Will rubbed the mare’s snout as he listened. When the guard finished, he thanked the man and sent back to the tower. He checked the horse over from head to tail but didn’t see any injuries or blood. She was still wearing her saddle and bridle. Will didn’t see anything that indicated why she was back without her rider.
People poured out of the two inhabited tunnels to see the reason for the commotion. There muttered curses and cried out in dismay as they learned about the situation. Will watched in silence as they broke off into little groups and murmured to each other. He waited, figuring it would come from either the ex-policeman, Jax Gayfield, or Tatum Gruver, the ever-perturbed rabble-rouser.
Jax didn’t disappoint him. “All right, who’s coming with me?” he cried. When no one answered he turned in a semi-circle, his ponderous gut swaying in front of him. His attention landing on Cassandro. “How about you, amigo? You can shoot, and those are your buddies out there.”
Andro gazed him impassively.
Jax shrugged and cast his eyes upon Tara. “Okay, sugar- are you ready to go?”
She smirked and turned away from him.
“Where are you going, Jax?” Will asked in a quiet voice.
Jax gave him an incredulous look. “To find Mark and your two guys. Where do you think?”
“Everybody listen up.” Will’s voice was firm, but he didn’t yell. “We know nothing. We know they are down one horse. Period. Now, the worst thing we could do is make a rash decision based on that single piece of information. And we’re sure not going to send a second team out when we know nothing about the status of the first. As hard as it is, we wait.”
“Bull-shit!” Jax’s face turned red and he waved his arms as he spoke. “You’re not in charge of everything around here. This isn’t a jail where you can dictate who can leave and when they can go.”
Will was ready with an angry retort when The Judge stepped forward. “Perhaps this discussion should be finished in private,” he said. Before Will could answer, The Judge took Jax by the arm and guided him with a smooth ease toward the nearest tunnel, the one with the corral built into the opening. “Everybody go back inside,” he said as he went. “Get out of the cold. We’ll let you know when there’s news.”
Some of them continued to mingle, but the majority began to disperse. Will turned his back to them and drew his Beretta from its holster. Holding it close for privacy, he ejected the magazine, examined it and slid it back. He thumbed the safety off and re-holstered it. Turning back, he searched for Cassandro and found him in the same place.
He approached the broad-shouldered Mexican. “You’re with me.”
Side by side, they followed The Judge into the tunnel.
Shoot Him in the Leg
* * *
Will looked at Jax and held back a laugh. The ex-cop drew up to his full five-feet, ten-inches. He puffed his chest out almost even with his belly and pulled his shoulders back; he curled his hands into tight fists and held his arms away from his sides. The man’s face was flushed an unhealthy scarlet and his nostrils flared like he was a bull sizing up a matador. The presentation was probably quite intimidating to a motorist on the side of the road back when Jax wore a gun and a badge, but to Will he just looked silly. He wondered how puffed up Jax would be if he jerked his knife out and gutted the fat man where he stood. Sadly, as tempting as that was, it could cause too many short-term problems. So he set the idea aside.
Jax started yelling as soon Will walked in. He edged closer, getting into Will’s personal space and pressing. Jax’s nose was inches from his, so close that he had a great view of the spittle flying from the fat man’s lips. Will imagined head-butting him, a short and vicious launch, his forehead smashing the other man’s nose and blacking both his eyes. As he reeled from that, Will could throw a hard uppercut to the solar plexus, bending the ex-policeman at the waist. As he wheezed and tried to get his paralyzed diaphragm to work, Will could grasp each side of his head and hold it in place while he brought his knee up in one, two, three powerful bursts, and then just leave him where he fell. It would be months before he recovered. But again, the ground he would lose with The Originals made such a series of moves untenable.
Will reached out lighting quick and grasped Jax’s’ ear between his thumb and index finger. He gave it a savage twist and pivoted behind Jax so that the big man couldn’t reach him. Jax went from yelling in anger to bellowing in pain.
