by Lukens, Mark
The Dark Angels had taken Lance, Crystal, and Dale and used them for ransom out here in this parking lot last night. But only those three, not Zak, Tyrone, or Tamara. And not Petra. That meant only three things: either they were saving those four for a future ransom and still had them, or those four were dead, or they had gotten away. Max felt in his heart that at least Petra had survived. He couldn’t explain why he was so sure, maybe it was the same thing as the dreams, but it was an ache that wouldn’t go away.
Petra was alive; he knew it. And he was sure Kate knew it too. Kate had to feel something for Petra by now, but maybe she wasn’t as close to her as he was. He and Petra had spent more time together. They had saved each other’s asses more than a few times, but Max had to admit that Petra had saved him more than he had saved her. And now he owed her. He owed her a lot.
The beginning of a plan had been forming in Max’s mind as he had helped Kate clean up the bodies. He understood if Kate didn’t want to go with him to Jeff’s house; she had Brooke (and Tiger) to look after now. Jo’s duty was the store—her whole world—and she wasn’t going to volunteer anyone to go with him to look for Petra. He would be on his own.
And he would go alone if he had to.
But he needed weapons first. He had his handgun, the one he’d gotten when he and Petra had first met up on the road in Virginia. He had a little ammo left, and he was sure Jo would let him take a few boxes of bullets with him. He was also sure she’d let him take some food and bottles of water. But he still needed more, some other kind of weapon. Something more powerful. And he needed a vehicle. Maybe one of these vehicles in the parking lot.
Fernando drove around to the far side of the fence after Phil moved the box truck out of the way after sliding the gate open.
There was still no warning on the walkies from the spotters on the roof. Everything seemed to be okay so far.
Fernando pulled forward when he got to the corner of the fence where part of the parking lot continued to the edge of the ditch. He shifted into reverse and backed up toward the ditch. He parked and left the pickup’s engine running.
They got out and went to the back of the truck. They dragged the garbage bags out and threw them down into the ditch. They dragged the two tarps to the edge of the open tailgate and carried them to the edge of the ditch. The tarps were folding as they carried them, the contents squishing around inside, blood already dripping from an open corner. Max hoped the tarps weren’t going to rip open. If they did, he’d just drop them and leave them where they were.
They were making too much noise. The rippers across the side street at the partially constructed building were looking their way. The walkie-talkie was still in the truck, but Max didn’t need a report from the store’s roof to know that the rippers were coming—he could hear them.
The tarps never burst open, and they only had the last two garbage bags to go. Max made sure he threw his bag in first and hurried back to the pickup truck. He got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.
Fernando was at the passenger side, eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing?”
“Driving us back. Get in. The rippers are coming. We need to go.”
The suspicion wasn’t hidden on Fernando’s face, but he got into the truck.
Max shifted into drive. He drove forward, but instead of turning toward the chain-link fence, he drove toward the middle of the front parking lot.
“What are you doing?” Fernando asked. He didn’t yell, and there was no panic in his voice; he was just asking a question.
You know what I’m doing.
“We need those guns,” Max said. “The guns the Dark Angels used to kill Lance, Crystal, and Dale with.”
“This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“The Dark Angels will be back eventually. They’ll get those guns. Or the rippers will carry them off. We need to get to them first.”
“The rippers are coming.”
“This is our only chance. Those human burritos we left in the ditch back there will bring rippers around here for the next day or so.”
Fernando didn’t say anything.
“We might not get another chance like this.”
Fernando still didn’t say anything.
Max scanned the parking lot as he drove diagonally across it, swerving out of the way of tipped-over shopping carts and other trash. He drove twenty-five miles an hour, not too fast. He saw the smears of blood in the distance, the scattering of bones, and dried and frozen twists of torn, bloody clothing.
“Fernando, Max, come in,” Lisa said on the walkie-talkie as it crackled with static.
Fernando picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “We’re getting the two guns the Dark Angels left behind.”
Static.
“Is it clear?” Fernando asked into the walkie-talkie.
“So far, but there are rippers heading to the parking lot. They can hear your truck. Probably see it now. They’re on the way.”
Still no panic from Fernando. “How far away?”
“I . . . I don’t know. A few football fields. Some of them are running now.”
“Better hope they don’t run a 4.2 flat,” Max said with a smile.
Fernando didn’t return the smile.
Max got to the bones and bloodstains. He turned the pickup around so that it was facing back toward the Super Bea’s building.
Fernando set the walkie-talkie down as Max put the truck in park.
“I’ll get the guns,” Max said and jumped out. He bolted to the bloody sprays. The blood had washed over the yellow lines that used to mark the parking spaces. He saw one of the M-16s. He stooped down to pick it up. It had a magazine in it, but he knew it was empty because a ripper had picked the gun up and pulled the trigger last night, mowing down his own as he kept his finger on the trigger.
Other magazines? He looked around for them. Maybe they were twisted up among the clothing of the Dark Angels.
He ran over to a few strips of bloody cloth, pulling at the cloth with his dishwashing gloves still on his hands. The bloody cloth was frozen to the pavement and it made a shredding sound as he pulled on it, tearing free from the pavement.
