Why the hell had he picked me?
Once I was covered in leather, I headed out of the office. Already my skin was slick under the clothes and the sun was barely up. In the distance, an orange glow had begun to spread across the sky. Soon, it would light everything up, bringing with it a heat so intense that it would take my breath away and cover every inch of my body with sweat.
I found my boss by the truck. At his side stood three men dressed in leather, all of them towering over me. The expressions on the men’s faces told me that they didn’t understand what the hell was going on any more than I did.
The boss waved at me impatiently. “Let’s go! You move that slow out there and you’re going to be zombie chow.” Something flashed in his eyes that made me slow instead of walk faster. Almost like me becoming zombie chow was exactly what he had in mind.
“Shit,” the guy in front of him muttered as he turned and headed for the truck. “You put her in charge and we might as well kiss our asses goodbye.”
I moved faster even though inside my chest, my heart was beating to a rhythm that reminded me of the background music to a horror movie Jackson and I had watched last month. Something wasn’t right here.
“Why are you sending me out?” I asked when I stopped in front of Hanson.
He scratched his stomach while his eyes focused on a spot just above my head. “Always do. You’re new, but you gotta get your feet wet sometime.”
He had a bad poker face and he knew it. Funny thing was, he didn’t seem to give a shit. I couldn’t question him without getting canned, and we both knew I needed this job. Which put me in a damned if I do, damned if I don’t kind of situation.
I wanted to argue, but my head told me to keep my mouth shut. This man wasn’t interested in what I had to say.
When I turned away, I found the rest of my crew waiting at the truck. None of them looked very thrilled about what we were about to do.
“Who did you piss off?” the guy in the driver’s seat asked when I slid in next to him.
He was probably close to thirty, which meant he had been around ten when the virus hit and most likely had memories of the world as it was before. Even though every now and then I found myself longing for the past, most of the time I was glad I didn’t really know what I was missing.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
In the second row, the other two guys stared at me, the same question swimming in their eyes.
“You obviously pissed somebody off or you wouldn’t be here.” The driver lifted his eyebrows as he reached for the key already dangling from the ignition. He turned it, and when the engine roared to life, my stomach dropped. “My suggestion: figure out who it was and be sure you kiss their ass from now on unless you want to end up dead.”
Ice coated my body inside and out. “What do you mean?” I repeated. I should have been able to come up with something—anything—else to say, but I couldn’t. My brain wouldn’t focus on anything long enough to form another sentence.
All three of my crewmembers looked at me like I was nuts.
“He means,” the guy behind me said. His eyes were small and beady in his thin face, but they got even tinier when he narrowed them on me. “When they want to get rid of someone, there’s only one way. Zombies are the way. It’s always zombies.”
I exhaled and sat back when the implications of what he was saying slammed into me. Someone was trying to kill me. It was the thought that had been nagging at the back of my mind since Hanson told me to grab leather, but one I couldn’t really get a grasp on. It was ridiculous. I was nobody, and there was no reason—at least as far as I knew—to take me out. I was so insignificant that I could barely pay my rent. Really, the only thing I’d ever had going for me in this life was my last name, and that only got me so far. Usually the attention it gave me was awkward at best.
I was in the middle of mentally listing all the ways that I was nobody when the terrified expression in Al’s eyes came screaming back. A sudden shiver ran down my spine, shaking my body so much that the driver shot me a worried look as he slowed in front of the gate.
The note. This couldn’t be about the note, could it? No. That was nuts. A crazy old man had slipped it to me in the street. For all I knew, he was a member of The Church and he thought he was fulfilling some kind of prophecy. I hadn’t listened to many of their teachings, but now that Dad had disappeared, I had no doubt in my mind that a carving of him would eventually pop up next to the one of Angus. They probably thought it was some sign of the end of times or the second coming of my uncle. Who really knew what those nut jobs were thinking? Not me.
Still… The note was the only thing I could think of that might be connected to this. Jackson and I had argued last night, but we were friends. He wouldn’t let something happen to me just because of one little fight. He wasn’t his father.
I was gnawing on my lip as we drove through the gate, leaving the safety of the walls behind us. The outside had fascinated me for so long that even though fear had taken root in my stomach, I found myself leaning forward to get a better look. Up close, the houses were even more run-down than I’d thought. The ones closest to the wall had been picked apart, and what was left looked more like the skeleton of a house than an actual building. Windows and doors had been removed, and siding pulled off. Basically anything people could use to make the living conditions in New Atlanta better had been stripped away years ago. Inside these homes, I doubted there was a single piece of furniture left—and probably not many walls either.
The truck bounced down the road, the tires dipping into potholes and cracks left behind by years of weather and neglect. Weeds taller than me had sprung up in the middle of the street, and even a few trees, meaning we were constantly having to swerve to avoid them. My stomach rolled with every turn of the truck, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the movement or what I was about to face.
“What do we do out here?” I asked as the driver slowed so he could squeeze between a rusted out car and a tree.
“There’s a weak spot in the wall, so we have to fix it.” The driver looked my way and shook his head. “You know you’re not taking point on this, right?”
