The Survivalist: Madness Rules Part 29

The man eyed the weapon.

"I know what you're thinking. It's the old come-and-get-it trick. But still, you gotta try."

Jenner immediately dove for the weapon, and as he did, Tanner dropped both knees down onto his back, driving him into the pavement. Vomit erupted from the man's mouth, splas.h.i.+ng across the concrete. Jenner struggled to get free, panic setting in as he discovered that he was not only trapped but also unable to breathe.

Tanner shot a couple of quick blows to his ribs, but it wasn't really necessary. Jenner was unconscious within twenty seconds, bubbles of vomit spewing from his nose. Tanner bounced up and down a few times, cracking ribs and otherwise causing all sorts of internal damage. Satisfied that the man was out for the count, he dragged Jenner over to the doorway and tucked him out of sight.

The whole confrontation had taken less than a minute.

From the front of the Bradley, Samantha had heard Tanner bang the trash cans and the sound of the men shooting at him. He ran, and they followed, exactly as he had said they would. A couple of months earlier, she would have worried that he might be killed or, worse, that he would decide to leave her behind. She felt no such fear now. Common criminals would not best Tanner Raines. There might be something out there that he couldn't handle, but they had yet to encounter it.

So, rather than worry, she spent her time exploring the armored vehicle. Everything was hard and uncomfortable, and she b.u.mped her head three different times. There was a steering wheel with two black handles, lots of gauges and b.u.t.tons, and foldable seats in the back. There were also large round hatches that looked like they belonged on a submarine, as well as angled windows that allowed her to see outside.

More gunshots sounded in the distance. She a.s.sured herself that it was nothing to worry about. Tanner was running, and they were shooting at him. Not something he hadn't done a dozen times before. Despite his size, Tanner was pretty darned fast. There was no way they would catch him, and if they did, they'd be sorry.

Afraid to touch anything that might give away her position, Samantha settled onto one of the jump seats, laid the rifle across her lap, and waited. Tanner would be coming soon. It was only a matter of time.

Seventeen minutes later, Tanner stuck his head around the edge of the Bradley and found Samantha napping on one of the jump seats. Her head leaned back against the steel wall, and her rifle and pack rested on her lap. She looked like a paratrooper riding out to a drop zone, calm and indifferent to the dangers around her.

Never one to startle someone with a gun, he b.u.mped lightly on the wall of the vehicle. Her eyes fluttered a few times and then finally opened.

"What took you so long?" she said, yawning.

He slipped back on his pack.

"Come on. Let's go get what we came for."

She grabbed her rifle and followed after him.

"Did you get rid of those men?"

"More like I gave them the slip." He looked up at the sky. "We've got maybe three or four hours until dark."

"And we don't want to be in the city after dark," she said, finis.h.i.+ng his sentence.

"Correct."

"Because the zombies come out at night."

"Let's not be around to find out."

They hurried west along Pennsylvania Avenue, cutting across a courtyard barricaded with concrete posts. Several more Bradley Fighting Vehicles and even a couple of M1 Abrams tanks were parked in the square. As things had deteriorated, the military had apparently been deployed to protect key national infrastructures, as well as the politicians and bankers who worked at them.

Tanner pointed to a bank that was so majestic in appearance that he wouldn't have been surprised to see Jesus chasing out the moneychangers.

"Think they still have money inside?" he said, hoping to get a rise out of Samantha.

"Really? We're bank robbers now?"

"All right, Bugsy," he said in his best gangster voice, "you take the vault, and I'll watch for the coppers."

She giggled. "You're funny."

It warmed him to see her laugh. Even after all that she had lost, Samantha was finding ways to smile. He took that as a good sign.

They continued past a string of cafes designed for Ivy Leaguers hoping to close business deals over expensive lunches. Tables were overturned, and chairs had been tossed into the street. What had at one time been a quiet place to enjoy clam chowder and chocolate mousse now resembled the aftermath of a Pacers-Pistons game.

As they pa.s.sed the Department of Treasury, they began to see the top of the White House peeking out from between the thick trees covering the North Lawn. Torn and ragged, the Stars and Stripes still flew from the rooftop flagpole. Whether it had been left behind as a symbol of national strength or simply abandoned in haste, no longer mattered.