“Shut-up,” Will said in a calm voice.
Jax shrieked and struggled. He rose up on his toes to try to break Will’s hold on his ear. Will twisted harder. Jax wailed. He tried to punch Will, but he was angled in such a way that there was no power behind the blows.
“Shut-up and stop struggling and I’ll let go.”
He held still. His breath came in raspy sobs but he quit yelling. Will released his ear and pushed him hard with his free hand, driving him several steps back. Jax bent over, cupping his wounded appendage with both hands; blood dripped down his arms and pooled on the cement floor.
Will pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the blood off his hand. He stared at Jax until the other man met his gaze. “I’m going to talk a bit. You’re going to stand there and listen. If you interrupt me, I’ll bust you like a pinata.” He paused to see if the man had any fight left in him. He glowered back in silence, so Will continued.
“First. To repeat what I said outside- all we know is one of the guys is without a horse. That’s it. That is not enough information to draw any conclusion.
“Second. Danny and Jiri lived in constant danger for the last eight months. Whatever they are up against out there they know how to handle. They have put down more creepers in a day than you have seen since the outbreak started.
“Third. You’re right. I’m not in charge of everything around here. But I am in charge of anything that has to do with fighting creepers. We send groups outside the quarry on my say-so, not on yours.
“Fourth. You can say anything you want when we are speaking alone. But if you ever challenge me in front other people again, I’ll show up in your cube and cut your throat while you sleep.”
Jax, one hand still cupping his ear, glared pure hatred. “Can I say something?” he asked.
Will nodded.
“What happens if you do nothing, and then one day we see one those guys and he’s a biter?”
“That would be an unimaginable tragedy. But let me ask you something, Jax. If two of the best fighters we have in camp can’t handle whatever is in that town, then what chance do you and two people like you have? How is sending you out there not sending you to your death?”
Jax’s mouth worked but formed no words. After a bit, he closed his mouth and stared down at the floor.
Will nodded. He produced his gun and handed it to Cassandro. “Follow him everywhere he goes until the guys get back. If he tries to leave, shoot him in the leg.”
Andro nodded. He tucked the Beretta into his waistband and fixed his eyes on Jax.
Will gave Jody and nod and started the walk back to his own tunnel.
Shot
* * *
When Will hears about this clusterfuck, I am truly screwed, Danny thought. Everywhere he looked he saw disaster. Mark was out of the game, maybe temporarily, maybe for good. He stared at his gun, his faced etched in horror. He’d been that way since he kicked off this little shit storm twenty seconds ago. Jiri sat on the ground in an awkward position, clutching his leg in pain. The leg sported a fresh bullet wound; a good amount of blood seeped from it and pooled on the street. Their horses had just disappeared over the top of a hill on Second Street. And creepers stared at them from every direction. The dead hadn’t yet processed that the gunshot that just rang out meant food was nearby. But any second now they would home in on the three men and head their way.
Danny ran through scenarios, trying to find one that would get the three of them out of the pickle they found themselves in. The only thing he could think of was to go back in time
thirty seconds or so to right before Mark said, “Look how light the trigger pull is on this Sig.” Go back to that spot and put his hand on Mark’s right before he pulled his Sig Sauer P226 Scorpion and shot Jiri in the leg.
But time travel wasn’t a viable option, and the dead had begun to shuffle and stumble toward their next meal. Danny had to make a decision, even if it was a bad one. He tore his balaclava off and used his knife to slice it long ways along the seam. He dropped to one knee and peered at Jiri. “Are you clear-headed, buddy?”
Jiri nodded, wincing. Sweat ran down his cheeks in little rivulets despite the cold.
“If we stay here any longer we’ll die. This is going to hurt. Tough it up and I’ll get us out of this.”
“It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” Jiri took a deep breath and clenched both fists. “Go.”
Danny’s hands were quick and nimble as he pulled the torn cloth around Jiri’s leg as tight as he could and tied it just above the bullet wound. Juri groaned as the change in blood pressure to the wound caused his nerve endings to protest.
