by Dziekan, PJ
Tears dripped down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Ryan,” she whispered, smoothing his hair away from his ruined face. She heard a cry from behind her. Michelle. Sarah sensed the woman kneeling next to her, a keening cry from her mouth as she removed the dirty gag from Ryan’s mouth. But she didn’t have it in her to comfort her. She had to see if her life was over.
She moved quickly on her hands and knees to where the other bound man lay face down. She turned him over and yanked the bag from his head. His eyes were shut. A sob escaped her. She pulled her knife from the sheath on her belt and cut the tight gag from his lips, taking a few wisps of hair with it. “Mick!” She ran her finger down his cheek, over his lips. “Mick!” Tears were running unchecked down her face, dropping onto his dirty skin.
He opened his eyes and grimaced. “Sarah?”
She pulled him up and into her arms, not hearing his groan of pain. “I’m so sorry, Mick,” she cried into his shoulder. Joy, relief, rage, pain, sorrow – every tear held a touch of emotion.
“Sarah, calm down, it’s OK.” His voice was raspy as his right arm came up to rub her back.
The rage won. “No, it’s not OK.” She pulled back. “That bastard just killed your brother and I’m going to kill him.”
Mick saw Ryan’s body cradled on Michelle’s thigh. “Ryan?” He whispered. “Oh, fuck.”
“I have to go, Mick.” Sarah kissed him quickly and disentangled herself from his arms.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to kill the fucker.” She stood and he looked up at her, from her grimy boots to Ryan’s blood on her knees, to her dirty shirt and tear stained face, all 5’2” of her. He had no doubt she would do it.
“Not without me.” He held up his left arm for her to pull him up. He winced, dropping it to his side.
Sarah noted the blood running down his arm. “You’ve been shot.” She shuddered to think how close he came to dying. How close she came to losing everything. “Let April take care of you.” She knew Michelle would be in no shape.
“He’s my brother.” Mick held up his right arm.
She braced herself and pulled him up. He staggered a bit then steadied himself. She looked up at him and smiled through her tears. “I love you,” she whispered before she turned away. She missed the brief look of happiness that flashed through his eyes before the sorrow took over again.
“Is everyone else OK?” She asked.
“Steven was shot,” April responded.
Sarah turned to see April crouched over Steven’s leg. “How bad?”
“It looks like it went right through the meat.” She wrapped a bandage around his calf. “Infection’s the big issue but we have some antibiotics.”
“Good.” She looked at the rest of her friends, grimaced at the shell shocked looks on their faces. “Is everyone else OK?” They slowly nodded.
Sarah turned back to Michelle, who was still crying over Ryan’s body. She squatted next to the sobbing woman. “I’m sorry, Michelle.”
“I—I heard the gunshot,” she hiccupped. “I came running down but I was too late.” She looked at Sarah. “I was too late.”
“I—I’m sorry.”
“Get him, Sarah,” Michelle ground out. “Get whoever did this.”
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. “I will.” She touched Michelle’s blood smeared hand and stood.
“What happened?”
Sarah turned her head at Annie’s words. She and Ben, along with Jack and Claire, were following Grant. Sarah was relieved to see they were all OK. Annie stopped and stared in horror at Ryan’s body.
“Is that – is that Ryan?” Jack’s voice was full of anguish.
“Yes. We’re going to find the bastard that shot him.”
“But why?” Jack asked, his voice breaking.
“Why find him or why did Ryan get shot?” Sarah snapped. She saw the look of pain in Jack’s eyes. She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Jack, I just…” She shook her head and walked away, over to where one of Pete’s men had dropped his gun. She picked it up and popped the clip, noting it was half full. It will have to do, she thought as she slammed the clip back home.
A moan caught her attention. She looked down the street and saw a lone zombie stumbling down the street. “Fuck,” she whispered. They must have broken one of the barricades. She put a hand over her eyes to cut the glare of the sun. Another ten creatures were moving slowly forward about a block behind the first one. “Everyone get inside and lock up. We got a breach.”