The laugh I let out was so high-pitched I sounded like a boy on the brink of puberty. “Don’t worry about that. I have no interest in getting us all killed.”
“You can take orders?” the driver asked.
“Like the best of them.”
All three men nodded.
When we pulled to a stop, my already uneasy stomach turned inside out. My moist skin heated up, making the leather cling to me. It squeaked with every move I made.
The guy behind me tapped on my shoulder and I turned to find him holding out a gun. His beady little eyes made me uneasy. “You can shoot, can’t you?”
“Of course.” I felt more secure the second my fingers were wrapped around the weapon. “My aunt is the Judicial Officer.”
Three pairs of eyes snapped my way.
“What?” The driver blinked at least ten times.
“The JO. Parvarti.” They just stared at me. Maybe they weren’t making the connection. It wasn’t like we held any kind family resemblance. “She’s not my real aunt. She was out there with my parents before they came to New Atlanta. Months on the road made them a family, so she’s like an aunt.”
The silence that followed was loaded and thick, and yet another shudder shook my body. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of my face while I waited for someone to say something.
“Who are you?” the driver finally asked.
“Megan James.” My name came out as a whisper, but it was loud enough to make my heart beat faster.
“Shit.” The blond guy in the back hadn’t spoken this entire time, but when he swore, it drew my attention his way. He didn’t say anything else, though. He just shook his head.
“Axl James was your father?” the driver asked.
“Yeah.” I looked back and forth between the three men, but they all looked away
. “What?”
“Nothing.” The driver turned and shoved the door open. “We have work to do.”
They were hiding something from me. Just like Al had been yesterday when I showed him that note. But what? What did these people, and my Uncle, know about my Dad that they weren’t sharing?
I pushed the questions aside as I stepped out of the truck. Later. I’d ask later. Now, though, I needed to focus on what we were doing so my boss didn’t get his wish: Me ending up a zombie snack.
“You can cover us while we work?” the driver called as he lowered the tailgate and started pulling supplies out.
“Yeah.”
I put my back to them and tightened my grip on the gun. The wind blew, but it wasn’t refreshing. It was thick and humid and hotter than a damn oven. Thankfully, though, it wasn’t laced with the scent of death.
The three men got to work while I kept watch. I was so focused on my surroundings that I barely registered what was going on behind me until the sound of a blowtorch cut through the silence. I looked over my shoulder long enough to see the two guys who had been sitting in the back holding a sheet of metal against the wall while the driver used the blowtorch to secure it.
I was still watching them when the sound of another engine made me spin around. My gun was already up and only a couple seconds later, a truck came into view. I moved my finger to the trigger, but didn’t fire. It was probably just another crew or a group of zombie hunters. Maybe even runners who were on their way to another settlement. Still, being prepared was the smart thing to do. It wasn’t common for marauders from unsanctioned areas to attack Atlanta, but it also wasn’t unheard of. They never got inside the city, but taking out a crew or two so they could snatch their supplies would be enough for them. Although, the runners were the ones who usually had to worry about stuff like that. That’s what had happened to Colton.
The truck slowed to a stop in front of me, and the doors flew open. Two men who looked slightly familiar stepped out, but it wasn’t until Donaghy got out of the truck behind them that I realized who they were. Dragon’s cronies. The ones who cleaned the ring up at the end of the night. All three of the men were decked out in leather, just like my crew and I were.
I lowered my gun when thoughts of last couple nights in the bar slammed into me. The fighter was the last person I expected to see right now.
“Any dead around here?” The younger of the two men yelled. “Need to grab a few for tonight’s fight.”
Donaghy crossed his arms and leaned against the truck. He hadn’t looked my way, so I wasn’t sure if he even realized I was here. Or if he’d care. He looked bored. Bored and annoyed at being out here so early.
“Not yet,” I called.
Donaghy’s head jerked my way just as a moan broke through the silence. His eyes meet mine, sending a tingle of excitement shooting through me, and he shoved himself off the truck.
He looked around before taking a step closer to me. “What are you doing out here?”
“Maintenance.” I nodded to the wall at my back where the rest of my crew was still working to patch the weak spot.
Donaghy’s gaze flitted their way, but it was brief. When he was once again focused on me, his expression was intense. Searching. Like he had a million questions going through his head at once and he couldn’t grasp hold of even one.
A strangled moan cut the hold he had on me in half, and I raised my gun as I turned in a circle, slowly. Scanning the area as I went. There was nothing at first, though. Not even when a second moan broke out, or when more followed and goose bumps popped up on every inch of my skin.
“Incoming!” I called, still scanning the area.
My eyes were straight ahead as I blocked out every thought that didn’t have to do with survival, pretending I was back on the practice range. How many times had Mom or Dad taken me there when I was growing up? Too many to count, that was for sure. The shooting range was the only place inside the walls where normal citizens could legally get their hands on a gun. Mom and Dad had made sure I was prepared in case the unthinkable happened. As soon as I was able to lift a gun, they had me there. Learning to defend myself against the dead. Getting in target practice with every weapon they could get their hands on. I’d never set foot outside the walls until now, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know what I was doing.
