nobody they had really had any contact with. A tour for the guards was twenty fours, although they did take turns sleeping in the empty cells. Both convicts had done a lot of thinking and arrived at the same conclusions separately. They hadn't been around the prison or the farm much at all. Most of their time had been spent on their own business or working for the military. The plans they had set in motion were working well without them, so the men shouldn't expect any sort of protest from the locals.

Trask finally showed up, accompanied by Tooker, Illion and Alvarez. "We'll be moving you in a couple days. You'll be returning with us" Trask referred to somewhere back in the East. "You can't have any visitors, however any letters you want to write before we leave, will be delivered". With that information conveyed, the group departed.

Both prisoners thought "At least there would be no summary courts martial and execution. Not at this location anyway". Trey alone, was sure a general somewhere had thought of a use for them. He found that thought far from reassuring though. The military existed to kill people and break things. Joker and himself got things. Maybe the new Combined Military organization needed something. That was as far as Trey's thinking took him. He mentally put the problem on a back burner. The bank robber wrote a half page explanation of their predicament to be delivered to Peach.

Trask's couple days came and went with no change in the situation. Late at night when even the single watcher had nodded off, Trey found if he put the side of his head against the door, he could see Joker's door. Extending his arm through the slot for the food tray, he waved his hand up and down slowly, with no response. The next night his friend's arm waved back at him. They began a crude method of communicating. The number of fingers extended between pauses represented a letter of the alphabet. The cellmates had nothing better to do, but like the characters in a book Trey had read, it took a long time to say anything.

Illion showed up one morning to inform the criminals they'd be leaving after the morning meal. The young officer seemed embarrassed to deliver the message. He did promise to speak on the two felons' behalf, for services rendered. Both men figured anything was better than sitting in a cell and who knew what opportunities would present themselves on their trip. They were surprised to be merely handcuffed and not loaded down chains. The sunlight made them squint their eyes upon exiting the building. A large portion of the prison's population had gathered to watch the departure, because anything out of the normal served as entertainment.

The handcuffed friends were under guard, standing near the officers, when the two sergeants reported an even dozen men from the two companies were missing. Only two from Alvarez's company and the remainder from Illion's. Trey had been looking for Murphy, but hadn't seen him. He was sure the Seaman was among the missing. The ex-soldier didn't agree with their decisions to desert. However, he did understand. Life was better here and there was some doubt their periods of service from before the emergency would be honored. "Signing up for the Navy and ending up in another branch of service would certainly irritate me" Trey thought. Trask appeared as unfazed as ever by the news. Alvarez scowled, but Illion visibly winced. The sergeants took the absences personally and looked ready to do murder.

"There isn't time to make a search" Trask decided. "Those men are officially missing in action". Merced, who was already planning his revenge, was obviously disappointed. "Mount up" the Captain ordered. Murphy and his companions, were informed of the actions in the courtyard by a single watcher, at the window in the storeroom they had hidden in. Silent high fives were exchanged all around. Trey and Joker were situated in separate vehicles. Trey sat in the back seat of a Hummer that Alvarez rode in neat the head of the column. Joker had more Spartan transport, sitting in the back of a pickup truck two spots behind Trey, being stared at by Merced. The prison inhabitants experienced a sense of abandonment, watching the Army depart. Mr. Swann sighed, he hated being in charge.

For the first time since the Captain had arrived, Trey was disappointed in Trask. The convoy was moving north along the same route they had taken south. The officer in charge should know better. He still enjoyed the drive, especially after sitting in a cell for so long. Joker also enjoyed the scenery, although the breeze didn't entirely make up for the strong sunlight in the open bed. The soldiers stopped twice to stretch their legs, arriving at the fenced area Trask originally stayed at the first night. Trey and Joker were fed, but kept separate, ignored by all but their guards. The only time their cuffs were removed was a latrine visit, there was only one way out of that room.

The soldiers looked after the convoy vehicles, then ate. The bank robber noticed Trask on the building's roof with a satellite phone. He was amazed that the satellites were still functional. That was something to think about. He also noticed that all the tasks were left to Alvarez's men. Was that Illion's reward for being in the field for so long or being too close to the prisoners. Even worse, perhaps Illion had been labeled incompetent or just hard luck. Bored, Trey tried to remember everything his partner had told him about getting out of handcuffs.

Joker woke up the next morning. The first thing he saw was Merced staring at him. "Don't you ever sleep"? The only reply was a grunt. "At least blink, man. You are one creepy individual" the thief finished with his trademark, lopsided smile. The small man stretched, working out the kinks from sleeping on the ground. He'd been guarded well enough to have taken off his boots, which would have freaked out Trey. Pulling his socks up tight to remove the wrinkles, a foot was stuck in each boot. Tying the laces wearing hand cuffs was more difficult, but was managed. "You got to feed me, it's the law". The company Sergeant looked at a soldier, who dug up an MRE and a canteen cup of lukewarm, black, coffee.

Trask was on the building's roof with the other two officers. He ended the call on the satellite phone, then turned to his men. "There's a delay on their end. We'll move slow toward town, then hold up until the planes are almost here". The lieutenants passed the word on and the troops began stowing gear, as well as taking care of any last, minute needs. The convoy set an even slower pace than yesterday. One result was less breeze through the open windows, another was more boredom in the column, since the scenery changed so slowly. The vehicles crawled north on Grubb Road. I-79, the north-south interstate, made a sharp curve east before it ended short of Lake Erie. The four, lane highway would be almost parallel with I-90 that ran from Cleveland to Buffalo, before it crossed over.

The land flattened this close to the lake. Trask stopped the group and sent Illion forward for a look at the pair of interstates they had to cross under. A second truck was sent to cover the first, in case they ran into trouble. There weren’t many homes, even this close to town. The majority of the land was still being farmed, although the housing subdivisions were beginning to eat up the acreage. It was on the tip of Illion's tongue to tell Murphy to go look, then he remembered the trooper had deserted. The officer stepped out on the road to check the route himself. I-79 was empty in both directions. The two trucks drove on the mile to I-90, which had a couple goons not far to the east. In less than twenty minutes he was making his report.

Trask was looking for a place to hold up until he got the word that the plane was on approach. Once they were out of sight of the four, lane road they'd pull over. The goons on I-90 had spotted the convoy and arrived at the crossing point the same time as the soldiers. The men were laughing at the reanimates reaching over the railing. Ritchie Oleson had been called stretch his entire life. The man had always been thin and a fraction of an inch short of six feet, eight inches tall. The dead Ritchie focused on the banquet underneath him, reaching as far as he could, passed the tipping point and fell head first over the railing. He plummeted into the back of a pickup truck as though he had planned it.

The three soldiers in the bed were having a desultory conversation when Ritchey's head impacted the metal with a boom and they were sprayed with the liquefied dead guy. Nickerson and Rogers were looking to the rear and side which limited their exposure. Unfortunately, Ross was leaning against the cab, facing the rear and was sprayed in the face. All three men bailed out, running in whatever direction they were facing. The following driver had glimpsed the body falling and punched the gas in case others were coming down. Rogers was sideswiped by a fender sending him sprawling.

Nickerson ran fifty yards before looking back to see what had happened. The first thing he saw was soldiers running in his direction. Not knowing they were chasing him, rather than fleeing danger, he continued on, lifting his knees high with his weapon at port arms to make progress in the tall grass. The calls to stop finally penetrated the fog of panic and Nickerson slowed to a halt.

Ross fell out of the truck bed, onto his hands and knees. The soldier was gagging and choking, unable to breath. Trying to help, the arriving soldiers pounded his back unmercifully. No one knew Alvarez had arrived until he started pushing the soldiers away from Ross. The company commander hauled the man to his feet, commencing to perform the Heimlich Maneuver. Upon the fourth abdominal thrust, an object was dislodged and flew several feet. A medic scooped up the mess on a knife blade, then showed the officer a piece of skull with hair on one side and grey matter on the other. Ross had resumed his hands and knees position, his head hanging down, moaning. Alvarez began cursing, but was interrupted by Ross, who began projectile vomiting.

