“Anyway,” Didi continued with a perky grin, “we normally have an isolation period, so you’ll be riding in the back of the truck.”
“It’s got to be thirty out here without wind chill,” Alan said. “We’ll freeze.”
“We’ll get you some blankets and some company.”
“Company?” Alan asked. “What does that mean?”
Didi whispered something to the curly blond Craig next to the thug-looking Isaac. Whatever she said to them had them both looking at her like she was smoking crack. They glanced at Aaron and Asshole, shrugged at each other, and waded through the crowd into the bus.
“For the next three days,” Didi continued, “you’ll remain under constant watch. You won’t have access to our weapons until we’re confident you won’t turn them on us. Once you’ve proven yourselves safe, we’ll ease you into your roles and privileges. Questions?”
Aaron had to ask. “Isaac said we’re going to California. Where at? L.A.?”
“San Clemente,” said an older woman standing by the door to the bus with an almost flirty kind of lisp. She was kind of cute, even if a little wrinkly. “It’s further south along the coast. It should be nice once we’ve cleared it out, unless someone’s already there.”
“Help me!” came from the bus, startling Aaron.
Isaac and Craig wrangled a redheaded girl in green around the crowd. She kept screaming for help as they muscled her through the parking lot. The soft, creamy skin of her fresh face gleamed in the sunlight, but patches of red streaked across those supple cheeks. What were they doing to this pretty young thing?
Alan took a step back with his hands out in front of him. “Whoa, what’s going on here?”
“They kidnapped me,” the girl cried out as she wriggled, trying to get free by kicking herself off a nearby car to no avail. “They’re torturing me. Please, help me!”
Aaron and Alan glanced at each other with the same concerns.
Didi waved off the squirming teenager. “That’s Cynthia. Her gang tried to kill us yesterday.”
“She’s lying,” the skinny redhead belted out. “She’s a zo—”
Isaac slapped his hand over her mouth, growling at her to, “Shut the fuck up!”
Aaron and Alan regarded Cynthia, then noticed everyone staring expectantly at Didi.
The head honchette looked annoyed, but she pasted on another grin. “Oh, just so you know, I’m dead. Everybody ready to go?” she asked everyone cheerfully before she turned on her heels and headed for the Ford F-150, then stopped when that old sweetie flagged her down.
The jailers forced their struggling captive into the truck bed and duct taped the scrawny girl to the cargo bar. Isaac stared her down while Craig went back to the bus with all the other—
Wait, what?
Aaron looked up and down the leather-clad beauty that stared at the cute little granny with grave wonder; the woman who just said she was … dead? Did he hear that right?
Alan looked just as clueless, so no help there.
Isaac opened up the back door of the truck until Aaron stopped him. “Wait.”
The big man yanked his arm free. “Back off, man. Craig’s gettin’ yo’ damn blankets.”
“What did she mean she’s dead?”
Thick-neck grinned like he wanted to laugh. “She a face-muncher, only she don’t munch no mo’ faces. She cool as long as you don’t piss her off. Still wanna come wit’ us?” he added, then slipped into the backseat of the truck.
Alan patted Aaron’s shoulder. “Yeah, bro, they’re looking really good.”
Aaron wanted to smack his brother upside the head, but he had a bigger decision to make. On the one hand, they could trust the open road full of deathtraps and nightmares on the word of a dead woman—however that’s possible—and some dude who said, “she cool.” On the other hand, they could stay and deal with each other—and no women—in a town still full of hungry cadavers—and no women—and see if they can survive dropping temperatures—with no women—living on whatever shelf-stable items might be left lying around—with no women.
Maybe it wasn’t that big a decision. “I get the center.”
CHAPTER 4
INTERRUPTED
Hell truly froze over, Cynthia thought as she shivered beneath the blanket. Even against the cabin window, the passing air cut into her face almost as badly as the exposed hand bound to the load rail. Hugging her legs with her free arm didn’t help, and neither her sneakers nor the rubber lining the truck bed spared her toes from the cold agony. This wasn’t just torture; they were killing her slowly.
