Refusing to look into the dead woman's soggy, milky eyes--the gnarled and purple blue bite mark on her neck, the flies that festered around her nose and eyes and ears, Polk retrieved the keys from her jean pocket and started the engine. Shifting, she pulled out of the driveway and into the main road of Shoreacres.
It had been a while since the last time she had been out this way, if you could count four weeks as a long time. More and more cars sat abandoned. But the traffic was not yet completely dead. Survivors drove recklessly, uncaring for the speed limits or traffic lights, those still functioning.
"How quickly it all falls apart," she said to no one but herself.
Crossing highway 146 onto Choat Road, she wondered what would become of the refiners, there were a few dozen of them, each a city of pipe and catwalk, completely dependent on the supervision of human intervention. She'd heard somewhere that if people weren't around to release the pressure, the plants would eventually erupt and burn nonstop for months. Given that and the risk of hurricanes, Polk wondered if she and Karen ought to leave, head north or somewhere else far away from all this, somewhere safe.
She turned right onto Bay Area, passing more of the city refineries, some billowing white smoke from large box looking heat exchangers. Flames shot from one of the pressure release pipes like a giant blow torch.
Polk accelerated, giving more credence to her future plans of escape.
A few miles down the road, she paused at the intersection of Bay Area and Fairmount and took a left, dodging a few cars abandoned on the side of the road. One of the cars, a Ford, had blood smeared across the driver side window, the door was ajar.
Steering with her knee, she lifted Taj's student ID, staring at his light brown face before turning the card over. He lived on Roseberry, a road she'd driven through once or twice on her way to Spencer, back when she was simply crashing at Jonny's, aimless in life. Well, now she had direction, she had purpose. Revenge for her friend, one of the few who cared what happened to her, who loved her like a sister. A big brother and a comrade, a battle buddy. She should have been there, had his back like he had hers for all these years. She should have saved him, for Karen; for herself. Instead she was hungover from drinking too much the night before, slow to wake, slow to realize what was happening. She would never had gone with them to Karen's parents, but as soon as she'd realized the time was growing late--felt that tingling in her senses that something was wrong, she would have gone out there, gone after them; him. Maybe she could have found them, saved him--but she would never know.
Taj's dark eyes glared up at her from his UHCL photo.
Polk looked up just in time to see two large circular beams bearing down on her.
Her Kia jerked forward.
Tires squealed, struggling to stay on the road.
"What the fuck!" she yelled, gripping the steering wheel with her one hand, pushing down on the gas, trying to speed ahead of her assailant.
Again, the vehicle behind her plowed into her, nearly jerking the SUV, fishtailing the car.
Polk gritted her teeth, swerving the wheel, slamming on the brake.
Another slam.
She could see the grill now, a Chevy truck.
It hit her again.
The steering wheel locked.
Skidding, the SUV fishtailed again, too far this time. Sideways, the Kia rolled. Glass shattered. Polk closed her eyes, holding on. Time did not crawl as it did in the movies or TV. The car rocketed across the cement, punching and rolling, crunching metal, moaning in a deep groan until suddenly and mercifully it stopped.
Dazed, Polk looked out her cracked driver window.
Boots were walking toward her SUV.
Snickering.
Laughing.
Jeering.
And then darkness fell over her.
***
She's dreaming.
Echoing voices of a time long since passed. Happier, if one could call it that. She sees her father, a hardworking man who loved her and her sisters. She never fit in anywhere, until the Army. In the Army she found her calling. Orders given; orders she was good at.
During basic the drill sergeants gathered to watch her shoot. They'd told the recruits never to shoot at the 300-meter popups, those half-body green targets. Too far away for most, save your ammo for the others. Polk didn't listen. She could hit them, and she did. Time after time.
Lyudmila Mikhailovna Pavlichenko was a Soviet sniper in the Red Army during World War II, credited with 309 kills. She is regarded as one of the top military snipers of all time and the most successful female sniper in history. Polk could have easily taken that title--if she wanted it. There was a new war to test those marksman skills but that wasn't how she wanted to serve. She wanted to protect and defend in a different way.
"Man, you must be fucking stupid," Jonny called out to her. He was right in front of her, but he sounded so far away. His voice echoing down a hall. "You could have been a badass sniper."
Laughing, "Then who would be keeping your ass out of trouble?" she told him.
They smiled like siblings busting each other's balls.
And there she was at the end of a mission--the mission that had cost her her arm. Memory came in fragmented flashes. Dreams buzzing by. She thought, "There goes my sniper career," and then she giggled until the sedatives took her under the tide.
"She dead?"
"No, she ain't fucking dead, but she's gonna wish she was."
Cackling.
"Busted the damn belt on the Chevy."
"Well, fix it."
"And miss this?"
"Like you get to go first."
More laughing from nearby.
"Be happy you get sloppy fourths, now get and fix our ride."
Bitching and boots stomping away.
Where am I? she wondered.
I'm sitting.
My arm is...restrained.
Head hurts.
Shoulders hurt.
My whole body feels like it got run over.
"Wakey-wakey, little girl."
Oh shit.