Merced continued to stare at Joker, listening to the racket coming from back down the column. The company sergeant decided that this big a cluster fuck could never be solved by officers. He gave the driver orders to keep his weapon pointed at the thief and if he so much as twitched, to blow his head off. Merced targeted Nickerson and the men with him first. "Get his clothing off and clean him up" he ordered before moving away, followed by a chorus of "Yes Sergeant". Illion was hovering over the medic checking out Rogers when the Sergeant got there. However, Sergeant Mathers already had the situation in hand when the bald man got there. He headed back to check on the Nickerson, the soldier already knew how it would end for Ross.

"Hey Joker" Trey called out the open window of the hummer from near the head of the column.

"Yeah" the smaller man two vehicles away yelled back.

"No talking" Joker's guard ordered, but was flatly ignored by his charge. The felons were bored and without the breeze from movement, it was getting warm.

"What's going on"?

"How would I know that" the small man called back, the words dripping with sarcasm?

"Sounds like trouble".

"Probably".

The guard eyeballed his prisoner. He'd seen short guys that were tough as a dollar steak and suspected this old guy fell into that category. "So, why did you guys steal that laser thing"?

"Those government mercenaries killed one of our guys, shot another and then shot up their truck. Do you know how dangerous it is to go out and grab some wheels these days? We rescued those egghead scientists and even helped test their toy". Joker shrugged "We figured they owed us, it’s not like it was the only one". The guard was amazed how reasonable the thief made stealing from the Combined Military sound.

Nickerson was dressed only in his government issued boxer shorts and socks, being sluiced down by multiple men with canteens. Ross lay face down, his body jerking with convulsions, surrounded by many of his comrades. Alvarez, who was in the process of cleaning his gore spattered arms, looked Merced in the eye, the two men nodded in agreement to the unspoken question. Trask kept his distance, letting the lieutenants command their own men. He drifted up to the men surrounding Nickerson, "Get your E-tools, dig your friend a grave" he ordered. The group looked startled and Nickerson looked terrified. Trask sighed, "Not him" the officer said, indicating the soldier in his underwear. "Him" he pointed to Ross with one hand.

"But Sir, he's not dead" Specialist Calaway blurted out.

"He will be son. The pilot we're waiting for won't hang around forever either". The captain joined the death watch over Private Ross. The convulsions had ceased, however it was apparent that the stricken soldier's respiration was slowing. The scarred man extracted a suppressor from a narrow pouch on his belt and carefully mated the fine threads with those on his sidearm. He glanced out to the field where the dirt was flying from what was to be Ross's final resting place. Private Ross sighed loudly like an exhausted man finally getting to take a break and breathed no more. "Carry him over where they're digging" Trask instructed the group.

The grave was more of a shallow trench, than what one thought of as a grave. The body was laid in the ground with his arms at his side. One look at the private's face left no doubt that he died in agony. "You men get ready to move out" the officer ordered everyone present. The soldiers walked away, many looking back over their shoulders. Trask stood over the body with an entrenching shovel in one hand and his pistol in the other. This wasn't the first infected soldier he'd shot. One was screaming when he was mobbed by the dead. Several others had been killed once they lost consciousness, usually when the unit was pressed for time. It would be better for the lieutenants' relationships with their men, if they were spared this duty. At the sound of the subdued shot, a bullet struck the bridge of the dead man's nose, exiting out the back of his head. The intelligence officer scraped loose earth onto the body. When that wasn't enough, he finished with sod from around the grave. The E-tool was left as a marker.

Rogers had relaxed once the medic had given him a shot. His arm and shoulder were busted up, although they had been immobilized as best as could be expected with the equipment available. With no stretcher available, a poncho was used as a substitute. The soldier was loaded into a back of a truck, along with the medic to watch over him. "At least I have plenty of painkillers" the minimally trained platoon member thought, hoping they would be back at the base before the shot wore off. The driver had been warned that he'd get his ass kicked if he didn't take it easy.

Trask got the convoy moving again. He'd figured on laying low in one of subdivisions ahead. The intelligence officer would be happier out in the open, however that had its own problems, being farther from the airport for example. Grubb road ran past the edge of the Whispering Woods golf club, made a slight left turn, running by the other side of the club. Everyone turned in that direction once the bodies were spotted. Early on during the emergency, the town of 1000,000 had been using the ground to dump dead bodies. Piles of bodies, stacked six or eight deep, were visible from the road. A living carpet of insects covered the piles and the smell had men breathing through their mouths. The machines used to do the stacking had been abandoned nearby. High lifts and fork trucks, still bearing a load, were scattered about the grounds.

Where Grubb road changed to McCreary road, the convoy turned west on Sterrettania road. For a mile, houses were off both sides of the road on parallel roads. They turned onto Old Serrettania road, heading north, leaving the homes behind. The convoy entered Asbury Woods, a large tract of trees, where only a few high, end homes had been built, on Asbury road. Owners of the million, dollar homes were present in the yards and windows of the houses. Even dead, the rich seemed to be guarding their exclusivity. Leaving the Woods, they drove past several entrances to fields of half constructed homes. Trask had the head of the convoy turn off on Village Street, into a sub-division with multiple exits, houses for cover and very close to the airport to the north. The line of vehicles turned onto Hidden Road, out of sight from outside the neighborhood.

Celso Alario was a fifth, generation member of the Buffalo, NY organized crime family. Times had been financially hard since the state had begun its own lottery. They eked out a living with pump and dump stock scams, internet pornography and low, level drug smuggling. When the dead began returning, Celso hid out in a mob guest house just outside the city. He occupied himself with a kilo of cocaine, a case of good scotch and a pair of strippers. When the food ran out, he slipped out late one night and drove to Lake Erie, where he kept his 35, foot fishing boat. With his parents long dead and neither spouse or children, he cast off and headed out into the lake by himself. When his small cache of food ran out, like a modern, day pirate, he began raiding other boats that had fled to the lake. When other boats became few and far between, he began going through lakeside homes. Being by himself became a liability when he was forced to start shopping in small towns. The dead had chased him back to the docks on multiple occasions. A small group outside Cleveland had invited him back to Middle Bass Island.

Celso corrected the lack of leadership in the island community. Life improved for the residents, so few argued against his rule with an iron hand. His luck turned when the group he sent down to the water treatment plant in Erie was shot up by the group they were supposed to raid. After that, nothing seemed to work out and the discontent grew. Food parties had to go further out and stay longer on each run. It didn't help when some of the raiders had been lost on three trips in a row. It wasn't unusual for the shore guards to find a goon or two washed ashore, however one night, thousands of the dead washed ashore. The winds and lake current combined to push a raft of the dead onto the islands west coast. Ricky Shugar was bored, so he smoked one of his last two joints. The teenaged guard sat on a sand dune watching the hypnotic waves roll in.

The round object he spotted in the water made him think of a ball of some kind. As he spotted more, the idea of coconuts jumped into his mind. The island collected its share of flotsam and jetsam, and some weird things had been found on the beach from time to time. When the first of the dead found its footing and walked onto the beach, Ricky laughed. He'd never been around a goon when he was stoned. Walking to the waterline to pop the dead thing, the teenager saw others struggling out onto the shore. "Crap, I don't have that many bullets" he thought. When he left to get word to Celso, the dead followed him.

No plan covered the need to warn everyone of a mass invasion. Ricky ran until he was out of breath and his legs were cramping. He struggled on, alternately walking and jogging spreading a warning. The people by the cottages he passed, ran inside, slamming doors and windows shut. Children, sensing their parents fear, began to cry. Others nearby never had a warning and continued to enjoy their evening. With no light or noise discipline being practiced, observant goons peeled away from the main group to surround the small buildings. Islanders caught outside fled for their lives. Celso had finally tempted the Corso sisters to his hot tub with the promise of warmish champagne and the last of his cocaine. The topless, young ladies were taking turns with the powder covered mirror when Ricky burst onto the scene. Too blown to speak, the teenager stared at the bare breasted ladies. The Mafioso got his attention by throwing a wet towel at his head. "They're coming" the messenger gasped.

The man who was possibly the last mobster, snarled "Who's coming dipshit"?