Just as bad were the bitching new guys huddling as close to her under their blankets as they could. She wasn’t fond of the uptight black one insisting on sitting next to her, but it was better than the fat white one that kept leering at her between barbs, his hopeful grins making her shudder worse than the cold. After watching them fight over the center seat, she wondered if somehow they had been isolated since childhood.
The so-called twins stopped yelling at each other, but that just brought the lard-ass’ attention back to her. “So, you were in a gang,” he said with a sleazy grin. “That’s kinda hot.”
She rolled her eyes, as did the pervert’s brother.
“Was it a girl gang?”
“Seriously?” the black twin snapped before she could. “She’s a freakin’ kid, you asshole.”
“You gonna turn me over to the cops?”
The black one gave her a diplomatic smile, which beat the perv’s grin hands down. “So, how come that Death Doll doesn’t look like the rest of the dead? What’s her secret?”
Cynthia didn’t want to talk, but she figured it was better to focus on these two idiots than watching all the dead trees and cracked asphalt zoom away, all of it as frosted over as her. “From what I’ve heard, one of the middle managers stuffed her. Without her make-up, she’s all scarred up, and her skin looks like crusty snot. I’ve seen it; it’s gross.”
“How can she talk and think?”
She jerked her head at the cabin. “Ask them.”
The cabin window slapped open, startling them. A pink wool cap poked through, and under it was that smirking corpse. “So, how’s everybody bonding back here?” it asked them.
Curiosity got the better of Cynthia, and the perv’s lamentation of how big the corpse’s tits used to be gave her ammo. “What’s with the hat? You doing breast cancer awareness or something?”
“Funny,” it said, then crawled out of the window and into the bed with them. The twins couldn’t get far enough away from it as it took a seat against the tailgate and sneered at her. “You would say something about that, wouldn’t you?”
Cynthia enjoyed a sliver of satisfaction, but her face was too cold to show it.
“Are you cold or something?” the darkie asked. “I wouldn’t think a corpse would feel it.”
The Death Doll aimed that smirk at him. “My brain does. It’s the only thing I can still feel.” It pulled three Ziploc baggies of beef jerky from its jacket. “Hungry?”
The twins flinched from the proffered snacks. Cynthia just shined her on with, “I can’t reach.”
The corpse tossed them each a baggie. “We’ll get you all more substantial meals at our next stop. Hashim’s got a lot of thawing meat to burn, but it may be a while.”
The perv grabbed his packaged meat and unwrapped it under his blankets, but the skinny twig handled his more skeptically.
Cynthia left hers at the foot of her blanket. “Just kill me already. Stop fucking with me.”
The corpse flinched. “Such language. I wonder where that came from.”
She bristled at the thing’s condescension.
“How come you’re keeping her?” the skinny one asked. “Prisoners, I mean.”
The Death Doll humorously regarded him. “Mercy,” it replied, then glared at her over that damnable grin, “something she desperately needs to learn.”
Cynthia laughed at the dead fool, until
it drew the triplet sister of Kenny's sword and placed the cold blade against her forehead. Every muscle in her body seized.
“Mercy in this world also means a quick death,” the thing stated darkly. “Now, if I were to treat you,” it emphasized with a turn of the blade, “with the same lack of mercy you and yours treated us,” it placed the tip of the blade against her chest, which chilled her core more fiercely than the panic sweats that instantly froze to her back and forehead, “then I would slice out your guts and leave you for my mindless kind. I’d even make sure you live long enough to watch them coming, see them tear you up, feel every bite.”
Her entire body quaked from the image, feeling those agonizing bites already, and she knew this soulless thing would make it happen.
“Or,” it removed the blade and let it rest on its leather-clad shoul-der, “you can accept what I’m trying to teach you. Your choice.”
Despite quivering like field mouse before a jungle cat, Cynthia spit on the gussied-up corpse.
