Even with the stab wound, the man was still determined to try and get at him. He knew these humans were able to die but Al wondered if they processed the implications of death and its permanency like they had before the madness ate their brains. He believed it far more likely that with the rotting of these people's brain, and their turn to cannibalism, these humans had stopped processing the end of their life in the same way. Perhaps pain didn't even register the same way to these people anymore.
Al turned his head to the side in an attempt to avoid the hands and fingers trying to tear into his flesh. A grunt escaped him when a fist connected with the right side of his face and knocked his head to the side. He turned his head further away from the man as his fingers clawed at his skin. Blood spilled down his face from the fingernails raking at the flesh of his cheeks.
The man above him released a small mewl. Al twisted the knife harshly to the side and drove it further upward. He could feel flesh rending as the knife shifted; feel the blade scraping across rib bone. More blood poured forth to coat his hands and clothes. Revulsion slid through his stomach, he fought back vomit as the nearly lipless mouth above him skimmed back to reveal the gaps in the man's rotting teeth. A black tongue slithered out, it didn't actually slither but images of snakes was all that filled his mind as that tongue flickered at him.
Donald appeared behind him; he lifted a large tree branch and swung it forcefully down. The arc of the branch caught the twisted man above him under the chin and flung him off of Al. He inhaled a deep breath as the loss of the bodyweight allowed him to finally drag in a ragged breath. The man who had attacked him had been being quiet, probably so he wouldn't have to share his meal with the others in the woods, but now he began to make a low squealing noise that sounded even worse to Al than nails scratching down a chalkboard.
Al rolled to his side; Donald stalked across the clearing and deftly slid his knife across the man's throat, finally silencing him. Al looked away from the thrashing body and turned toward where he'd last seen Mary Ellen. She leaned against a tree with her hands on her knees, heaving in gulps of air.
"Are you ok?" she demanded of him.
"I'm fine," he assured her. She rose and gestured toward the blood covering him. Al barely glanced at it but he could feel it sticking against his skin. "It's his. What of you?"
She shook her head and glanced down at herself. Her shirt was torn at the neckline and scratches marred her collarbone but she was otherwise unharmed. "All good."
He didn't bother to brush the dirt off of him but he did take the time to pull his ruined shirt off and drop it on the ground. There was still blood on his chest but it wasn't as much. Brushing the blood away from the scratches on his face, he poked at the tender flesh. The gouges weren't deep but blood continued to trickle from them.
He retrieved his gun from the forest floor before walking over to the body slumped against the tree. He didn't want to take his knife back but it would be extremely foolish of him to leave behind a weapon that he would need again. Over the years he'd considered himself many things, foolish had never been one of them.
Resigning himself to what must be done he bent down, grabbed hold of the handle, and wrenched it from where it was buried deep in the man's rotten flesh. He wiped the bloody blade off on the pine needles beneath him and kept it in hand as they hurried through the forest again.
"Why haven't we heard screams?" Mary Ellen inquired. "Or shouts from the camp?"
Al didn't have any answers for her as his gaze ran continuously over the forest surrounding them. His glasses had been scratched in the fight but he could still see well enough to be able to spot it if another one came at them. His gaze searched the tops of the trees; he was propelled more rapidly forward by the driving impulse to get to the camp.
If those two had already been in the woods, then there could be even more than the original group they'd seen. He broke into a jog behind Donald. They made it to a place off the right hand corner of the cabin but the building was still hidden from view.
Caution caused him to slow again as they walked briskly past one of the hunting stands he'd pointed out on the first day they'd arrived here. Though he'd known where they were, Donald still cautioned them about the newly dug traps that he'd completed with the others this morning. Had that really been just this morning? Al contemplated in disbelief. Both traps remained completely covered by the debris and untouched, no one had come through this way before them.