Ricky's eyes glanced sideways for a split second at the ladies, a perfect example of the teenage quandary between sex and death. "Um, the dead".

Ricky knew he had to focus, when Celso's asked in a pleasant voice "How many of the dead Rick"? Celso was the most dangerous when he was pleasant.

"Lots. I mean, um, thousands. They all washed up on the beach in a big bunch".

"A hundred, maybe two at the most" the gangster thought to himself. "Find Carter and send him here, then go check on your mom". Ricky, jogging into the sunset, was passed by the panicked Corso sisters. Carter roared up to the cottage braking for the boss. The driver disapproved of the weapon Celso liked to carry. A little squirt gun that he claimed to have stolen from a car the Feds had left outside a hotel one night. It was probably a symbol of authority, because it didn't work well on the dead, just made a lot of racket and sprayed lead everywhere.

Carter was quiet on the drive to the beach. The boss didn't like chatty people unless he started the conversation. The pair met a crowd of the dead well before reaching the shore. "Damn, Ricky wasn't kidding" Carter thought, slamming on the brakes. He put the truck in reverse and floored it again while Celso hung out the window, emptying his gun in one long burst. They would have become stuck turning the truck around, except Carter never let up on the gas, so the tires spun through the loose sand tossing it high in the air behind them. Carter sped to the dock without stopping, as directed. The survivors who made it to the boats, fled to the points of the compass in a blind panic, except for Celso's little group. The sport fishing boats looked ridiculously small next to the car ferry that had been tied to the dock for months. They never noticed the Cessna high above them when they fled the island.

The ferry dock on the mainland was at the end of a narrow strip of land jutting out into the water. Nearby, in a man-made cove, lay a small marina and boat launch. The boats with canvas covers were snapped into place and all were secured to the dock with spring lines. Hopefully, they would still be seaworthy if needed again. More vehicles were available in the parking lot from the last convoy, than there were operators. Celso always refused to fuel the trucks until they were needed, for fear of them being driven off by whomever happened by. So, the first order of business was to retrieve drums of gas from the stash down the shore. It was full dark by the time everything was ready. The small group all found a secure place to stretch out for the night, although it was a rather isolated area and none of the dead had ever been there.

The next morning, what little there was to eat was shared among convoy members. Celso was in a talkative mood and discussed the plan he had developed over the dark hours. The islanders had already taken all there was in the direction of Cleveland to the west, stopping short of the city. To the east, the town of Toledo and the coast halfway to Erie had been searched. They would start where their searches had stopped in the east and work toward Erie. Carter had hoped that the big man would forget, however he was reminded to mount the big gun on the army truck.

The mafia run group spent most of the summer working their way toward Erie. What supplies were found went further since they weren't feeding an entire island. However, there was no down time. The members became weary, which resulted in two deaths. The group began grabbing what they could from the coastal areas, then fleeing south to the less populated, rural areas for as long as the food lasted.

The soldiers at the front of the convoy strung out on Hidden Road, were startled to see a big green army truck pull onto the road facing them. The driver slammed on his brakes, forcing the other drivers behind him to react. Vehicles went left and right in a herringbone pattern to avoid colliding with those in front of them. "What now" was Trask's first thought. The driver of the two and a half ton, Army truck facing the convoy also jammed on his brakes. The occupants of the two lead vehicles stared at each other for a moment, then the fifty, caliber machine gun began firing.

Carter had been wool gathering, when the sudden stop threw him into the spade handled gun in front of him. He grunted from the force, thinking about having words with Kelly about his driving, until he looked at down the road. He knew how Celso felt about competition for scarce resources, so he checked the ammo belt and chambered a round. The flex of the cobbled together gun mount was worrisome, he hoped it didn't fall apart. Grasping a spade handle in each hand, his thumbs pressed the butterfly trigger.

Alvarez had his driver pull up alongside the lead vehicle in time to see it seem to explode. The fifty caliber bullets penetrated the length of the target, except those that had hit the motor, which cracked nicely from the impacts. Pieces of the truck, the occupants and their possessions flew about the area. The truck second in line, also took a beating from the bullets that passed through the first. Alvarez’s driver shifted to reverse without orders, however the big gun changed its point of aim to the right riddling the Hummer before it moved two feet. Trey flattened himself on the floor between the seats hoping for the best. The soldier in the back seat had popped out the roof hatch, trying to get his machine gun into action, however he was killed by the long burst that also ripped apart Alvarez and the driver.

The convoy lost all order once the firing began. Some vehicles pulled to the front to return fire, while others raced across lawns toward the dubious concealment of the buildings on the left. Merced pounded on the roof of the truck, ordering the driver to “Get up there, get up there”. Seeing his chance, Joker took two steps forward and snatched up one of the dead men’s rifles. With one foot on the rail of the bed about to leap to the ground, the pickup jolted forward spilling the thief onto the tall grass. The small man charged toward the house on the right, that being the closest cover.

One of the raiders that had moved up to support the fifty, caliber gun noticed the figure running for cover and began shooting. Joker was almost to the corner of the home, when he saw the siding, begin to crumble from the rifle rounds. He made a running dive, like he was sliding into home plate, disappearing behind the wall of the structure. The shooter thought he’d made a kill, when in fact he’d led his target way too much. A stream of profanity left the small man’s mouth the entire time he crawled to the back corner of the house. He only stopped because his mouth was so dry.

Joker’s glance around the corner showed the back yard was clear. Getting his handcuffs off was child play using a pick hidden on his person. Checking his borrowed weapon, he saw he had one full magazine and an empty chamber. The sound of the charging handle being released was lost in the sound of gunfire out front. Keeping close to the wall, he crossed the yard passing a wading pool full of green, water and the bloated body of a dead dog. He paused to check the back entrance with an open door, seeing only two long dead bodies with most of their heads missing. The thief went prone to get a look around the far corner. Several shooters were next to the big truck, returning the fire of the few soldiers stuck on the road behind the disabled vehicles. Joker, still angry at being shot at by strangers, took his time lining up his sights before firing single aimed shots.

The large crowd of goons, three streets to the east, had been guarding a treehouse for several days. The cat hiding inside it showed itself just often enough to keep the dead interested. The sounds of the two groups about to do battle, slowing driving through the quiet neighborhood, had the collection in motion before the gunfire began. A belt of trees and brush separated the back yards of the homes on each block. Some of the members ended up helplessly tangled in the brush. While others chanced on paths the children had made visiting each other. The mob had strung out covering a wide front as they advanced.

Joker had dropped two of his targets, attracting the attention of the attackers. The return fire had become heavy enough that he wiggled backwards out of sight. The small man lay on the overgrown lawn debating what to do next. The thief had only a few rounds left in his only magazine, going back the way they had come was a sure way to get caught. It was mostly open ground. Through the green belt was the only option, if he was willing to leave Trey to his own devices. The dead began emerging from the trees and thick brush eliminating his last option. “Time to go”, he said to himself, dreading going back out there. The people he’d been shooting at were laying right next to the green belt and had much less time to react. The dead fell on the two wounded and began eating them alive.

Trey raised his head once the bullets stopped punishing the hummer. The gunner wasn’t moving, so the bank robber pulled a leg and the dead body fell limply through the hatch onto the seat. Straddling the dead soldier to take his turn with the machine gun, he kept his elbows close to his body until his arms were through the hatch. The ammo can was open, but he still had to load a belt into the gun. A task he’d never done wearing handcuffs before. The opposing gunner’s attention was elsewhere when the felon’s first burst peppered the truck. Carter took a round to the head, falling dead on the bed of the truck. Some of the riflemen were down already and his next burst chased those already fleeing.

Trask and Illion’s counterattack was anticlimactic at that point, as nobody was shooting back. The remaining vehicles of the convoy pulled up in a line facing the enemy. Illion began gathering the living and checking for wounded troops. Joker arrived, out of breath and pointing behind him. “The dead are coming out of the woods”. He was ignored in favor of the dead emerging from the foliage by the deuce and a half. Ricky Shugar and his mother ran toward the soldiers with their hands in the air. Anything was better than their life since leaving the island.