“What?’ Donna asked. Her eyes were full of panic.
“Inside, now! Take Ryan with you; we’ll bury him when we get back.”
“What about him?” Annie asked, pointing at the denim clad man sprawled on the ground, a bullet in his hip. He moaned softly.
Sarah stalked over and looked down at the scruffy man. He was young, maybe a few years older than Jack. She brought her gun up and shot him in the forehead.
“Sarah!” Annie exclaimed, her hands flying to her face.
Looking down at the man she just killed, Sarah moved to put the gun in her holster, but it was larger than the one she usually carried. She stuck it in her waistband at the small of her back. She was buying time to answer, to not scream and cry. “He was one of them,” she said evenly. “The ones who tried to throw us out of our home. The ones who killed Ryan.” She turned to look at Annie, who stared at Sarah with horror in her eyes. “You want to live with that?”
“How do you live with that?” Annie asked softly.
With a look of contempt for Annie, Sarah turned away. But Annie’s words struck a nerve. She had turned into a cold-blooded killer. To protect her people, to protect her family. But she was still a murderer. She shook her head. “Everyone get inside. Mick, if you’re coming, let’s go.”
“I’m coming.” Jack stepped forward.
“Jack, you shouldn’t –” Sarah started.
“I’m coming, Sarah.” His voice was hard. He smiled at Claire, whose shocked expression made Sarah ache. “I’ll be back.” He kissed the girl softly and headed to the blue Jeep.
“I’m coming, too.” Sarah was surprised when Ben stepped forward.
“OK, Ben.” She walked to the Jeep, noting that the zombies were only a few blocks off now. She grimaced and got into the driver’s seat.
Mick sat in the passenger seat, a pistol on his lap. Ben and Jack piled in the back. She turned to look in the backseat. “I’m going to kill him. If you have a problem with that, get out now.”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” Ben growled. He had just lost one of his closest friends.
“Me, either,” Jack responded.
“Good.” Her voice was clipped as she started the Jeep and took off down the street, bumping the lead zombie as she went.
No one spoke. Sarah followed the trail of zombies, knowing she’d find Pete and his crew at the end of the line. She tried not to think about Ryan, how her inaction has caused his death. If only she had agreed to leave, if only she had shot Pete as he stood over their kneeling forms. If only she had shot him the first time she had seen him. If only… She didn’t realize she was crying again.
Mick did. He saw the tears slipping down her face. He knew this would cost her dearly. And it was his fault. He should have told Ryan no. He should have stopped him. Instead, he got him killed. And he damaged the woman he loved. He bit his lip and looked out the window at the passing zombies.
She followed the creatures to one of the side streets that they used for entry and exit. The barricade was nothing more than a pair of box trucks end to end, with the keys left in them. It was easy for them to move when they needed to. Which made it easy for Pete and his buddies to get in when they wanted to.
Sarah turned down the street, dodging most of the zombies, but a few ended up under the wheels. She passed through the now useless barricade, driving about half a mile before coming to a crossroads. She didn’t know which way they went. She realized that her best
chance of finding Pete was to listen. She stopped the Jeep and put it into park.
Mick turned to her. “What are you doing?”
“Listening.” The closest zombie was twenty yards away. She took the chance. She opened the door and stood, one foot still in the vehicle. She heard the diesel to her left. With a grim smile, she got back into the Jeep and cranked the wheel left.
Ten minutes later, they came upon the Chevy on the side of the road. One tire was completely shredded, the wheel warped. There was no sign of Pete or his men. She could only hope they were on foot. Otherwise, they’d never find them. “Are there any cars out this way?” She asked as she drifted the Jeep past the truck.
“Yeah, but we drained the gas and took the batteries.” Mick’s voice was tight.
She glanced over at him. His face was pale, a faint sprinkling of sweat on his brow. “You should have stayed back home.”
“He was my brother.” She heard the grief he was trying to hide.