They slowed on the sidewalk, carefully stepping around cadavers still buzzing with flies. To their left was a tall iron fence meant primarily to serve as a deterrent to tourists lacking common sense. The first of two gates was still closed tight, but it made little difference because a ten-foot section of the fence had been pulled down by angry protesters.

As they walked onto the North Lawn, Tanner and Samantha paused to appreciate the scope of the devastation. In many ways, the scene before them looked like a battlefield. Indistinguishable b.l.o.o.d.y mounds peeked out through the tall gra.s.s. An abandoned M1 Abrams tank stood sentry directly in front of the White House, and a UH-60 helicopter lay crumpled nearby. Thousands of spent sh.e.l.l casings littered the lawn, like coins at the bottom of a wis.h.i.+ng well. The building's columns were cracked, obviously damaged by the rotors of the helicopter when it had crash landed. Ivy was already creeping up a couple of the North Portico columns as Mother Earth quickly moved in to lay claim to what had always been her property. There was an apocalyptic finality to it all, a feeling that man's greatness had come and gone.

"Well, we made it," he said in a tone that was not at all rea.s.suring.

"It looks a lot creepier than I remember."

"Nothing we can't handle."

"Do you think there are zombies inside?"

"Zombies in the White House? Sounds about right."

"Okay then," she said, stepping behind him. "You go first."

They moved carefully but deliberately as they approached the North Portico. The once beautiful mahogany double doors were now battered and hung from a single hinge. Tanner b.u.mped the doors with the b.u.t.t of his shotgun, and they fell in with a loud clatter.

"We wouldn't want the zombies to sleep through our visit," Samantha said, rolling her eyes.

"What fun would that be?"

They stepped into the Grand Foyer, an elegant entryway with checkerboard tile, ornate woodwork, and a crystal chandelier that still hung from the ceiling. Pictures that had once adorned the walls lay stomped and broken on the floor. Two huge red curtains had been pulled down from the windows and were now draped over a large pile of something that neither of them had any desire to examine further. A hallway going deeper into the mansion lay directly ahead, and a winding staircase was to their immediate left.

"Which way?" he asked.

She pointed to the stairs.

"We should head downstairs to the ground floor. From there, we can cut across to the West Wing. I know my mom kept some pictures and personal things in her office."

Tanner led them down the dark stairs, through a couple of small rooms, and out into a wide hallway. The thick red carpet would had been worthy of any dignitary, had it not been for the strong smell of urine soaked into it. Directly ahead was the marble-framed entrance to the Diplomatic Room. The busts of George Was.h.i.+ngton and Abraham Lincoln stood beside the door, like totems to a forgotten religion.

"Which way?" he repeated.

She pointed to the right.

"The West Wing is that way. If we-"

A crash of plates sounded from deep inside the Diplomatic Room.

Tanner swung his shotgun around.

"Apparently, we're not alone."

"Zombies?"

He shook his head. "Too bright for them."

"Do we have to go see who it is?"

"Let's just grab what we came for and get out of here. How big is this place, anyway?"

"When we first moved here, they told me it had six floors and a hundred and thirty-two rooms."

"You gotta be kidding me."

She shrugged. "I didn't build it."

"Let's hope we can find what you're looking for in the West Wing." He turned and headed down the hallway to the right.

At the end of the hallway was a set of gla.s.s doors exiting out onto a paved walkway. Tall white pillars lined the outdoor corridor.

"We're going back outside?"

"Sure," she said, pus.h.i.+ng open the doors. "The West Colonnade is the easiest way to the Oval Office."

"West Colonnade?" Tanner was starting to feel like he was maneuvering through a castle rather than a home.

"Everything around here has funny names. Come on," she said, skipping ahead, "you can see the Oval Office."

Tanner detected movement to his left.

"Sam!" he shouted, spinning and bringing his shotgun up.

Three men rushed toward them, stomping through a cl.u.s.ter of rose bushes. Lars led the way with his machete in hand. Yo-Yo was right behind him, carrying a Louisville Slugger baseball bat. And the third man, who Tanner didn't recognize, was raising a small-caliber pistol.