The machine guns swept the rows of the dead buying time to make sure nobody was left behind. The better gunners could maintain the proper elevation for head shots, while swinging left or right. The less skilled shooter’s points of aim would drop or rise depending which direction they were sweeping the goons. Although hits to the spine would take a goon out of the fight just as well as a head shot. Misplaced bullets often tossed ears, scalps or large pieces of rotten, flesh into the air. The dead were close enough together to leave a black mist floating in the air after they collapsed to the grass.

Of the half dozen or so wounded, most wouldn’t make it to a hospital. The soldiers were all running out of time. An angry pilot told Trask in no uncertain terms that he would land the aircraft and they had better be there. Also of concern, was the unknown number of dead attracted by the gunfire. The soldiers had to get the airport before the dead got between them and the plane. Joker, with a new set of handcuffs, and Trey were kept under the watchful eyes of the FBI.

The diminished convoy set off to the airport. Behind them black smoke billowed from the vehicles left behind that had been loaded with the dead soldiers and set ablaze. The men were all silent, with very few exceptions, none had ever been in a firefight, losing friends and comrades. Illion had lost his argument with Trask over the new prisoners. The Lieutenant felt the teenager and his Mom were no threat, but the Captain insisted on the pair being debriefed. Illion shuddered, picturing masked men with red hot irons and pliers in a dark, damp basement. The reality was that the process probably involved, just harsh questioning, with perhaps a shot from a hypodermic needle.

The road was blocked by both the shot-up Army truck the raiders drove and the dead still arriving from the far side of the green belt. Trask had no choice but to double back to the road outside the subdivision they had traveled previously. The convoy made the loop, barely beating the mob of the dead that had crossed the narrow end of the circle. The remainder of the trip was free from the dead until they were within sight of the airport. Once again, the machine guns went to work, knocking down the living challenged, leaving the stragglers to the riflemen.

The Captain could make out the transport plane making a long slow turn before making his approach. At his orders, the driver stopped trying to weave through the dead bodies on the road and drove straight over them. The sound of bones snapping like sticks was unpleasant. Sometimes the wheels would spin the rotted flesh from the bodies before gaining traction. Illion felt a little queasy when a rear wheel crushed a goon’s head with a loud pop, followed by mush splashing onto the grass four feet away.
Driving over the thick liquid from the dead bodies reminded Joker of the sucking noise of driving over a freshly tarred road.

The gate that had seen so much use since the emergency began, was used to enter the airfield. Two soldiers closed and secured the gates after the convoy was through. Then they jogged to where the convoy was sitting, watching the big transport touch down at the far end of the runway. The pilot reversed his engines, setting his flaps to up, intermittently using his brakes to slow the big bird. Trask had everyone except the wounded line up for boarding. Everything except the machine guns and some of the ammo was left in the vehicles.

The transport stopped and prepared to take on its load. The crew chief took one look at the laser carrier with its wheels, coated with zombie juice and blew his top. He wasn’t going to let that infected thing on his plane. Trask calmly let the crewman run on, his scarred face showing no emotion. The rested enlisted man in the clean uniform slowly ran out of steam. The Captain smiled, saying “The truck is going, the question is if you’ll be on that plane when it leaves”! The crew chief looked at the soldiers standing behind the officer, then looked at the dead already gathering at the fence. With a sour look on his face, he bowed to the inevitable.

Once the truck was secured to the deck, the soldiers split into two groups to balance the load and took seats. Trey was seated on the Port side, with Trask and Joker was on the starboard side with Illion. Each felon had a soldier seated on each side of him and a length of chain securing his handcuffs to the deck. Trey was still patiently waiting for his break, it was only a matter of time. He was still surprised that Joker hadn’t taken advantage of the slim opportunity he’d had to get away. The thief was making the soldiers uncomfortable, beaming his insane grin at anybody that looked.

The pilot made his take off run, willing the huge craft into the air. He was not a happy man. The fuel gauge was lower than it should have been. Not only had fuel been burned up circling before the pickup, time had also been burned. It was getting dark earlier each day and landing lights were uncertain these days. Planes just didn’t land after dark if it could possibly be avoided. With a shrug, he bumped the speed up a little before checking his course again.

The loud drone of the engines and the vibrations had a hypnotic effect after a time. The long day, combined with the burn of adrenaline from the firefight, had the passengers were dozing off. Joker’s guards opened their eyes every time they heard the clink of his chain. Only the crew were aware that the plane was losing altitude, however everyone was aware of the series of long turns the pilot made to prepare for landing. Most of the sun had sunk below the horizon by the time the landing gear banged onto the runway.

Joker had picked his handcuffs earlier in the flight, with a pick he kept between his cheek and gum. He stayed bent over so nobody would notice that he was holding the chain now. When the craft finally stopped, the thief was ready to make his move. He counted on human nature for a narrow window to pull this off. The soldiers began to gather their gear like the people on commercial flights. Each person concerned with their own actions, ignoring their neighbors.

Joker stood up and walked away as the rear was opened for the laser truck. Illion and Mathers sitting together near the cockpit were the only ones who might have noticed. The felon was walking down the ramp before it touched the ground. He gave the ground crew a big smile and a jaunty wave, turned left past the air starter, a light set and a generator, disappearing into the overgrown field between the aircraft parking area and the distant security fence.
Three men and a woman trapped in a building, send help. If you can't send help send two more women. Groucho Marx-Duck Soup

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Sun Jan 06, 2019 4:15 pm

Dupe
Last edited by Groucho on Sun Jan 06, 2019 4:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Three men and a woman trapped in a building, send help. If you can't send help send two more women. Groucho Marx-Duck Soup

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Sun Jan 06, 2019 4:15 pm

Dupe
Last edited by Groucho on Sun Jan 06, 2019 5:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Three men and a woman trapped in a building, send help. If you can't send help send two more women. Groucho Marx-Duck Soup

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Re: Doing Time

Post by teotwaki » Sun Jan 06, 2019 4:49 pm

Yahoooooooooooooo!

Happy New Year Groucho!
My adventures and pictures are on my blog http://suntothenorth.blogspot.com

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Fri Feb 01, 2019 4:57 pm

Joker resisted the urge to run because the search would be for a man running. People would remember a man running, trying to get as far away as possible. The sun had disappeared below the horizon and it was getting darker by the moment. He looked around quickly, but saw no observers and laid down halfway to the perimeter fence. The tall grasses and weeds, mixed with taller Golden Rods and the occasional Black Eyed Susan, concealed him very well. The thief lay on his back, staring up at the sky, grateful the plane hadn’t stopped in the middle of that concrete desert out there and planning his next move.

Trask was sitting close enough to the bank robber to keep an eye on him. The engines were silent now, replaced by the sound of soldiers getting their gear together, bullshitting and the noise of the crews servicing the plane and preparing to move the laser carrier. The officer with the scarred face heard the loud voices on the other side of the plane, angry voices if he was any judge. The ruckus spread down the plane, the footsteps bouncing loudly of the interior of the aircraft. His mouth curled up in the barest of smiles, guessing who the source of the confusion was.

Trey also heard the panic on the starboard side, recognizing the sound of a search. He struggled to keep from laughing out loud when he glimpsed several soldiers running down the ramp. Joker had made his break. About that time Illion bolted around the front of the truck, sliding to a stop in front of Trask. The Lieutenant spoke urgently with his hands as well as his voice. Trask stayed as cool as ever when things went wrong. He led his subordinate to the handcuffed man’s position. “Your friend is in the wind us, do you happen to know where he went” he asked in a neutral tone of voice?

“Hell Captain, I don’t even know where I am” Trey answered honestly! The bank robber was left in the care of three soldiers that survived from Alvarez’s company. Trask, followed by Illion, walked down the ramp to speak with the ground crews. Only two of the soldiers working there admitted to seeing Joker.
Yeah, we saw him. Err, Sir. Kind of a little guy, but real friendly. He went over there” the sergeant that still had blue Air Force patches on his BDU shirt despite regulations pointed.