Polk opened her eyes. It was dark, curtains in some living room were drawn tight together. She was sitting on a dining table chair, her one arm bound behind her. The carpet was beige and stained from hard living. A couch sat not far away. Two men sat on it looking at her with lustful eyes. Nodding their heads as if agreeing to whatever perverted fantasy was playing in their mind.
Someone was standing in front of her. Large boots. Work pants stained with oil or something worse. And one of those blue Nasa t-shirts, the ones they sell at Wal-Mart. He glared at her with that same perverted expression made worse by his unkept beard and dirty face.
"Hey, little girl," he said again.
"Hey, fuckface," she replied.
One of the morons on the couch snorted.
The man with the beard glared at him. He turned back to Polk. "Didn't think we'd forget about you, did ya?" he laughed.
Polk smirked. "Honestly? Yes, I did."
He stood taller. "How could we go about forgetting about you."
"I figured," Polk said, "You'd be too busy butt fucking each other to bother--truth be told."
More snorting.
The bearded man pointed at the other on the couch. Looking at Polk he said, no longer smiling, "Let's see how much of a smartass you are after we're done with you, even if you do got one arm, I'm sure your pussy feels just fine."
Polk gnashed her teeth at him, "Try it, tiny, see what happens."
The bearded man reached back and slapped her, hard.
She saw stars for a moment, bells rang sharply in her ears. Polk looked at him, eyes fixed. "I'm going to kill you--do you hear me?"
He laughed. "Come on, moron, help me get her pants off."
The fellow who had been snorting stood and darted to help the bearded man. He stooped to pulled on Polk's jean legs.
She thrashed and kicked as much as she could.
The two men struggled, holding her
down.
"Hold her steady, dammit!"
Gun shots outside the house.
"What the fuck was that?" said the man on the couch.
"Go check it out." The bearded man refused to let her up as she wormed between the two men. "Fuck it, let's just cut the damn things off. Sorry, princess, hope we don't cut your pretty skin." He popped open a knife.
Polk yelled, her abs burned, everything burned from the effort, struggling, fighting to keep them away, to keep them from touching her.
Daylight broke into the gloom, casting them all in bright beams of sunshine.
The bearded man shielded his eyes. "What are you doing, asshole, I told you to go check on what those--"
Gun reports cut him off.
Polk watched as the man's head exploded in a shower of red mush, the pocket knife dropped from his hand.
The other man fell back, spasming, his grimy shirt blooming crimson.
Frozen, she was suddenly free.
Through the bright sunny haze, a hand was offered.
She took it, standing.
"You okay?"
Polk frowned. "Who the hell are you?"
The two men smiled at each other and then turned back to her, "Sorry--we saw what happened on Fairmount and thought you could do for some help. I'm William Jelks, and this tall drink of water is Chris Collins."
The one called Collins, a grin spreading across his dark face, nodded at her.
Jelks gestured toward the door.
And Polk followed.
Private Jelks
Part II
La Porte,
Texas.
The girl didn't seem too shaken about what had happened. She didn't seem shaken at all. That in itself told Jelks this woman had seen enough in the world to know you either succumb to the darkness or you fight back. Given her condition, that seemed obvious enough.
They drove out of the neighborhood the men had taken her to, tracing back to her wreaked Kia SUV. Jelks pulled to the side. Leaving the engine idling, he jumped down from his Jeep--"his" as in the one he and Collins had borrowed just south of Austin. Collins stood up, staying in the backseat, scanning with his M4 for anything, alive or dead.
The girl was kneeling, reaching inside the broken window of the SUV. Retrieving an ACU backpack, she unzipped her bag, took a quick look, and rezipped. Standing, she stared at Jelks. "Umm, thanks for the help...but I'd prefer to part ways."
Jelks looked at the ACU backpack, glancing at her amputated arm, and back again. "Were you in the service," he asked.
Silence.
He gestured at the bag. "Chris and I were in the service, until recently."
Still nothing.
"Look, it's okay, you can trust us."
"I don't even know you."
"Well, like I said, I'm Will, and," he gestured a thumb behind him, "that's Chris. We were both in 1st Cav out of Fort Hood."
"Were?"
Jelks nodded, "Yeah. Neither of us cared much for the direction things were going. Thought maybe it would be better to run--you know. Safer that way."
She looked at him and Chris and at the Jeep.
"You got a name?" he asked.
"Ashley Polk."
"Nice to meet you, Ashley."
She laughed, despite herself it would seem. "Polk, I prefer Polk."
"Nice to meet you, Polk. Last names, you know, sounds pretty military to me."
"I might have served."
"Branch?"
"Army--89th MP Brigade."
Jelks grinned, "An MP, huh? When did you get out?"
"Some years ago."
"Because of that," he nodded toward her stump.
Polk exhaled, and nodded. "Yeah. IED,"
"Shit." He wanted to say something more or maybe it was better to change the subject; he guessed his new friend probably didn't want to talk about it.
"We setting up camp in the middle of the road or what?" called Collins. A couple of cars drove past them on the other side of the road, giving them a wide berth. He kept his rifle trained on them until they were gone.
Jelks rolled his eyes. "So, where you heading, Polk? Maybe we could help you get there, seeing how your ride is smashed."