Danny stood and turned to Mark. “Mark, c’mon- help me get him up.” Mark’s eyes moved from his gun to Danny without comprehension. A vanguard of four creepers approaching from behind him, about twenty yards away. A good-sized gap existed between those four and the next closest dead.
Danny snapped his fingers in front of the stricken man’s eyes, four times and fast. “Mark, I need you, man,” he pleaded. One of the creepers moved out in front of the others. It was a woman who had been in her mid-forties when she turned. It wore a bright pink housecoat and had a fuzzy pink slipper on one foot. A black tongue lolled out of one corner of its mouth. Danny pulled his Beretta and snapped a shot off, hitting it in the shoulder. The creeper turned half-way around from the force of the blast, then turned back and continued toward them. His second shot hit its forehead and it toppled over. Danny fired three more shots and the other creepers fell in a row.
The gunfire roused Mark. “Oh my God,” he moaned. He holstered his Sig and fell to the ground beside Jiri, babbling apologies.
Danny kicked Mark in his right butt cheek, hard. He yelped and turned to Danny, wide-eyed.
“Get up, and help me get him to his feet,” Danny ordered. They pulled the wounded man upright and supported him from each side. Jiri draped an arm over both of their shoulders and they began to hobble toward the buildings on the east side of the square.
“Where are we going?” Mark asked.
“Let’s get over to the city hall. We can barricade ourselves in on the second floor and stay there until something else draws their attention or somebody comes to save us.”
They were halfway there when a pack of creepers rounded the south corner, cutting off their path. Danny altered their course to the north. They had three packs of infected coming at them from different directions.
“Now where?” Mark gasped.
“I’ll let you know when I think of something,” Danny replied.
Last Stand
* * *
Danny swiped at his eyes with his free hand, trying to wipe away the stinging sweat that dripped from his brow. Jiri skipped and stumbled along, one arm draped around Danny’s shoulders, the other around Mark’s. They couldn’t create any distance between them and the creepers- supporting a man with a bullet wound in his leg would have been ponderous enough, but Jiri’s size slowed them even more. They trudged along in no particular direction, concentrating on staying ahead of the dead behind them and turning when they saw the dead up ahead.
He’d been in countless precarious situations since the outbreak occurred. But for the first time, he edged toward panic. He looked in Mark’s generation, gasping for air. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
“A few blocks from the square,” Mark panted back.
“Which way should we go?”
Mark looked at him and shook his head.
“Turn left at the next corner,” Jiri said through gritted teeth.
They turned, cutting through a bank parking lot. Danny took advantage of the angle to peer back over his shoulder.
“How… many?” Jiri asked. His head hung and stared at the ground through eyes that were turning glassy.
“About a dozen in the vanguard. You don’t want to know how many are behind them.”
They slowed to a near-halt as Jiri stopped moving his good leg. “Go,” he gasped. “Leave me.”
“No chance, you tall sumbitch. Move your feet, Jiri!”
Obediently, Jiri hop-scotched forward with them.
Danny couldn’t get his bearings. The two-story brick buildings on both sides looked the same as those on the streets they had already traveled.
Jiri stumbled and cried out. He righted himself and looked ahead, pointing halfway down the block. “Turn left into that alley.”
At the alley, Danny and Mark had to drag Jiri around the corner. He looked down to make sure Jiri got his good leg underneath him.
“Danny!” Mark’s voice sounded anguished.
He looked up and his heart sunk. They hadn’t turned into an alley, but a walkway that ended with a brick wall, and there wasn’t an opening between the buildings on either side. Just as they turned to back out of the trap, the lead pack of creepers entered the walkway and cut off their escape, shambling toward them and moaning.
“Lean him against this wall.” Danny ducked out from under Jiri’s long arm. He gave Mark a quick look and turned to face the dead. His arms felt like spaghetti; he missed his knife twice before he pulled it from its sheath. The faces of his friends flew through his mind and his heart ached with the knowledge he had let Will down as he prepared to fight the creepers for the final time.