Illion led his men around the machinery to a dim view of empty field, empty concrete and parked airplanes. Two men were sent running each direction, along the edge of the parking area. Three, man teams were sent to search the airplanes close enough to provide a hiding place within the short time the thief was missing. Getting desperate, Illion formed two skirmish lines across the field. The soldiers were tired, hungry and still adjusting to being shot at. The men entered the field, drifting left and right to their assigned search areas. Joker was alarmed when he heard them coming, but his location was left undisturbed. One line walked south and the other walked north, like hunting rabbits or pheasants.

Joker stayed put for several hours, until he hadn’t heard voices or engines for some time. When he did begin walking, he headed in the direction most of the traffic had headed. The sound of a truck approaching over the normal ramp speed had him crouching, but the never paused. Five minutes later the driver returned, towing aa generator at a more sedate pace. He hid twice, as vehicles passed by too fast to be looking for him. Security was out and about, Joker saw the spotlight on the fence in the distance. The circle of light moved in a random pattern back and forth, then stop for a few moments when the operators spied something of interest.

This time when the thief took cover, he felt his clothing becoming damp from the dew forming on the vegetation. The light seemed to linger for a long time in his section of the airfield before passing. Once the searchers had proceeded down the perimeter, Joker decided to take a chance. Since he’d had plenty of warning so far when anyone came his way, he emerged from the damp greenery and traveled on the edge of the concrete apron. Walking on the hard surface was faster and less tiring without the drag of the weeds on his feet.

From the transport’s metal ramp, Trask watched Illion’s men begin beating the bushes for the escapee. He turned to look back into the belly of the plane, motioning for the prisoner to be brought out. Trey, with a cheerful look on his face, was escorted by two soldiers. Even though he was in cuffs, the guards had orders to maintain physical custody of the convict. A firm hand was on each arm to keep him from mischief. The men stood outside until the car than had been summoned arrived. The sedan departed, leaving a lone soldier to watch over the gear left behind by those on the bunny hunt. Trask sat next to the driver, while Trey was sandwiched between his two guards in the back seat.

The bank robber carefully made a mental note of the route and surroundings. He decided the base was larger than he first thought. The location was the big question. He remembered a few course corrections during the flight, although there were not enough to be far south or north. The fact that the pilot had waited so long on station, suggested that it was fairly, close. Probably on the coast. An Island would be a good choice.

“Do they give you guys surfboards here” Trey fished for information. The looks he received were same as Joker usually got. The bank robber began a monolog about his surfing experience in Virginia Beach and Atlantic City in his youth. Nobody took the bait, the occupants remaining silent. The felon continued about how Sex Wax, used for surfboards, was originally used for bikini waxing, although he had personally used it for more pleasurable activities. Trask’s smile couldn’t be seen, however the two guards were suddenly looking out the windows. The filthy, armed men made the driver nervous and the crazy talk didn’t help.

The sedan stopped in front of a two story, brick building, that gave no clue as to its purpose. Trask exited and walked around to the rear door facing the building, before motioning for the guards to get out. The three in the back seat went out the same door, still maintaining their grip on the prisoner. Two steps led to a covered porch that stretched the length of the building. The entrance was through double glass doors that matched glass panels next to it. Trey could barely see the lobby through the dirty glass.
Trask pressed a button, resulting in a subdued buzzing inside.

A tall, portly figure unlocked the door admitting the quartet, revealing that he knew Trask by sight. At the desk, the only piece of furniture in the lobby, aside from a file cabinet, Trask signed in his prisoner. The jailer apologized for not being able to process the prisoner until tomorrow. The man with the scarred face didn’t mention that a comprehensive file already existed on the man in handcuffs. Once Trey was locked in a room, the soldiers were sent back to the plane and Trask walked the short distance to his quarters. A quick telephone call to Intelligence headquarters informed him the General wouldn’t be in the next day. Trask still wrote up his report before calling it a night, because you never knew!

Trey stood still when the door closed. Moving his head to look about the room. It indeed appeared to be more of a room than a cell. Except there was no give anywhere. No bounce in the floor. His exploration took him where others had already peeled back tiles or paneling, finding only the concrete construction he had already supposed. The bed was comfortable, there was a pile of magazines and book to pass the time with and some movies to watch. Things could always be worse.

Joker slowed his pace when he caught up to half of Illion’s men. He followed their flashlights at a distance, being led to a populated section of the base. His nose guided the thief to the mess hall, where he joined the rear of the line. A steady stream of people entered and exited the building, although the evening rush must be over, from the number of empty seats. The food smelled great after a couple days of eating Army field rations. Carrying his loaded tray, Joker joined table surrounded by soldiers rather than an empty table.

The thief didn’t taste the food before applying salt and pepper liberally. He started eating like a starving man. When he did look up, the entire table was staring at him. Joker looked back, taking his time chewing a mouthful of food. Washed it down with something resembling lemon aid, then daintily dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin. “Does anyone know where we are” he asked with his crazy smile?

“Don’t you know” a tall but thin young man asked?

“Anyone else” the small man looked around the long table with his insane smile?

”You’re on Staten Island” a man a few years older than the rest of the diners informed Joker.

“Oh hell, I’m supposed to be in Manhattan” the thief said sounding disappointed.

A couple of the younger soldiers laughed. “Dude, you do not want to be on Manhattan. Nothing good happens there”.

Joker was only half way through his meal when the others departed as a group. He took his time eating, studying the other soldiers coming and going. The felon knew he had to blend in, too much attention was being paid to him wearing civilian clothing. Food was one thing, however he doubted he could just walk into a supply room and get a uniform with no paperwork. Several female soldiers Joker hadn’t seen, rose from a table and left the building. An idea popped into the thief’s brain. He gave them a head start, emptying his tray at the trash can and sliding the tray and dishes through a window, where a commercial size dishwasher filled the air with steam. On the way out the door, he swiped a clipboard and pen from an unmanned desk.

The women had turned left and had already traveled some distance. Joker followed them, not trying to close the gap. They turned left again between some buildings, Joker was prepared to pretend to tie his boot, but it wasn’t necessary. They were on a porch of a two, story structure, pushing a button for entrance. He walked on until he could get a look at the rear of the building. The only feature there, was a door with two wooden steps leading up to it. The thief ambled back to the chow hall, walking around back to the loading dock. Empty boxes overflowed down onto the gravel drive. Most of the containers were too large, but he finally found what he was looking for.

Joker found a place out of the way to kill time. He sat on the wood steps of a shed facing an empty expanse of grass. It was a mystery to him how these things were at any sizable operation. He’d seen these buildings at airports, colleges and hospitals. A small building or shed that no one knew the purpose of and was never used for anything. But it was maintained and never torn down. The small man dozed, leaning back against the door. He awoke from time to time, mostly to change position slightly.

At last he judged it was late enough for the next step. Joker looked up at the sky, the way Trey showed him to tell the time. The constellations had moved far enough for hours to have passed. He stashed his box and clipboard in the shed, then set out for the women’s barracks. During his walk, he didn’t meet any other soldiers. One vehicle passed him, and the thief waved. He didn’t want anyone to think he was up to no good or a zombie. In the distance, a spotlight traveled along a section of fence, security never slept.

None of the building showed any signs of life, except the female barracks. He watched a flashlight moving from floor to floor in a circuit. “I knew it was too easy” he thought. The master thief waited for the night guard to start up the far stairwell. At the rear door of the barracks, he took his time on the lock, so the “snick” when it opened was barely audible. Leaving his boots on the step, he entered the barracks in stocking feet.

Joker walked through the building in the guard’s wake, at the same pace. His attention was directed at sleeping forms around him. Most of the metal wall lockers stood with the doors open. On the second circuit, he liberated a uniform from the locker of a sleeper that was about his size. A hand holding the trouser belt buckle kept it from rattling. Subsequent rounds, he made off with a pair of rifles and ammunition. He hadn’t seen many armed soldiers anyway, they shouldn’t be missed right away.

Quiet as he had been, the guard must have sensed something. For the first time since he had jimmied the door, the guard’s footsteps paused as though she was listening for something. The footsteps on the floor above him retraced their path and so did the listener. Joker followed the guard on another circuit until he reached the door he had entered by. Before sneaking away with his loot, the thief took the time to lock the door. He returned to the shed where he had stashed his other finds, changed into the new uniform and slept the remaining hours of darkness.