No magazines.
Nothing.
Where was the other M-16? Had one of the rippers taken it? Thrown it somewhere else? Were they using it as a club?
This was stupid—even if he found the other weapon it was probably going to be out of bullets anyway.
Why am I still looking for it?
But he kept running, breathing hard, his exhales fogging up in front of his face, the cold air numbing his exposed skin, the only weapon he’d managed to find so far still in his hands as he ran.
The rippers were coming now, screaming and yelling. They sounded so close. One of the rippers let out a high-pitched scream, something from a slasher movie. The sound seemed so close, and the shrill noise set Max’s teeth on edge.
He was beginning to get the tingly feeling in his brain and stomach that he’d just made a very bad decision, a fatal mistake.
Yet he kept running. He kept looking for the other M-16 and magazines.
And then he heard another sound among the horde of approaching rippers, the sound of the pickup truck’s motor revving . . . driving away.
Fernando was ditching him.
CHAPTER 19
Max
Max didn’t even turn around to watch Fernando drive away. As insane as it was, he kept his eyes on the prize he was after, the other machine gun and any magazines of ammo he could find.
He could use the other M-16 on the rippers if he had to . . . if he could find it, if it had bullets in it. But could he get them all?
The truck’s motor was louder now . . . closer, not driving away. The truck skidded to a stop right in front of him.
“Get in!” Fernando yelled, his head and an arm hanging out the driver’s window. Fernando had backed up the pickup right next to Max, only a few feet away. “We don’t have time!”
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br /> The rippers were closer now, storming the edge of the parking lot, hopping over hedges and parked cars that made up the barricades, running down into the ditches. And there were a lot more behind the first wave. They were coming from several directions at once. But the worst part was that some of them were coming from the edge near the fenced-in area that led to the back of the store. Those rippers were going to head them off before they could get back to the gate.
What have I done?
“Get in!” Fernando roared again.
Max didn’t want to throw the M-16 he had in the bed of the truck even though he was ninety percent sure there were no bullets left in the magazine—absurdly, he didn’t want the rippers to get the gun on their way back to the gate, he didn’t want them to take the prize he’d worked so hard to get, the prize he had risked his (and Fernando’s, without asking his permission) life for. But the reality of his quickly-approaching death was hitting him hard, the reality of the situation he had put himself and Fernando into, and trying to scramble inside the truck with the M-16 might just slow him down enough, wasting the precious seconds they needed to get back to the gate. He threw the assault rifle into the back of the truck where it clattered loudly against the metal bed. He pulled the passenger door open and got into the truck. Fernando was already flooring the gas before Max could get the door all the way shut.
The walkie was crackling with static; Lisa’s panicked voice telling them that the rippers were closing in, to get the hell back right now.
Fernando drove across the parking lot much faster than Max had, the light poles with their bases of concrete whipping by, the shopping carts on their sides like dead animals, the trash strewn across the yellow lines that cars used to park between. Fernando didn’t even go around the raised concrete sidewalks separating parts of the parking areas, he drove right over them, the pickup seeming to float in the air for a moment until it came crashing down on the other side. Max popped up in his seat from the momentum, rapping the top of his head against the ceiling of the truck.
“No time for the box truck,” Fernando yelled into the walkie.
Max hadn’t even seen Fernando grab the walkie-talkie while speeding toward the far corner of the superstore.
“Get ready to close the gate as soon as we’re inside. And hook the batteries back up now.”
For just a second Max was stunned at Fernando’s demeanor, at the way he seemed so calm even though he was barking orders into the walkie. And it wasn’t only that, it was Fernando’s certainty that they were going to make it through the gate, even though the rippers heading toward the gate told a different story. And maybe that positivity was rubbing off on Max because he began to believe that they just might have a chance.
Tina was at the gate with the walkie-talkie in her hand, probably coordinating with the spotters on the roof.
Shots rang down from the roof a moment later, stunning the rippers for just a second.
And maybe that second was all they needed.
They were getting closer to the gate, the pickup’s engine roaring, sounding like it was pushed to its limit, like it was going to explode.
The rippers were getting close, trying to cut them off. A few of them had stopped to chuck rocks and pieces of concrete at their truck.
Max held on to the handle on the truck’s passenger door as Fernando sped toward the open gate, not slowing down yet. Phil wore long rubber gloves, already starting to pull the gate shut. Tina set her walkie down and came up with a gun, aiming at the first of the rippers about to get to the gate.
Fernando was going to have to slow down soon, wasn’t he?
They sped through the opening of the gate as Tina and two of the spotters from the roof fired at the rippers. Max thought he’d not only heard the whine of a bullet whiz right past his open window, but felt the disturbance in the air, maybe only inches away from getting shot.
Fernando stood on the brake pedal, the truck’s tires out-screeching the rippers as the truck slid to a stop. Max felt the truck tipping as it stopped, sure that they were going to flip over and keep rolling right into the fence on the other side of the back area, tearing a giant hole in the chain-link and creating an opening for the rippers to come through, his and Fernando’s bodies trapped inside the crushed, burning wreckage.