Santa Claus
* * *
The lead creeper wore a pair of gore-covered over-alls. It was missing its nose and its left arm. He dragged his feet to the right to engage it from its weak side. He kicked the creeper’s left leg out from underneath it; as it fell, he brought his knife around and into its ear. Mark put the finishing touches on the second creeper to reach them as Danny squared around to meet the next one.
Fortunately, the narrow walkway prevented the dead from spreading out and engulfing them. He batted down the outstretched hands of an attacking creeper and whipped his head back, dodging its strike by a whisker. He brought his elbow up and connected with its jaw, producing a satisfying crack and driving it to the ground. He kicked it in the side of the head as hard as he could, wanting to move it away so he could battle whatever came next.
His tired mind started playing tricks on him. Over the snarls of the dead and the sounds of violence came the unmistakable rumble of an engine, and above that the steady bleating of a horn. No way, he thought. Mark had engaged the nearest creeper, so Danny stepped over to knife the one he’d just kicked out of the way. That’s when a bright red Jeep on huge mud tires came careening around the corner. The Jeep came to a stop at an angle, blocking the walkway.
He stared, slack-jawed and on wobbly knees, as the Jeep’s door flew open and Santa Claus jumped out with a roar. Santa wasn’t wearing his cap, but everything else was in order- the red suit, the balding head with tufts of white hair, the long flowing beard. Santa was armed; he wore a pair of in a belt around his waist and carried a nasty looking broadsword aloft in front of him. Still roaring, he stormed into the rear of the pack.
The attack slowed as the dead turned their attention toward the noise and commotion behind them. The man in red waded in, swinging his sword like a pirate in a movie. He ducked and dodged, chopping at with ruthless efficiency. Heads rolled, arms fell, and legs separated from torsos as he put down the creepers on the walkway. The sole time he was in danger, with the dead closing in on three sides, he pulled his pistol from its holster on his right side. He shot the creeper on his right and the one in front of him while extending the broadsword and impaling the one to his left.
With a start, He remembered the creeper he had dropped but not finished. He ste
pped to it just as it regained its feet and thrust his knife deep in its eye at the same moment as the man in red beheaded the last of the dead on their side of the truck.
His eyes flitted to the other side, where the dead piled up, reaching for them and keening. He fixed Danny with a fiery stare. “Is your friend bit? Best to put him out of his misery now if he is.”
“No sir,” Danny spoke quickly. He and Mark were already moving to help Jiri back up. “He’s shot.”
“Mmmm. Come with me, then, if you want to live.”
Saved
* * *
They worked as carefully as they could while still moving fast, but Jiri still cried out twice when they lifted him into the Jeep’s rear seat. By the time Danny had crawled over the center console and into the passenger seat there were enough creepers piled up and pushing on the other side to cause the SUV to sway.
The man in red jumped in next to him and slammed the door. “Hold him tight,” he said, looking at Mark through the rearview mirror. “Don’t let him get thrown around.” He switched his gaze to Danny. “Buckle up.”
Danny did so, then watched as their rescuer shifted the Jeep into first, cranked the wheel all the way to the left, and let off the clutch. There was the screech of metal against brick as the vehicle rubbed the wall, but then they surged forward. The driver tapped the accelerator and inched ahead until his bumper was flush with the back wall.
“Hold on, now!” he yelled. His belly jiggled inside the red suit as he laughed. “This part’s gonna be bumpy.” He moved the shifter down and over into reverse and smashed the pedal to the floor.
Creepers surged into the walkway behind the SUV. It jumped away from the wall and roared toward them. Danny held his breath and clutched his seat with both hands. Through the window, he saw some of the dead get tossed to the side like bowling pins and others get mowed over. The Jeep bounced but never faltered, making a beeline out of the walkway and leaving a jumble of broken limbs and mashed creepers in its trail.
The Haven Series (Book 2): Haven Page 15