By the time the sunlight coming through the window had awakened the thief, Trey had worked up a sweat by doing exercises, Trask was already in his office and Illion walked the floor pondering his lackluster performance. The small man splashed water on his face from a puddle for shaving. It was one of those depressions holding clear water with delicate silt on the bottom. The felon ran the pink safety razor over his face and used the borrowed toothbrush briskly. Luckily, Peach kept their hair trimmed short. With the uniform, he figured he looked as military as the soldiers he had seen so far.
Looking like a man on a mission with his clipboard and cardboard box, he set out for the chow hall.

After breakfast, Joker found his way to the motor pool. His request for a vehicle was rudely declined, until he invoked the name of Combined Intelligence. The truck he drove away in was old and a piece of junk, but it beat walking. The driver took his time on the self, guided tour of the facility. The only ways off the island was by air or water. Not an aircraft was moving, however, following a line of trucks loaded with armed men led him to a gate barring the road outside the fence. The short criminal observed the exit from under the raised hood of the old, truck, nearby. He watched the head count of each vehicle’s personnel going through the gate.

The thief waited for the trucks to pass through, before approaching the guardians. “Nice truck” the Corporal standing where he could see the driver as he pulled up said with a sneer.

“It’s a freaking piece of junk” Joker turned on his crazy grin. “You would think CI would rate better than this”.

“You are in Intelligence”?

“My first day and they have me playing mailman. I though I was going to be a spy or something”.

“How did you get into CI little man”?

Joker looked around like he thought someone might be listening “I got skills”. He looked the Corporal in the eye, put a finger to his lips making a “Shhhh” sound.

“And you want through” the two, striper stated. “Why do you want through”?

The short criminal held up his box for an answer. He leaned toward his questioner in a conspiratorial manner. “If you ask too many questions, you might end up in the back of one of those trucks” Joker said seriously. The Corporal, who valued his job that was safely away from Manhattan island, ordered the barrier raised.

Joker caught up to the trucks before they reached their destination. He wanted to look around during the confusion when the soldiers disembarked. The dock facilities were more complex than he expected. There were tugboats that had previously seen use in New York harbor, now used to pull barges. Two ferryboats were tied at the wharf and a score of smaller vessels scattered about. Fences were built at the waterline, as though to keep the dead from coming ashore. Additional fences were located at the shore end of each dock.

The thief was approached several times, probably to be ordered into line for the boats. He just showed them the clipboard and asked for Master Sergeant Babich, hoping that there was nobody by that name. Having seen everything he needed to in a relatively short time, Joker drove back up the empty road. The Corporal had the gate raised by the time he arrived, and even gave the convict a nod. A tour of the airfield was next on the small man’s list.

The small planes he found were either jet powered or dual engine propeller craft. In a back corner of the field, a handful of single, engine Cessnas and Pipers he was looking for were parked haphazardly. Unfortunately, with red flags on the engine compartments or landing gear. Joker’s original assessment was correct, the only way out was by water.

The man in the beat-up sedan had time to kill. He’d stop, pretending to make inspections carrying his clipboard, but never for long. It was dark by the time he turned in his vehicle and hiked over to the chow hall. The meal looked like left overs from the day before. Joker took his time eating, he really wasn’t hungry, however he didn’t know when his next meal might be. Leaving the dining hall, he took a different route to the shed. Twice, he stopped to watch behind him for a follower. All the gear there was undisturbed.

Joker sat on the steps outside the small building, mulling over the situation. He missed, what to him, were already the old days. When he could spend a month or two casing a target. Checking out the police presence and response times, checking for alarms, perhaps even getting architecture drawings.
These off the cuff, seat of your pants, shake and bake operations were exciting, but too many things were left to chance. Especially when you’re playing for all the marbles. The small man dozed on the hard steps, leaning back against the door, waking frequently, then dozing again.

Judging it was time to get started, the thief stretched and swung his arms to get the blood moving. He wouldn’t be coming back here again, so everything had to come with him. The burden was awkward to say the least. It was worrisome when the security patrol passed by twice during his short walk. The light was directed to the areas between buildings, which gave Joker plenty of warning. The spotlight turned off, but the vehicle still sat there. Then the engine whined when the patrol took off to another call.

Joker waited a few minutes to see if it would return before moving. Deciding that it was safe, he set off again. During his tour of the base, he had asked about the building with no numbers on it. The responses made it sound like the big bad wolf lived there. No one knew why, you just didn’t go over there. The small felon decided it must be the CI holding area. Now he sat in the dark, observing a soldier sitting at a desk, that was the sole piece of furniture in the lighted lobby.

The thief stashed his gear off to the side of the porch, marched up the steps and pounded on the locked door’s tempered glass. The soldier shuffling papers jumped to a standing position, staring at the door.
Midnight deliveries weren’t the strangest thing that had happened here, so he picked up the duty handgun before approaching the door. Joker held up the box he carried with one hand and waved the clipboard with the other. “You have to sign for it” sounded muted inside by the heavy glass door.

Joker, hadn’t expected to get the door open without an argument, backed up as ordered, then turned in a circle with his arms held straight out. The soldier in the lobby, satisfied that the visitor was unarmed, unlocked the door. The delivery man refused to hand over the box without a signature first. The pen he handed the lobby guard had the ball point ruined against the concrete sidewalk. “Your pen is broken”.

The thief shrugged his shoulders “It’s the only one they gave me”. He followed the lobby man back to the desk, thinking “This guy is just asking for it”. The guard sat in the chair, looking in the desk drawer for a pen. The felon turned as though looking about the empty room, pulling a sock containing a heavy weight from his pocket. The guard said “Found one”, looking down while he clicked it with his thumb. His peripheral vision picked up the sock speeding toward his temple, however the weight crashed into him before the electronic pulses from the brain delivered their message to the muscles.

Joker cringed at the noise of the guard going down and tipping the chair over echoing in the empty glass room. He spun to look outside, seeing that the coast was clear for now, he spun back to his victim. Worried that he had murdered the man, he was relieved at finding a pulse, although his breathing was shallow. The short convict set the chair back on its legs, before struggling to pull the body around the corner and out of sight. The collection of keys he’d counted on was in the disabled guard’s front pocket.

The closest door turned out to be a supply closet, also used by the janitor. The guard was still unconscious and the felon added to his problems by handcuffing him to the sink plumbing. The little man eyeballed the area outside the lobby again, which was still clear. The hall ran in both directions from the doorway, so he went to the closest door. This and the next one were both offices. The remainder turned out to be holding cells. A grilled, viewport was set into each door, which the criminal had to stand on tiptoe to reach. “McFaren”! With no response, he moved on to the next.

Joker was one door from the end of the hall before a voice called back “What da ya want”?

“I’m breaking you out”.

“Joker”?

“Duh”!

“What took you so long” the bank robber complained to annoy his friend. He was rewarded by a sputtering at the door. “Just kidding, glad you made it”. The slightly mollified thief had the door open before his friend crossed the room. “I knew you had a plan when you walked away” Trey laughed.
“Illion lost it. It didn’t bother Trask at all though. That guy worries me” he finished seriously. “Hey, nice uniform”.

“I was close enough to hear it” Joker laughed. He led the way back to the lobby, checking to see if they were still clear, handgun at the ready. The pair glided across the room and out the door. The smaller man was tempted to toss the keys into the darkness, however changed his mind because you never knew. Trey followed his cohort off the porch and into the night. He stopped when his friend did, receiving a rifle and belt with ammo pouches on it. “We have a quite a ways to go, we’ll go over the fence further down. Watch out for the patrols” he heard whispered.

Joker led the way, staying next to the buildings with the fence on their left. Feeling exposed where the gaps between building were larger, they moved slower. The pair came to the last structure, facing open field past this point. The thief pointed silently at the fence, using the last building to block them from view for the next part. “There’s no wire on the top” he whispered. That made sense to Trey, the dead didn’t climb fences and there was nowhere for the soldiers to desert to.