Tanner let loose with a load of buckshot at the man with the pistol. The blast caught him full in the face, and his head nearly exploded, sending warm blood splas.h.i.+ng across his two friends.

Samantha had stopped and was looking back and forth between Tanner and the men as she started to ready her own rifle.

"Get to the Oval Office!" he shouted. "Go!"

She hesitated for a moment and then turned and raced ahead.

Tanner shuffled after her, keeping his body facing the remaining two men. They were only a few steps from him now. He fired another shot, catching Lars in the belly. The man doubled over and fell, clutching his gut as intestines bulged out.

Yo-Yo slammed into Tanner, knocking him back against the colonnade wall. He c.o.c.ked the bat back and tried to land a home run on Tanner's head, but the s.p.a.ce was tight, and the bat struck the pillar behind him with a loud clack. Before Yo-Yo could bring it back into play, Tanner was on him, whipping the b.u.t.t of the shotgun toward his face. Wood met bone, dislocating the man's jaw and sending teeth flying out into the gra.s.s.

Yo-Yo swung the bat low like a golf club, catching Tanner on the side of his left calf. His leg buckled, and he pitched forward, dropping the shotgun. Rather than fall to the ground, he scooped Yo-Yo up over his shoulder, wheeled around, and body slammed him onto the stone floor. Yo-Yo rolled to his side, coughing out a mouthful of blood as he scrambled to get back onto his feet. Leaning against the pillar for support, Tanner kicked out with his good leg, catching Yo-Yo under the chin. The bald man's head snapped up, and when it finally rested on the ground, his eyes remained open. A pool of urine slowly spread on the floor beneath him.

Tanner put weight on his injured leg. It hurt, but it would hold. He scooped up his shotgun and scanned the North Lawn to see if others had taken notice of the fight. A large crowd of men stared back at him through the hole in the front fence.

"Tanner!" shouted Samantha. She had managed to open the exterior doors to the Oval Office and was frantically waving him in.

He slid fresh sh.e.l.ls into his shotgun and half-skipped, half-limped his way to her. As Tanner hurried into the Oval Office, he couldn't help but feel that he was stepping onto hallowed ground. Arguably, some of the most important decisions in the nation's history had been made from the same room. The only thing separating him and Samantha from the men making those decisions was a nebulous thing called time.

Others, however, had obviously not shared his sense of reverence. Books and paintings had been ripped from the walls, couches puffed tiny foam particles from where they had been sliced open, and the burned remnants of two flags were stomped into the carpet's presidential seal. The dried remains of a dead marine lay draped across the president's desk.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Peachy," he said, slamming the doors behind him and shoving the top and bottom slide locks into place.

Despite their delicate appearance, the doors felt incredibly st.u.r.dy. The frame was constructed from reinforced fibergla.s.s and the gla.s.s from bulletproof Lexan. Tanner suspected that the entire room was well fortified, given its previous occupant.

He stared out through the small windows set in the doors. The gang had spread out and was advancing through the Rose Garden. Several of the men had splintered off and were entering through the front door to the White House.

"Did you stop them?" she asked, looking at his leg.

"Those three, yes. But there are others."

"How many?"

"Too many."

"What are we going to do?"

"Leave that to me. You find what you came for."

"Are you sure your leg is okay?"

He squatted down and stood back up. It hurt like h.e.l.l.

"See. I'm good."

"Okay," she said, apparently satisfied.

Samantha turned and began inspecting the room. As she worked her way around, picking up a few photos and trinkets, Tanner did a quick defensive a.s.sessment. Not good. Not good at all. Beside the door to the West Colonnade, there were three other entrances into the room. There was simply no way that two people could defend them all. It was only a matter of time before someone got through.

When he turned back to Samantha to tell her to hurry up, she had a gray and white scarf tied around her neck.

"Was that your mom's?"

"His," she said, pointing to the dead marine.

"You took a dead soldier's scarf?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't count as stealing if they're dead. You said so yourself."

He stared at her for a moment, smiling, honestly admiring how far she had come.