She reached over and rested her hand on his thigh. “He was my brother, too.” A smile flitted over his face and he covered her small hand with his large one.
They pressed on. They passed bodies on the road, all with damage to the head, fresh gore on the ground. A trio of zombies was gathered around what looked like a pile of clothing. It was not. They were gnawing on the bloodied flesh of one of Pete’s men. They ignored the Jeep as she moved slowly past. A little further was another of Pete’s men, his arm a raw wound, half his head gone. Pete and his gang were on foot and their numbers were dwindling. The smile that came over Sarah’s face was cruel. She welcomed it.
Just over the next ridge, she saw them. There were only two left: Pete and the big guy. She slipped her hand out from under Mick’s and put it on the wheel. Gripping so tight her knuckles whitened, she pressed down on the accelerator.
The Jeep rocketed ahead. She saw them turn to see her bearing down on them. The looks of shocked surprise on their faces filled her with a perverse delight. When they saw she wasn’t stopping, they ran. When they realized they couldn’t outrun her, they scattered. Pete ran into the culvert at the side of the road. The big guy wasn’t quick enough and the right front corner of the Jeep hit him, knocking him head over heels. He landed on the road screaming, his legs twisted at odd angles.
Sarah slammed the gearshift into park and turned the Jeep off. As she opened the door, she pulled her gun from her waistband. It was already in hand as she got out of the Jeep, before the guys even opened their doors. Anguished screams filled the air. One shot and there was silence. “That’s better,” she muttered as she walked to the other side of the road, where Pete cowered. She was vaguely aware of the guys behind her. “Throw out your weapons,” she said, her voice steady, not revealing a hint of the emotions that were rioting inside her.
A pair of pistols landed at her feet. “They’re empty,” Pete said sullenly.
“How were you killing them?” She asked.
Pete reached for a bloodied bat on the dirt next to him. He rolled it across the road. Sarah stopped it with her foot.
“Get up here, on your knees.” Sarah motioned with her gun.
Slowly, his hands in the air, Pete moved from the culvert. He was spattered with mud and blood and other gross substances. His sunglasses were lost. His eyes were a muddy brown, reflecting fear and pain, anger and maybe a little resignation. Dropping to his knees in front of Sarah and her group, he laced his hands behind his head. He winced as the bullet wound in his shoulder flared with pain.
“Familiar with the position, are you?” she asked.
“Just kill me already,” he said defiantly.
Sarah took a breath. “Ryan was the first person to help me when this shit happened. He took care of me until I could take care of myself. He was a good man.”
“Were you fucking him, then?” Pete snarled.
“No. I’m fucking him.” She pointed at Mick. “His brother.”
Pete’s eyes flared and he inhaled sharply. Sarah could taste the fear in the air. God help her, she liked it.
“We don’t have a lot of time, Sarah.” Jack nodded his head to the left.
She turned her head and saw the zombies shambling towards them, drawn by the screams of the big guy. She quit counting at a dozen.
While they were looking at the menace coming up the road, Pete slid his good arm down and dug into the pocket of his loose khakis. He found his switchblade with the tips of his fingers. He just managed to slide it inside his sleeve when Sarah’s eyes came back to him. She caught him with his hand halfway to its previous position on the back of his head. Her eyes narrowed. He knew he had to act now. He would most likely die, but he was going to take her with him. “So, the bitch lets you talk,” he spat, looking at Jack.
Jack pushed forward and backhanded Pete with the gun. The sight ripped a furrow in his brow. He dropped sideways, wiggling his arm, the knife sliding into his hand. He let out a groan to cover the sound of the blade opening.
“Get up,” Mick ordered.
“Wait a minute, man, I’m seeing stars,” he whined. Through the blood dripping from his brow, he saw where she was standing. He took a deep breath, gripping the knife tight then launched himself in her direction.
He hadn’t even made it to his feet before the bullets hit. Both legs, his chest, his stomach. He fell on his back, his outstretched hand still holding the knife, pointed at Sarah’s boot.