The Death Doll didn't flinch at all, but it swiftly aimed the tip of its sword directly between Cynthia’s eyes, which she shut tightly as she braced herself for the killing blow.
“I guess I’ll get on with your lesson, then,” it replied, which seized her again in terror.
Just hold on, she made herself think. It’ll be over soon.
The whip-fast sound of the sword made her gasp, but all she felt was the biting wind. She slowly opened her eyes.
The Death Doll was messing with the cell phone on its belt, its sword in its sheath.
She almost sighed with relief, but she wasn’t about to let her dead captor see her weakness. Instead, she barked, “What the hell was I supposed to learn there, bitch?”
“Mercy,” the Death Doll stated before talking quietly to the air beside her. How anyone on its comms heard any of it over the howling wind was a mystery.
Cynthia's eyes fell on the jerky left for her. She thought of tossing it away, but she couldn’t let herself starve, not after all the zombies she had killed up close and all the infected blood she had handled over the last couple of years. Defeated yet again, she slowly retrieved her snack.
“Say that again,” the cadaver said with a frown aimed at the rubber floor. “Hold on.” It pushed a SPEAKER button on its phone. “What did you say?”
“—ill burni… stuff they ga … will only bu … couple m … ays.” The sharp voice sounded like that old bag, but Cynthia couldn’t tell for sure.
“What’s with the signal?” the twig asked.
The zombie scrambled up to the cabin window so fast, it scared the hell out of all three of them … but its weapons were suddenly within Cynthia’s reach. “My phone’s cutting out,” it said while Cynthia eyed the nearest pistol. “Ask Gilda what she just said about Cody.”
“Somethin’ about the stuff these guys gave ‘em. It’s cuttin’ out here, too,” that black bastard Isaac replied. The whole time, the perv stared at the zombie’s shiny ass. Gross!
Cynthia carefully reached for the gun, but her hand shivered. She can’t feel it. Do it.
“Then something must be jamming us,” it concluded. “Pull over. We’ll check it out.”
She grabbed the hip gun, but it wouldn’t budge; snapped tightly in place. So far, the corpse didn’t notice.
“Why not just drive through it?” asked that one blond guy in red flannel, Craig.
She flicked at the snap, but her thumb had no strength, too cold to move right.
“Unless it’s someone who needs help. Pull over,” it said, prompting Cynthia to stop and silently curse herself.
The corpse returned to the tailgate as the truck pulled over just beyond an overpass.
The bus stopped behind them, and a second set of brakes screeched somewhere behind that. A sharp hiss startled Cynthia before the bag and the baker stepped off the bus.
The Death Doll hopped off the truck bed and headed right for the old fogies.
“Why are we stopping?” the baker asked.
“And what’s with the static?” the bat asked.
The corpse shrugged. “Someone might be out here somewhere. I’ll have a look.”
“What if you get disrupted, too?” the nurse asked, twirling her finger behind her left ear.
Cynthia wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but it didn’t sound good.
The Death Doll looked down, then nodded. “Any suggestions?”
The baker brought up a digital tablet and poked at it, then pointed northward. “If this is still accurate, that’s North Platte.”
The cadaver pointed at the tablet. “Can that trace signals?”
Cynthia couldn’t hear the answer, the rest of the conversation falling into a shrinking huddle. She wanted to strangle the assholes who spent several minutes prodding their precious iPad while she battled frostbite.
“Need some warmth, honey?” the perv asked as he shifted closer to her like his negative copy wasn’t there.
She scoffed and looked away to check out North Platte. Another fallen town with broken barricades and wrecked police cars among the few decrepit buildings she could see; a local police station, a hotel, and some kind of warehouse, all bloodstained and pocked by gunfire. It wasn’t Little Rock, but a stand was certainly made here.
“Alright, then,” the Death Doll said, grabbing Cynthia’s attention. “Who should we send?”
The fogies stared right at the truck bed. What they said next—which Cynthia would never admit—gave her a small measure of vindication.