Glancing at the sky and the setting sun he wondered if maybe Carl and the others had arrived back at the camp already. It was getting late in the day, if everything had gone well they should be returning around now. They had just made it to the fishing line and alarms strung around the perimeter when the first line began to vibrate like a plucked guitar string. He heard the distant rattle of a can but the trigger point of the alarm was nowhere near where they were.
He grabbed Mary Ellen when she went to run forward. "Careful," he instructed.
"They just set off the alarms; the others know they're coming," Mary Ellen hissed at him.
"And if we set off the alarms in this area the sick ones will know there's someone else over here, and so will the members of our camp. Except the people at camp won't know we're friendly." Mary Ellen bit on her bottom lip, her face reddened in frustration. "We'll get there but we have to get there as undetected as possible."
She nodded and the three of them carefully made their way past the two lines. As soon as they were free of the lines, they broke into a brisk jog toward the camp. They'd only made it fifteen feet when the first shout pierced the air. It was followed almost instantly by a gunshot that reverberated through the mountains.
Al prayed they weren't too late as he ran toward the lake and front of the cabin. They'd had to be careful on their approach to the cabin but had he been too cautious? If someone died he knew it would be because of his hesitation, but there was always a price to pay in war, he just didn't think he could live with that price being one of the children.
CHAPTER 24
Xander,
One of the men standing across from them could have been the real life version of Yosemite Sam. In fact, he looked so much like the cartoon character that for a minute Xander had the disconcerting notion he had traveled to some kind of cartoon land or that he had stepped into the world of Who Framed Roger Rabbit. He half-expected Roger to come around the back of the truck and whistle as he sauntered past the guys.
Xander couldn't tear his eyes away from the bushy red handlebar mustache that hung down to the shoulders of the man's shirt. His caterpillar eyebrows, that had been a unibrow probably since this guy was born, were the same vibrant red as Yosemite Sam's too. He wasn't wearing a cowboy hat but the beat up trucker cap he wore was shoved low over his forehead. The man was short in stature and his belly rolled over top of the belt fighting to hold up his jeans. Even the red flannel shirt and jeans he had on looked like something the cartoon character would have worn.
The trucker hat and the strands of gray in his hair were the only things about him that weren't like the cartoon. Xander half wondered if his name might even be Sam. No matter what his name was Xander knew if they made it out of this alive, the guy would forever be Yosemite to him. Unfortunately, Yosemite had a rifle leveled dead center at his chest and he most certainly wasn't a cartoon no matter how much Xander wished he was.
The other guy had his rifle aimed at Carl. He was taller than Yosemite and had graying brown hair. His face had more lines etched into it and was deeply tanned from his time spent outdoors. He was a lot thinner than Yosemite too and had the bulbous, slightly purple nose of someone who had spent too much of their time in a bottle over the years. A toothpick hung out of the corner of his mouth, he spun it around with his tongue to reveal the chewed side of the pick. A leering smile curved the corner of his mouth as his gaze ran over all of them.
"Well look at what we have here," Toothpick said. He kept his rifle trained on them as he leaned around to peer i
nto the back of the truck. "Seems like you've got a fair amount of supplies for just the four of you."
Xander forced himself not to look toward the woods where Riley had gone. He would do everything in his power to make sure they never knew she was out there. "You're not from around here," Yosemite said, his eyes on Carl's battered Red Sox hat.
"No," Carl answered.
"Where ya from?" Yosemite inquired.
Xander had to fight the urge to tell him they were from Mars, but he bit his tongue as Carl continued to speak with the man. "Massachusetts."
"You know what they call people from Mass right?" Toothpick asked.
"No, what do they call them?" Carl inquired.
"Massholes. You don't act like Massholes do you?"
Xander shifted nervously. The men were talking with them but there was a malicious gleam in their eyes. One that reminded him of a cat with its paw on the mouse's tail as it joyfully watched the mouse continue to try and run away. He didn't like the idea of being that mouse but he had a feeling they all were.
"We don't," Carl answered.