“We’re almost done!” one of my guys called from behind me.
I didn’t bother looking to see which one.
“You got this?” Donaghy’s voice was as serious as a heart attack.
“Survivors raised me and they made sure I was one too.”
Thank God.
The first wave rounded the corner only a few seconds later. Six zombies, all so rotten and old that it looked like they were struggling just to lift their feet. There would be more, though, and we all knew it. These things ran in packs now—or shambled in packs, anyway. It was the only way they’d been able to survive this long. If we only came across one or two at a time, we’d be able to take them out without a problem. But twenty? Fifty? A hundred? Numbers like that were a lot harder to control.
I took aim, exhaling to ease the tension in my shoulders. When I squeezed the trigger, a gunshot echoed through the silence like a crack of thunder. A split second later, the zombie closest to us went down.
“Nice!” Donaghy called.
“Stop shooting.” One of the men with Donaghy muttered as he grabbed a pole out of the back of the truck. A loop of rope hung from the end of it. “Son of a bitch. Dragon’s going to kick our asses if we don’t bring a few back.”
“Fine.” I glanced toward my crew. The guy with the blowtorch—I needed to learn their names—was almost done welding the metal sheet to the wall. “I’ll cover you!” I called as Donaghy’s guards jogged toward the advancing zombies.
The fighter looked like he wasn’t sure what to do as he glanced back and forth between the zombies and me. We’d only known each other for two days—and I wasn’t even sure I could say we knew each other—but I’d never once seen him look uncertain. Even going into the ring with the dead he looked almost bored.
“I’ll be fine.” I nodded once and tightened my grip on the gun.
Donaghy shook his head but jogged toward the advancing dead with the other two men anyway.
I stood ready, aiming at the nearest zombie as the three men approached it. The thing gnashed his teeth, but he was moving so slowly that it only took the driver thirty seconds to slip the loop over the creature’s head. Once he was secure, they dragged him toward the truck. Donaghy didn’t follow and his eyes were still on the dead headed his way.
When he stepped forward, I squeezed the gun so hard that my fingers ached. The urge to shoot nearly crushed me.
Donaghy ducked behind one of the dead and wrapped his arms around the thing’s torso, pinning his decaying limbs to his sides. The zombie growled and snarled and twisted his head, trying to get at Donaghy, but he couldn’t. Once the fighter was sure he had him, he dragged the dead man toward the truck.
“Shit boy,” the older of the two men said. “We got a pole for that.”
“I can handle it.” The leather covering Donaghy’s body bulged as his muscles flexed under the zombie’s struggles. “And the sooner we have these bastards, the sooner we can get out of here.”
The two men shook their heads, but helped Donaghy drag the zombie to the truck where he was chained in the back next to the first one. The creatures fought and struggled, and the chains holding them down clanged against the truck bed, but they didn’t make any progress.
“Dragon wants at least two more,” the older man called.
Together the three men jogged back. Just as they’d reached the remaining three zombies, another group rounded the corner. This one was at least four times bigger.
“More!” I called.
This time, I didn’t hold back. I squeezed the trigger and the gunshot rang in my ears as a zombie dropped to the ground. Donaghy and his guards managed to wrang
le two more of the dead and were just dragging them back toward the truck when another wave rounded the corner, bringing at least twenty more zombies into view.
Shit. If we didn’t get out of here now, we were going to be in real trouble.
“You almost done?” I called before firing again.
My gaze moved to where Donaghy and the other two men were working to get the last of the four zombies into the truck bed. This one seemed to be newer—and a lot faster. Donaghy’s face was bright red as he worked to keep the thing in his grasp.
“Almost!” one of my crew yelled from behind me. I didn’t bother looking back to see who.
I fired again and again, barely pausing between shots. When my gun clicked, I released the empty magazine, then slammed a new one in place before firing again.
The zombies in front of me fell, but I knew I didn’t have enough bullets to take them all out. I backed away, keeping the dead in my sights as I headed for my truck.
I’d only taken two steps when a scuffle to my right drew my attention, and I looked over to find the younger of the two men struggling to control the zombie. The other man stood off to the side like he wasn’t sure what to do, but Donaghy pulled himself into the back of the truck. The younger man backed up, trying to dodge the zombie’s jaws, but all he managed to do was back right into one of the dead men chained up inside the truck bed.
The zombie’s hand wrapped around his leg and the man tried to jerk free. He fell to the floor, twisting his body to the left while the zombie attempted to pull him closer. His pant leg slid up, exposing the skin at his ankle, and the zombie saw his chance. It leaned forward, mouth wide open, and a second later the creature’s decaying teeth sank into flesh. The scream that ripped its way out of the man echoed through my head.
“Son of a bitch!” Donaghy said as he grabbed the zombie that wasn’t chained up and slammed it against the ground.
Metal clinked and a few seconds later the fighter was back on his feet. He grabbed the newly infected man, who was huddled on the floor of the truck bed trying to stop the blood from seeping out of the bite, and dragged him from the truck.
Twisted World Series Box Set | Books 1-3 & Novella Page 14