But somehow Fernando got control of the truck, and it came to a stop right near the far fence, the engine still running, the smell of burnt rubber hanging in the cold air.
Max turned and saw Phil sliding the gate shut and locking it. Tina fired her gun through the chain-link fence five times, only hitting one ripper, but halting them just long enough so Phil could back away.
The first of the rippers ran into the fence, then were knocked off with a jolt of electricity from the batteries. More were coming, but they were already slowing down, already wary of what they’d seen, knowing the pain they would feel from touching the fence. Other rippers had discovered the two tarps and garbage bags in the ditch not too far away, and others were turning to get their piece of the feast before it was all gone.
Fernando shifted into reverse and backed the truck up to Tina and Phil. They got into the back of the truck. Fernando shifted into drive and sped along the back of the building to the loading bay.
Jo and Kate were at the rollup door with a few others. None of them looked happy about what had just happened.
Fernando parked the truck as Tina and Phil got out. Phil grabbed the M-16 that Max had risked his life for. Max hurried up the ramp to the door, following Fernando inside. A line of rippers had already run down the back of the fence, but they kept well away from it. They yelled and threw rocks over the rolls of barbed wire strung across the top of the fence.
Phil pulled the garage door down, the door rumbling in the metal tracks and then thumping closed. He locked it. The daylight was shut out quickly, leaving only the murky light coming down through the two skylights in the loading bay ceiling. Max’s eyes adjusted quickly—he saw how angry Jo was.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?”
“I was trying to get those guns. We need them. The Dark Angels are going to come back eventually. We needed to get them before they did.”
“We could’ve made a plan to do that.”
“A plan?” Max asked. “The rippers are still out there. They were going to crowd the parking lot like a buffet as soon as we left those pieces of Neal and Jeff out there. They’ll probably be out there for days now, waiting around for food like stray cats. This was our only chance to get the guns.”
Jo seemed like she was going to argue against his reasoning, but she didn’t. The anger was still etched on her face, her pale skin flushed.
Max saw a glimpse of what Jo’s employees had experienced on rare occasions, her anger flaring up, and it was not a pretty sight. But he didn’t back down from her. What was she going to do? Yell at him some more? Kick him out? He was planning on leaving soon, anyway. He’d go alone to look for Petra if he had to.
“You endangered yourself and Fernando,” Jo said, her voice slow and low, like she was doing her best to keep herself from shouting at him. “You endangered Tina and Phil. You endangered one of our last vehicles. You endangered all of us. If Phil hadn’t gotten the gate shut and locked . . . if the rippers had gotten in . . .” Her words died off like she was too angry to even articulate what she wanted to say.
Max didn’t say anything. He stood in front of Jo and took it all, letting her anger soak into him, taking all the blame.
Jo’s expression softened just a little. “We can’t lose you, Max. Or Fernando. Or Tina or Phil. We can’t lose anyone else.”
Max nodded. He felt that there was a double meaning in her words, like she was telling him that he couldn’t go look for Petra because she and the rest of her team couldn’t afford to lose him or anyone else.
“Is that the gun?” Jo asked.
Phil handed the M-16 to Fernando who pulled the magazine out and inspected it. He looked at Jo. “No bull
ets.”
“I didn’t think so,” Jo said. “We watched the rippers shoot the guns last night, playing with them like they were toys.”
“I thought I might find some extra clips on the . . . in the Dark Angels’ clothing,” Max said. “I know it was stupid. I know. I . . . I just wanted to get them before the Dark Angels did, or the rippers carried them off, using them as clubs.”
Jo stared at him like she knew his true intentions, like she knew the true selfishness of his actions; she knew he’d been trying to get the M-16s and the ammo so he could take them with him when he went to look for Petra.
CHAPTER 20
The Dragon
The Dragon left his home on Elm Street. He had two of his most trusted guards with him, Dark Angels who hadn’t needed to take the mark on their foreheads. The brands were for the soldiers, for the expendable. But the expendables were valuable in their own way—everyone here was. Everyone had their own talents and abilities. Some were meant to be soldiers, others were meant to be cooks and servers, others were meant to be builders and laborers. And then there were those meant to be in his elite guard. There weren't many of those, but those were the men and women he trusted the most. And of the elite guard, he trusted Jacob the most of all.
He walked with the guards across the intersection to the next side street, the three of them making their way to the middle of the town, what used to be the town square. In the distance the sound of construction could be heard, heavy machinery strengthening the walls that were in place around this town, made from a mixture of materials: metal, wood, block . . . combinations of all three in some places. It was a temporary wall for now, and it would be rebuilt section by section over time, but right now they just needed a barrier to keep the rippers out, a wall with turrets every so many yards where soldiers watched with guns, firing at any rippers who ventured too close.
And even the permanent walls wouldn’t really be permanent. The Dragon believed a day was coming when the rippers would be wiped out, or diminished so much that they would no longer be a formidable force. They were a pest that would eventually be wiped out, or driven so far back into the wilderness to live in small groups, dying out over time from disease and starvation. When the rippers were no longer a threat, the world could be rebuilt like he wanted it to be, his vision finally realized.