Toothpick's mouth curved into a smile, he kept the rifle leveled on Carl with one hand as he pulled the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it aside. He lifted out a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his shirt and shook a cigarette free. He lit it before putting both hands on the gun again and taking a step closer.
"So you won't mind if we take some of your supplies then," Toothpick said.
Xander's teeth clenched, his hand twitched toward the gun that he'd tucked into his waistband. He didn't dare make a move toward it as Yosemite looked like he might be as trigger happy as his cartoon counterpart. The corners of Yosemite's mouth turned up in a smug smile, he wrapped his finger around the trigger. Xander wanted to look toward the woods, to make sure that Riley wasn't going to stumble across them, but he didn't dare risk tipping them off to her.
"Take what you need," Carl grated from between his clenched teeth.
Fury slid through Xander, beside him John's arm jerked toward his gun but he went still again. Toothpick leaned over and peered into the back of the truck once more. "Lot of stuff in there," he murmured. "We wouldn't be able to carry much with us."
The cat had moved from keeping its paw on their tails to smacking them around in order to tenderize them in preparation of turning them into lunch. He could almost feel the cat's jaws leaning over him; see the gleaming points of its lethal canines. He glanced at Carl, his jaw was locked, and there was fire in his eyes as his nostrils flared.
"The car runs well," Carl grated out.
Xander thought Carl's teeth might actually break as he fought to keep hold of his temper. John's face was turning red but Josh remained oddly pale on Xander's other side. Josh's eyes were beginning to droop and it looked like it was taking everything he had to stay on his feet as he swayed back and forth.
"That little thing, come on, what could we fit in there?" Toothpick pulled his cigarette from his mouth and dropped it on the ground. "That's not very hospitable of you. I mean you are in our town. We're allowing you to stay here after all."
"Kind of a Masshole move in all honesty," Yosemite goaded.
Xander's hand fisted, he was trying to figure out if he could get to his gun before receiving a bullet in the chest, but he doubted it. He had a feeling these guys were a lot more capable of using those weapons than he was.
"I suppose you want the truck," Carl said.
"It looks like a much more stable vehicle than the car," Toothpick said.
"You have no idea what we went through to get those supplies, or to keep this truck through all of this," John said.
"John," Carl said in a cautioning tone.
Xander grabbed hold of Josh's arm as he took an unsteady step forward and almost fell on the ground. "Watch it," Yosemite snarled and swung the rifle toward Josh.
"He's injured," Xander spat back. "He's not a threat to you."
Yosemite's eyes narrowed on him but Xander relentlessly held his gaze. They were most likely going to have to give up everything they'd just fought so hard for, and could end up still losing Josh and John over, but he wasn't going to cower in front of these men. He refused to beg them for anything.
"I'm not sure I like their attitudes," Toothpick said.
"I definitely don't," Yosemite agreed.
"Well you wouldn't be overly friendly either if someone had a gun on you. That's not very hospitable of you," Josh muttered.
Xander squeezed his arm in warning as Josh swayed on his feet again. Yosemite and Toothpick both stared at Josh before Toothpick turned back to Carl. "I think we'll be taking the car and the truck."
Xander's head shot up, John took an abrupt step forward but Carl's arm shot out to slap him across the middle of his chest and hold him back. "We're not looking for any trouble," Carl said. "You can take the truck and the supplies but you can't leave us out here with nothing. You'll be signing our death certificates."
"Not my problem, Boston," Toothpick replied. "Now give us the keys."
"Fuc…" John started.
"Shut up," Carl said in a low hiss.
"I'd listen to your dad, kid," Toothpick said.
Xander glanced toward the car but there was nothing in there that could help them get out of this situation. "Keys!" Yosemite barked.
