Read Online Trudge: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse by Shawn Chesser - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shawn Chesser
Tags: Science-Fiction, Fantasy
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passenger seat came to life.
Quick and to the point Cade said, "We are going camping on Mt Hood at Timothy or Trillium lake if he asks you" and then it went silent again.
Rawley provided his identification and received the same stock informative lecture, followed by the same questions from the officer. Because of his tattoos and long hair, his driver’s license received more than a cursory inspection. Rawley informed the officer that he was going camping with the guys in the truck ahead of him, gesturing with his thumb towards the camping gear that was shielding his rifle from view. Rawley got his driver’s license back and the trooper indicated he could follow Cade and the boys through the roadblock.
Cade patiently watched as the trooper returned to the Sequoia. Behind him the drivers in the cars that were lining up started honking intermittently. The trooper reached in the window and handed the ID card back to Cade and then queried him about his service.
Downplaying his role, Cade said, “I did a tour in Iraq, nothing worthy of a medal. I was mostly in the green zone.”
After a short pause, “Thanks for your service son” and with a tip of his stiff brimmed hat the older trooper exclaimed loud enough to be heard over the honking, “you… and you!” pointing at the Sequoia and the Bronco, “carry on!” and waved them through. He then faced the unenviable task of telling the rest of the drivers in queue that I-84 was now closed.
Wasting no time, Cade started the Sequoia and hurriedly pulled away from the roadblock.
Rawley threw the trooper a quick smart ass salute as he rolled past him heading east away from the city of 1.2 million.
Chapter 17
Day 2 Interstate-84 Roadblock
Trooper Gary England stood his ground, as each person in front of him plead their case. His stature was imposing to most and people usually listened to what he had to say. Today the people he was trying to reason with were attempting to flee the unknown carnage that was unfolding twenty miles to the west in Portland, Oregon. Bottom line, he was holding court with anxiety, panic and pandemonium.
An attractive young woman in denim shorts and a tank top shrilly dressed him down.
“You are not listening to me. My daughter is four years old and she is sitting in that car in the hot sun” she said while wildly stabbing her manicured nail at the black Mercedes.
“ And you lady, are not hearing me ! I repeat no one is getting through. The city is under forty eight hour quarantine.”
A balding middle aged man and his wife started whining about the idiots in the city looting and wilding.
“I want your badge number!” the half-drunk wife bellowed.
She wasn’t used to being told “no”.
The trooper did his best to try and turn around the fifteen or so people that got out of their cars to “help” with the lobbying process.
Like a clap of thunder, the sound of approaching V-twin engines drowned out all conversation. Scores of bikes pulled up on both sides of the group of people trying to gain passage into the gorge.
Most of the outlaw bikers were flying their colors. Greasy leather jackets emblazoned with the “Nomad Jester” patch, it had a devious looking jester wearing a floppy hat with round tassels on the end. Instead of a silly smile on its face it wore a devilish sneer; across its chest was an AK-47 held at port arms.
Trooper England, his hand on his Beretta, stared down the lead element of the pack.
One of the biggest bikers he had ever seen dismounted his black Harley. The behemoth extended the kickstand with his scuffed black leather boot. The red bearded outlaw squared up with the trooper. He didn’t offer his hand to the law let alone a modicum of respect.
“Just as I have been telling these fine citizens, the City of Portland is under quarantine for the next forty eight hours” hitching up his gun belt he added, “You all need to turn around and go ho....”
Before Trooper Gary England could
Quick and to the point Cade said, "We are going camping on Mt Hood at Timothy or Trillium lake if he asks you" and then it went silent again.
Rawley provided his identification and received the same stock informative lecture, followed by the same questions from the officer. Because of his tattoos and long hair, his driver’s license received more than a cursory inspection. Rawley informed the officer that he was going camping with the guys in the truck ahead of him, gesturing with his thumb towards the camping gear that was shielding his rifle from view. Rawley got his driver’s license back and the trooper indicated he could follow Cade and the boys through the roadblock.
Cade patiently watched as the trooper returned to the Sequoia. Behind him the drivers in the cars that were lining up started honking intermittently. The trooper reached in the window and handed the ID card back to Cade and then queried him about his service.
Downplaying his role, Cade said, “I did a tour in Iraq, nothing worthy of a medal. I was mostly in the green zone.”
After a short pause, “Thanks for your service son” and with a tip of his stiff brimmed hat the older trooper exclaimed loud enough to be heard over the honking, “you… and you!” pointing at the Sequoia and the Bronco, “carry on!” and waved them through. He then faced the unenviable task of telling the rest of the drivers in queue that I-84 was now closed.
Wasting no time, Cade started the Sequoia and hurriedly pulled away from the roadblock.
Rawley threw the trooper a quick smart ass salute as he rolled past him heading east away from the city of 1.2 million.
Chapter 17
Day 2 Interstate-84 Roadblock
Trooper Gary England stood his ground, as each person in front of him plead their case. His stature was imposing to most and people usually listened to what he had to say. Today the people he was trying to reason with were attempting to flee the unknown carnage that was unfolding twenty miles to the west in Portland, Oregon. Bottom line, he was holding court with anxiety, panic and pandemonium.
An attractive young woman in denim shorts and a tank top shrilly dressed him down.
“You are not listening to me. My daughter is four years old and she is sitting in that car in the hot sun” she said while wildly stabbing her manicured nail at the black Mercedes.
“ And you lady, are not hearing me ! I repeat no one is getting through. The city is under forty eight hour quarantine.”
A balding middle aged man and his wife started whining about the idiots in the city looting and wilding.
“I want your badge number!” the half-drunk wife bellowed.
She wasn’t used to being told “no”.
The trooper did his best to try and turn around the fifteen or so people that got out of their cars to “help” with the lobbying process.
Like a clap of thunder, the sound of approaching V-twin engines drowned out all conversation. Scores of bikes pulled up on both sides of the group of people trying to gain passage into the gorge.
Most of the outlaw bikers were flying their colors. Greasy leather jackets emblazoned with the “Nomad Jester” patch, it had a devious looking jester wearing a floppy hat with round tassels on the end. Instead of a silly smile on its face it wore a devilish sneer; across its chest was an AK-47 held at port arms.
Trooper England, his hand on his Beretta, stared down the lead element of the pack.
One of the biggest bikers he had ever seen dismounted his black Harley. The behemoth extended the kickstand with his scuffed black leather boot. The red bearded outlaw squared up with the trooper. He didn’t offer his hand to the law let alone a modicum of respect.
“Just as I have been telling these fine citizens, the City of Portland is under quarantine for the next forty eight hours” hitching up his gun belt he added, “You all need to turn around and go ho....”
Before Trooper Gary England could
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