Polk seemed to think about it, she glanced around, up at the sky and the sun high above the clouds, and back down to the ground. "Sure. I'm looking...for someone, not far from here, just down the road."
"Someone...special, a boyfriend?"
Polk turned her face, but Jelks could see she was rolling her eyes. "Listen," she said, "you seem like a nice enough guy. You saved my ass back there with those rednecks. I'll cut to the chase. I'm looking for the man responsible for the death of my best friend, my battle--you understand."
Jelks nodded that he did.
"You okay with that?" she pressed.
Clearing his throat, Jelks said, "Sure. You got a score to settle. The way the world is nowadays, everyone is entitled to a little payback, eye for an eye and all that. What's a little more blindness going to hurt the blind?"
She gazed at him.
"Look, I get it, I do. Chris and I have seen more bloodshed than we care to remember. In this world--it's easy to lose yourself in the madness. I don't know what happened between this fellow you're after and your dead friend, just..."
"What?"
"If we don't stop the killing, we will lose the war."
"Huh?"
Jelks smiled, "Something this old man told us before we decided to run. In a world where the dead are returning to life--the killing has to stop somewhere."
Polk looked away. "If you don't--"
Jelks held out his hand. "We'll take you. Hell, we'll even watch your back while you go settle your score. Just keep what I said in mind before you do, okay?"
Polk frowned, "Sure. Whatever."
"Good," Jelks beamed, "let's go."
They turned and started for the Jeep.
"About time," Chris growled, sitting back down in the back, standing his M4 between his legs.
"Hush up, you," Jelks said, he looked at Polk. "Okay, which way?"
She pointed ahead of them. "Just down the road. Make a right on Roseberry."
Jelks shifted into drive. "Right on Roseberry, got it."
"Oh, and to your insinuation about boyfriends."
"Yeah?"
"I prefer a pair of breasts on a blonde," she said, matter-of-factly.
Jelks glanced at her, "Really? Interesting. Well, that's okay, I'm really into redheads anyway."
Collins howled with laughter in the back as the Jeep took off down Fairmount.
***
They idled in front of the residence of Taj Singh, a single-story family home. Garden in the front, shrubs mostly. Two Toyota cars in the driveway. It looked quiet. Jelks doubted anyone was home; not anyone alive anyway. There was a bit of activity on the street, mostly people, families packing trucks and minivans with belongings, getting out while they still could. He couldn't blame them, hell, he was them. He wondered if some of them had the same idea he and Collins had, drive south, find a boat and settle on some far away isolated island. Start over. Free from the fear of the living dead.
Collins cleared his throat.
"Wait here, if you don't mind." Polk unzipped her ACU backpack. She retrieved what looked like part of a prosthetic but instead of what he imagined would be the forearm, hand, and fingers, there was a single metallic spike.
"Damn, what the fuck is that?" Collins cooed from the back.
She strapped the prosthetic weapon on. Opening the passenger door, Polk said, "If I'm not back in fifteen, don't bother coming in--just go, okay?"
Jelks couldn't take his gaze away from the spike. "Sure. Whatever you say."
Polk slid out of the Jeep, glancing up and down the sidewalk before progressing toward the house.
"You want a gun?" he called.
Without turning back, she shook her head, lifting her prosthetic spike as if to say, "No thanks, I've got this." Approaching the door,
she tested the knob. It was unlocked. Hesitating a moment, listening, waiting perhaps for something horrid to come stumbling out, Polk walked inside.
"At least she left the door open, we can hear her if there's trouble," Jelks said, keeping his gaze on the open entryway.
"Uh-huh," Collins offered, standing in the backseat through the open top of the Jeep, scanning the area.
"Uh-huh, what?" Jelks glanced up at him.
"Just saying, lot of effort for someone we don't know. What happened to sticking to the plan, heading south and pirating us a boat." Collins watched a van drive past them--a father, mother, kids. The dad behind the wheel looked up at him strangely, as if expecting trouble, but then kept going. "Things are just going to get worse."
"Exactly."
"Exactly what? You wanting to save some fair maiden or some bullshit?"
"No. Maybe. Look, just because we're in a world of shit don't mean we can't stick our necks out every now and then and give someone a helping hand."
"You want to play hero, maybe you should have stayed with Cav."
"That wasn't hero work--what we were doing wasn't honorable, it was suicide."
"I'm not disagreeing, but--"
"I get where you're coming from, I do. I just, I don't want to get too caught up in trying to save my own ass. If I can, I'd like to help--and she needs help, whether she knows it or not." Jelks kept his eyes on the house.
"Okay. Just..."
"What?"
"You're not just playin' with your life, you're playin' with mine."
"Yeah. You want to see about looting a gas station? We're getting low on fuel and I could really go for a beer."
"I mean it, man, you better screw your head on."
Jelks glanced up at him. "Hey, I'm thinking about you too."
"Good to know." Collins padded his cargo pockets and retreated a pack of smokes. He lit one and handed it to Jelks who took the cigarette gratefully. He tapped out another and lit one for himself.
Both smoked in silence.
Planet of the Dead (Book 2): War For The Planet of The Dead Page 7