The thief scampered up and over, followed closely by the larger man. They lay in the damp grass at the bottom of the fence, waiting to see if an alarm was sounded. When nothing happened, the friends set out in a direction angling away from the fence line. Trey was surprised at how overgrown the field had been allowed to become. The only reason he could think of was that what they had crossed was an inner fence. Trey called a halt and both men took a knee. “Do you know what’s ahead” he asked his partner?

“Hmmm, sort of”, the thief held up a hand to stave off comments. “I didn’t have time to look over the whole place. I know where that fence goes”, he pointed back the way they had come. “We have to go around a checkpoint up ahead, another fence runs down to the docks”.

“Docks”?

“Unless you can fly something larger than what we own, we can swim or take a boat”.

“Where are we”?

“There aren’t any signs. The guys I asked said this was Staten Island”.

“At least it isn’t Manhattan” the ex-soldier replied, standing to end the break.

“That seems to be the general consensus”.

A dozen minutes later, Trey’s guess proved to be accurate. They ran into a fence coming in from the left, where they could hear a large body of water. Like the previous barrier, no razor wire decorated the top. Only a single strand of barbed wire. They followed the fence for several minutes, moving closer to the water. Joker spotted blue lights that marked the docks extending out from shore. “If we keep going on this side, we have two fences to cross. I want to climb this one now, then I can pick the gate lock on the second fence. I know they have guards there, but they probably button up after dark. We have to get them before they call for help”.

The bank robber agreed, trusting his cellmate’s judgement. Climbing a second chain link fence in one night made the process go a little smoother. The single strand of barbed wire was on the top notch of the support and both men squeezed under it. Back on the ground, the pair looked both ways along a strip of vegetation leading down to the waterline. No movement was visible, however the salt air was very noticeable. They began walking slower and stopping every ten feet to listen. Joker pointed out a blocky structure ahead, just past another fence leading down to the beach. Joker had just taken a step, when the butt of a cigarette was flipped in an arc, scattering sparks upon striking the ground.

The criminals froze for what seemed like a long time, before the tension was relieved by the smoker hacking up some phlegm and spitting into the dark. A thin shaft of dim light grew when the smoker opened a door. “I gotta take a piss” he informed the blockhouse’s occupant.

“I gotta have a smoke. I gotta take a piss” he was mocked by the hidden speaker.

“You’re worse than an old woman the smoker retorted”.

“Yeah, well don’t come crying to me if you get bit out there”.

“Fuck you”.

“You keep being a cleaver dick and I’ll lock the door. Then you can just strip out there until I can see you didn’t run into any friends in the dark”.

The smoker grunted and walked away. The felons eased down the fence to the first gate. Joker popped the lock open, the men holding their breath while they swung open the door. Somebody had used a grease gun freely, since there was no squeal of metal on rusty metal. Trey squeezed Joker’s shoulder to get his attention, pointing to the blockhouse. He pointed to himself and then the direction the smoker had gone. The smaller man nodded, going straight ahead before turning left onto a path the smoker might take on his return. He stopped close to the door waiting for his partner.

Trey walked softly, listening for his prey. He was guided by a huge sigh of relief and the sound of liquid hitting gravel. Stooping, he felt around, finding a stone that would do the job. The smoker was several steps onto the grass near the fence, which made his approach easier. The sound of a zipper being raised ended with the thud of a rock hitting a skull. The ex-soldier felt a pulse, so the man was still alive. He had once read that you can tie a person up with a six, inch piece of string. Instead, he used an entire boot lace. Trey left his victim with his hands tied behind his back, attached to one foot, the other foot trapped behind the bent knee. He wasn’t sure which would hurt worse, the sore head or the bindings.

Joker pointed his rifle at the approaching figure, until he identified his friend. Getting a thumbs up as a sign of success, he slung his rifle and pulled the CI guard’s handgun from his belt. The thief opened the door in a normal manner, taking the occupant by surprise. “Awww fuck me”! The gun pointing at him was almost as scary as the crazy smile facing him. Trey asked questions while immobilizing the second man of the night with a boot lace. The answers were mostly yes, sprinkled with a few I don’t knows.

The felons departed the metal, conex box turned sandbagged blockhouse. They had an extra pair of riles and magazines, a collection of boat keys and some information. Closing the gate doorway to the beach, Joker snapped the lock shut. Joker asked “Which one is it” as they walked down the dock past the ferry boat and some empty slips. “I think it’s that one” Trey replied, pointed ahead to a white, 36 foot, sport fisherman. Other small boats bobbed up and down past the one they chose.

“Why don’t we take the big one”?

“Too slow, not to mention I don’t know how it works. We’d probable need a crew.

Trey skipped over the rail which set the boat to rocking. Joker looked unhappy about the choice of boats. The bank robber inserted the one key that wasn’t in the box and the three, large, outboard motors, overrode all other sounds. He waited several minutes for the engines to warm up, but they were running out of time. Joker watched the operator make motions, that he finally figured out meant to untie the ropes. “Dammit, I’m the mechanical genius. I should be driving” the thief said to himself.
He studied the lines, figuring out he didn’t need to untie them, just slip it up over the post. Kneeling, he had grabbed the line when a skeletal hand rose out of the saltwater.

The thief said some bad words falling backward, watching a head also emerge from the water. With all the noise from the boat, he thought it wouldn’t matter, so he shot the goon three times. He was more careful with the rear line, although no goons appeared. When he looked up, his partner stood with his hands out to the sides, mouthing some naughty words of his own. On board, Joker pulled the lines into the boat without being told. Joining the skipper, the small man gave him a big smile and a thumbs up. Trey rolled his eyes, bumping the throttles forward.

‘Where are we headed” the thief said into his partner’s ear.

“Not to Jersey” the bank robber yelled back. “We’re going up the river, past Manhattan” he replied, having only a vague idea what was ahead.

“How long”?

“Depends if the tide is going in or out”. Trey knew that New Jersey was to the west and if he followed the shore, they would be in the Hudson river sooner or later. Maybe a dozen miles to Manhattan Island, maybe another dozen miles to get past it, at least another dozen miles before he’d consider going ashore. That would be a half hour going all out. With luck they could go north until the fuel tank was dry. Figure a four hundred, gallon tank, going all out at seventy miles per hour, using ninety gallons an hour, they could go almost three hundred miles. This speed would be unlikely with debris in the water he knew. Trey had no idea what effect the tide would have on their speed. It all depended if they could sneak past Manhattan island.

The boat gradually gained speed, angled toward the Jersey shore. The was no flotsam on the surface and neither the hull or propellers had bumped into anything under the surface. The skipper turned north when he could make out the New Jersey shoreline. Noticing that the watercraft kept moving closer to shore, Trey guessed the would be the tide coming into the Hudson river. Turning the wheel a couple points east seemed to correct the drift. He hoped any obstructions in the water would flow ahead of the sport fisherman on the tide.

Going through upper New York Bay the two shores drew closer to the center. The hull pushed aside what flotsam that was visible at their current speed. Joker sat forward to act as a spotter if he saw anything they should go around. Bodies were becoming a regular sight now. The ones that had been in the water for a while were real, gross. Occasionally a goon would go by with its head or only an arm above the water. Both men’s watches had been removed when they had been put in custody, so they could only guess the time when they spied a split in the river.

Trey hoped that it was the East River guarded by Governor’s Island. He steered to the west, soon coming into sight of the Statue of Liberty on her small island, knowing Manhattan was close by. Controlling the boat became interesting with the tide pushing from behind and two rivers feeding water from in front. Trey finally gave in and nudged the throttle forward twice. The bow came up and debris that had slid past, now knocked against the hull. The currents bounced the boat around until he gave the engines more throttle. The bow rose higher and the engines gave off a deeper note. As they passed the south end of Manhattan island the boat fought free of the multiple currents. Trey pulled back on the throttle, the bow dropped lower in the water and the back wash surged past the sport craft.

Ashore on the southern tip of Manhattan island, a private on guard duty heard the boat. His squad occupied a raised strong point, watching for any of the dead that had escaped the barricades or washed ashore from the two rivers. “Did you hear that” Wheat asked his companion?