*****
I knew this was a bad idea, Alan thought as he crept along the rail ties with his brother. The bat-toting thug and the sword-wielding girl—what was she, fifteen?—crunched rocks under their grimy sneakers with each step like nothing in this rickety train yard could jump out from between all those rusty railcars. Of course, those two were armed to the teeth, so what did they have to worry about?
A low rumble stopped him in his tracks. Distant thunder, and the dark clouds above were thicker than pudding … and the fresh pile of shit he just stepped in. Whatever laid it was probably laughing at him right now. He scraped it off on the rail with a sigh and moved on.
The digital needle on the iPad’s tracking program wagged like a puppy. It was definitely closing in on whatever signals it sought, but he couldn’t help worrying about the source hearing him coming. As much as he loved a good mystery, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of danger he and his idiot brother were getting into with armed strangers.
“How come we’re out here and not that redhead?” Aaron griped, which made Alan want to smack the back of his asshole brother’s head for pushing their luck.
“Cuz we don’t want every damn face-muncher out here to eat us,” Isaac replied quietly, still looking all around. “‘sides, you don’t exactly look like you could keep up wit’ her if she ran.”
“It’s glandular,” Aaron defended, then muttered, “Like you’re one to talk.” He had a point; the muscular thug didn’t exactly have abs of steel. “What about the dead chick?”
The kid glared back at them and hissed, “Will you shut up and look around?”
A noise made everyone jump. The kid raised her sword and scanned the dicey gloom with those tiny brown eyes until the thug rapped her shoulder and aimed his pointy bat at a black rail car ahead of them. Another sound, like a faint beep.
The needle on the tablet danced like a rabid baseball fan when Alan aimed it at a small radar dish mounted on a railcar a few tracks down. He pointed it out.
Rachelle headed for it until Isaac stopped her and pointed out a long mound of earth and rock snaking from that radar car to the black one. She nodded and both stepped over it.
Maybe a trap or alarm, Alan thought, which means someone is or was here. He also noticed a few cables running from the mound into a hole in the black car. He sought out any other disturbed earth that might indicate more traps.
Another faint beep brought the armed escorts back the bl
ack rail car. They closed in on its huge sliding door, which was coated with so much rust it looked ready to fall off.
Isaac waved Alan toward the car like some kind of soldier.
Alan seriously considered running away, but he slowly advanced and ran the device up and down the door. The needle didn’t move any more or less than a moment ago, but it certainly lessoned when he aimed it any other direction. He checked the door seams for any kind of tampering. As far as he could tell, the door was clear, so he backed off and waved the big man on. Let the two who were armed have the honors.
Isaac pulled a pistol from his belt, yanked the door open—which screeched with agonizing volume—and aimed both of his weapons inside the car, as did Rachelle. Then they just gawked.
A skinny guy with a deep tan snored away at a computer desk with a large laptop and six monitors, each displaying different things Alan couldn’t wrap his head around to save his life.
“What the,” Isaac muttered.
The computer beeped. Mystery solved. Alan gladly gave Isaac the tablet back. The big man didn’t seem to appreciate it.
Rachelle slowly approached the skinny guy—whose thick black brows and downturned nose made him look like an Arab—and lightly poked him with the tip of her sword.
Skinny woke with a start, nearly falling out of his chair. He stood and rubbed his eyes before flinching at the weapons aimed at him. He quickly threw his hands in the air, but he frowned at everyone like he was either confused or disappointed. “You don’t look like Feds,” he said with no real accent. “Who are you guys?”
“The Death Squad, as far as you’re concerned, motherfucker,” Isaac barked as he jerked his gun up. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Nick Quresh,” the Arab proudly said as he put his hands down like there was no danger.
Rachelle looked up and down the scrawny oddball, then identified everyone, even if not all correctly; Alan had to clarify which twin was which. Then she pointed at the computer stuff. “What’s that all about?”
Nick sat down before his monitors and started typing. “Feds out there talking to each other from their undisclosed—” Another beep made his eyes bug out. “Get in! Quick!”
Exodus Page 4