"Just leave us the car and you can…"
Before Carl could finish his sentence Yosemite pulled the trigger. Xander jumped and took a couple of awkward steps back as the sound of gunfire echoed over the open land. His hands flew up to his chest to search for the bullet that had just been discharged, but even as he was expecting to find himself bloody and torn apart, he recalled the fact that the rifle hadn't been aimed at him anymore. His mind dully registered the fact that blood now covered his left side and Josh no longer stood beside him.
The ringing in his ears seemed abnormally loud considering he hadn't been that close to the gun. He felt as if he was trapped in a swamp and a thousand flies were buzzing around his head as he stood there. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion as he finally turned toward where the teen had been just seconds before.
Bile surged up his throat at the scene that greeted him. Josh was sprawled on his back on the ground, the right side of his head gone from the bullet that had obliterated his skull. The brains and blood splattered across the lush green grass was surreal on a day where the sun was shining and the sky was once again blue. Josh's one remaining eye was focused upon the sky, his hand continued to twitch but Xander knew he didn't see the world around them anymore.
Anger and grief slid through him as he stared at the broken body before him. He'd found Josh, trapped in that school, and they had gotten him this far only to have him gunned down for absolutely no reason. In that moment he'd never wanted to kill anyone more than he wanted to kill the man across from him as he spun back toward Yosemite.
"Why did you do that!" he snarled.
"I did you a favor, he was half dead anyway," Yosemite replied with a shrug.
He'd heard the saying seeing red before but he'd never actually experienced the phenomena until his vision became blurred by a reddish haze. "He was just a kid!"
"And now he's not."
The flippant disregard for Josh's life pushed him even closer to an edge he hadn't even realized he'd been walking. "Grab him John!" Carl commanded gruffly.
John grabbed hold of Xander's arm and tried to tug him back. Xander went to shrug him off but another gunshot rang out, making all of them recoil, but this time it was Yosemite that howled in pain. Yosemite tried to jump forward but he only fell backward. He grabbed at his thigh and continued to scream as blood poured out from between his fingers.
Toothpick still had his gun focused on them but he was staring down at his friend with his mouth hanging open. When his eyes came back toward them, confusion rolled through his gaze as he took in their still unarmed status. A determined look came over his face; he placed his eye against the scope of the rifle
.
Before he could pull the trigger, another shot rang out. Toothpick's head snapped forward, blood exploded out of his forehead. His finger convulsed on the trigger as he fell toward them. The shot he fired slammed into the passenger side door of the truck just inches away from Carl. It left a large dent around the bullet that had probably pierced through to the other side. Carl threw his hands instinctively over his head and jumped away from the truck.
Yosemite started screaming in rage, he had gathered his wits enough to lift his rifle again. Xander dove to the side as Yosemite released a shot that slammed into the ground a foot in front of him. Grass and dirt sprayed up and plastered him in the face before he was able to tumble in front of the car.
Another shot sounded from the woods and hit the ground a few feet away from Yosemite. Trapped, Yosemite turned toward the woods and fired back at the trees. Xander tugged his gun free as Riley's next shot hit the back of the car with a rattling ting.
"Xander, don't shoot!" Carl shouted at him from where he and John had managed to find cover in front of the truck.
"Riley…"
"You could end up hitting her! Until we know where she is, don't shoot!"
Frustration filled him, his finger tightened on the trigger. Carl moved around John to take a better position at the front of the truck. Riley's next shot hit Yosemite in the shoulder; he lost his grasp on his rifle as he was knocked onto the ground. Xander finally spotted Riley as she rose up from where she'd taken shelter behind a fallen tree.
Xander stepped away from the front of the car at the same time that Carl stood. Riley emerged from the woods as he, John, and Carl reached where Yosemite was lying on the ground. Yosemite's good hand clutched his shoulder as he rolled on the ground. There were tears in his eyes but Xander felt no sympathy for him as he stared pleadingly up at them.
"How's that for hospitality?" John inquired. Yosemite remained silent as he glowered up at them. "What do we do with him?"
The Upheaval Page 23