“You have been hearing things since we got here. Give it a break” Biondi growled.

“No, seriously, I really heard something”.

“You want to wake up the sergeant” the other private finished.

“Hey, I think we should” Wheat insisted.

“Better you than me. I’ll wait right here” Biondi said.
Three men and a woman trapped in a building, send help. If you can't send help send two more women. Groucho Marx-Duck Soup

USAF SP 72-77,US Army reserves 84-92

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Halfapint » Fri Feb 01, 2019 6:57 pm

Woohoo thank you Groucho! You’re the man!
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Re: Doing Time

Post by Johan » Sun Feb 03, 2019 6:35 am

Thank you!!!
I love this story...

(Is it too soon to ask for MOOOAAR??? :wink: )
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Re: Doing Time

Post by SamAdams » Sun Feb 03, 2019 10:43 am

:clap: Great update, keep it coming!

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Spazzy » Tue Feb 05, 2019 9:48 am

Keep it coming!
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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Thu Feb 07, 2019 11:03 pm

Thank you for the comments. I apologize for all the errors I missed.
Three men and a woman trapped in a building, send help. If you can't send help send two more women. Groucho Marx-Duck Soup

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Halfapint » Thu Feb 07, 2019 11:16 pm

Groucho wrote:
Thu Feb 07, 2019 11:03 pm
Thank you for the comments. I apologize for all the errors I missed.
Darn you! For the mistakes I demand moar! And hey this is a rough draft, errors are totally fine. The story is great that’s what we care about!
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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Sat Feb 23, 2019 1:12 am

“Sergeant Keen, wake up” the insistent private shook the E-5’s shoulder.

“Wheat. You better have an outstanding reason for bugging me” a voice growled from within a tangle of wool blankets on a cot jammed up against a sandbag wall.

“I heard something by the river, Sergeant”.

“May the good Lord preserve me from new troops” Wheat heard his squad leader whisper. “Get back to your post” the voice boomed. Wheat departed post haste. Keen sat up with a blanket around his shoulders, rubbing his eyes. He stared at the field phone on the desk, debating whether to make the call or not. In the end, he decided that if he was up, everybody should share the misery. The phone in the Tactical Operations Center for the company rang, startling the staff sergeant who was trying to stay awake. Scrambling to answer the phone before it woke the higher ups, he snatched up the offending instrument, hissing “TOC” into the speaker.

The staff sergeant reluctantly woke the platoon sergeant, who was notoriously difficult to rouse. Ten minutes passed before Sergeant First Class Rondel was coherent. Even then, he stared at the Staff Sergeant saying nothing for several minutes, making the soldier uncomfortable. Forcing his feet into his boots and jamming a cap on his head, he went into the makeshift room to wake the LT. Rondel hated new Lieutenants. About the time he had them sufficiently trained to be of use, they either died or got promoted. The senior enlisted man looked at the sleeping officer, bent over and spoke loudly “Wake up Sir”.

Lieutenant Wilson, startled, appeared to levitate above his cot. He recoiled from the man waking him, trying to remember where he was. Finally, it sunk in, this was day three with his company. “What is it Sergeant Rondel” he tried to ask with authority, however it came out slightly high pitched? Rondel explained the situation before departing. Wilson hated the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought of contacting the battalion TOC. Majors and Colonels treated him like an idiot. When the phone was answered on the other end, he blurted the message so fast, that it had to be repeated.

Kyle Wilson had grown up in New York city, in a penthouse overlooking central park. His plan to attend NYU after high school was thwarted by his grandfather. Steve Wilson had served in Vietnam as an infantry Lieutenant, then managed his way into a corner office of one of the top financial firms in New York. The elder Wilson offered to pay for his grandson’s education, only if he attended Bowdin College in Maine, the old man’s alma mater. The offer was accepted by Kyle’s father on his son’s behalf, despite protestations.

The town of 20,000 was just as provincial as the young man thought it would be. Even worse, it was at least an hour’s drive to anywhere else worth the effort. This turned into an advantage, when the dead began returning to life, during his last semester as an accounting major. The college was turned into a resettlement camp, protected by the national guard, although not many of those fleeing the big cities survived to reach Brunswick. When volunteers for the Army fell woefully short of the state’s goal, Kyle had been unofficially drafted along with others. After a week of officer school and a week of combat training, he was shipped out, eventually finding his way to Manhattan.

Captain Winstead took the Lieutenant’s report, asked questions to make sure he could answer the questions he was sure to be asked in turn, then woke the Colonel. Major Shell, sleeping nearby, listened to the conversation. “Thank you, Jack” the Battalion commander dismissed his aide. The Colonel thought of himself as a spider in the center of a web, interpreting the vibrations from each strand. The major was dressed in time to receive his order. “Don, have them use the light and get a helo in the air”.
“Yes Sir”.

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Groucho » Sat Feb 23, 2019 1:18 am

Permission to use the generator powered searchlight traveled back down the chain of command much faster than it had gone up. The alert, Blackhawk helicopters had just finished a mandatory start up when word came down that they had a mission. The chosen crew was thrilled with any flight time they could get and with the engines warmed up, they were in the air in under five minutes. The lights, they were to look for were absent. The machine hovered in the dark. “Another fucking false alarm” the pilot said to the crew through the headset.

Keen had expected to have the men “stand to” and await developments, which would make Wheat tons of friends. He was surprised when permission was given to fire up the generator. “You can’t count on the Army for anything” he thought. With a great deal of shaking and kicking, the Buck Sergeant had the men in position and attempting to get the generator to fire up. The piece of commercial equipment that had been commandeered usually needed coaxing. Keen sweet talked the machinery like it was the girlfriend he hadn’t seen since this whole mess started. “Come on baby” he pressed the button for the fourth time.

Trey and joker moved up river, propelled as much by the tide as the three outboards. Joker crouched in the bow, moving one arm or the other to direct the pilot around floating debris. The heavier pieces could be heard scraping their way down the side of the hull, often spinning in the wake behind them. Joker motioned straight ahead for a change and Trey took the opportunity to nudge the throttle up. The shorter man had requested a turn at the helm, it was refused brusquely. “You must be this tall to enjoy this ride” had both convicts struggling not to laugh out loud. Both men turned to look at the river behind them that was suddenly light up like midday.

The light crept out across the open water, then searched back down river. The thief decided that the front of the boat would no longer be a place to be. “What now” he asked the captain making him jump.
“When the light hits us, hang on to your britches” the thief was advised. The light searched where the sport fisherman had been five minutes ago. The cellmates thought they could steal away upriver, however they were wrong. Suddenly the circle of light sped in their direction. Neither the Blackhawk crew or the operators of the spotlight could hear the boat accelerate over the noise of their own machinery.

Trey pushed the throttle forward in a slow and steady motion. The boat stayed ahead of the light, stealing distance toward their goal up river. The deck tilt increased with the forward motion of the throttle. The boat angled slightly toward the west shore, leaving more of a wake as the seconds passed. The light crew couldn’t see the disturbance, but the helo crew could. It took minutes for the request to be relayed to the light crew to increase the range of the light. The search was aimed further out in the river, the light covering more area as the distance increased.

The Blackhawk followed the frothy wake, turning on their own lights when they reached the limits of the land unit. Not knowing the speed that the criminals could harness, the air crew thought they had missed the boat and circled back. Trey and Joker crossed the Holland Tunnel at over a mile a minute without realizing it. The Blackhawk was following the boat wake at a cruise speed twice that of the boat, slowed from losing the foamy trail.

The sport fisherman had come up on plane, a full two thirds of the hull was out of the water. The ride would have been rough with only the water to deal with. Debris in the water added to the beating the passengers were taking. The boat should go over most obstacles they come up to, although they might lose the engines or even the transom. In the dark, there was no way to spot what was coming. They could only hold on tight and keep their knees bent. Five minutes after crossing the Holland tunnel they passed the Lincoln Tunnel with the helo closing fast.

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Re: Doing Time

Post by Nature_Lover » Sat Feb 23, 2019 3:41 pm

Thank you groucho! Great story.

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