The boot that landed on his wrist and pressed down. His hand opened, the knife clattering to the road. She kicked the knife away. She looked down at him, the blood bubbling on his lips as he glared at her. She lowered her weapon. Her face was expressionless as she watched him struggle to breathe. “Let’s get home,” she finally said, sliding the gun back in her waistband.
“W-wait,” Pete wheezed. His eyes darted to the zombies who were only about 20 feet away. “You can’t leave me like this.” His eyes were wide with fear.
“Watch me.” She turned on her heel and walked away from his dying body. His screams for mercy fell on four sets of deaf ears.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Save for Pete’s screams fading behind them as the zombies reached him, the car was silent. Sarah focused on the road ahead. She moved to avoid most of the zombies, her foot steady on the gas. Her eyes flicked to Mick on the seat next to her. He slumped against the window, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. She had to get him back home. Looking back to the road, she dodged a fat creature in a stained and torn dress, swerving back to the center, where it was clear. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Jack was biting his lip, his eyes haunted. Ben met her gaze in the mirror. He nodded once. She put her eyes back on the road.
The zombie stepped from behind the abandoned pickup truck. It was a huge one in jeans and a flannel shirt that could have passed for a tent, nearly a twin to the one in the dress. Sarah hit the brake, but not before the left front of the Jeep sheared it in half. The torso slammed onto the hood then rolled off while the legs ended up under the wheels. The impact was hard enough to force them all forward.
Sarah hit her head on the steering wheel and saw stars. Mick slammed into the dash. He couldn’t stifle the cry of pain. Ben and Jack were pushed into the backs of the front seats. “Everyone OK?” Sarah asked as she leaned back in her seat and took a deep shuddering breath.
The guys in the back answered in the affirmative. Mick groaned as he sat back. Sarah saw fresh blood on his arm. “I’m good,” he rasped.
“Sure you are.” She blinked her eyes, hoping to clear her vision. When she could see again, she turned the wheel and pressed the accelerator. A grinding sound came from the front. “Shit.”
“We’re not going to get very far in this,” Ben said.
She met his gaze in the mirror then looked through the windshield at the zombies moving to surround them. “We have to get as far as we can.” She eased her foot down and the car slowly moved forward. Steering was difficult; she had to fight the wheel to go to the right. Sometime
s, the wheel wouldn’t respond and she hit another creature, each impact making the problem worse. Her palms were covered in sweat. She hoped she could get them back home.
The steering finally quit when they were just outside the entrance to town. Sarah slammed the shifter into park with a muttered curse and turned off the engine. She looked over at Mick, who was staring at her with resignation in his eyes. “I can’t fight my way through them,” he said. He tried to lift his left arm but the slightest motion made him grimace in pain.
“You don’t need to fight.” She turned to look at Jack and Ben. “See if we left any weapons in here.” She leaned over Mick, her head in his lap, and shoved her hand under his seat. When she looked up at him, she could see a slight smile on his pale face. “Perv,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“I love you, Sarah.”
She bit her lip and blinked back tears. “Shutty.” She felt something under the seat. She grabbed it with two fingers and slid it out. She cringed when she saw it was a tire iron.
“There’s a bat back here,” Jack said, holding it up.
“I got nothing,” Ben answered.
Sarah sat up; the tire iron held loosely in her hand. She set it on the console and unconsciously wiped her fingers on her jeans. She checked the windows and mirrors. Still only a few zombies, but they were closing in. “Check your ammo.” She leaned and pulled the gun from her waistband, wincing as the site scraped her skin. She popped the clip and counted. “I got six rounds,” she said, her heart sinking.
“Ten rounds in mine.” Ben looked out the window. They still scared him, but not as much. Ryan had helped him with that.
“I only have five. I grabbed a revolver,” Jack explained.
“I can’t,” Mick said. He handed the gun to Sarah
With a catch in her breath, she took the gun from his hand. She popped the clip. “You have twelve.” She slammed it back home and extended it to him.
