Sarah stepped toward him, swinging the bat back and forth with all her strength. One swing struck the killer in the side of the arm as he moved forward toward her, making him stagger into the wall. She took the opportunity and moved in, trying to crack his skull.
But before she could strike, he pressed the actuator on the can and a wave of flame erupted through her swings and at her face.
Sarah shrieked as she pulled her head away. She stumbled backward, successfully dodging the burst of fire, but the killer kept it going, and the baseball bat soon ignited.
The flame coated the thick tip of the bat as it molded around the shape and licked up toward the ceiling like a torch.
Sarah continued to swing it at him, the fiery club swooshing through the air. She focused on trying to hit him, but now the fire and the heat emitting from the bat warped his figure behind it, skewing her depth perception. She didn't notice the fire spreading down to the handle of the bat until the intense heat bit her hands and she let it go in surprise. It clanged on the floor and rolled off to the side of the hallway, engulfed in flames.
The killer shot more fire at her, and this time it hit her square in the chest. The flame lit her coat and slowly crawled across to the rest of her.
Sarah screamed and staggered backward, turning and trying to run away.
The killer stayed on her, spraying more flame onto her back.
The fire reached her shoulders and burned the exposed skin on her neck and her chin. The shock of what was happening to her caused her to trip and she hit the ground and tried to crawl away as the flames spread.
The killer followed, aiming his flamethrower down at her legs and igniting them.
Her clothes and helmet started to feel like ovens as the fire burned her. She rolled around on the floor frantically trying to put it out as she waved her arms in front of her face in a panic.
The killer tried to cover her with more fire, filling in the spots that weren't yet engulfed in the soothing glows of orange and yellow, but when he pressed the actuator on the can again, nothing came out. He pulled the can away from the road flare and pointed it up in the air, pressing the actuator and confirming that it was empty. He dropped it on the floor and looked at the road flare for a moment before tossing it away too. He looked behind him and saw the baseball bat still covered in fire sitting at the edge of the hallway. His smile widened and he walked toward it.
Sarah writhed and rolled on the spot. The smell of burnt fabric filled her nose and made her lightheaded. She continued to wave her arms around, banging them against her shoulders and every other part she could reach. She looked down at the rest of her body as she rolled and saw that she was making progress. She finally just had a small patch of flame near the bottom of one pant leg, and she lay on her back scissoring her leg up and down onto the floor to extinguish it.
The killer walked out of a room in front of her, carrying a blanket. He tossed it over the bat and patted it down, snuffing out the fire. He yanked it off and the bat lay blackened and smoking underneath.
As he bent down to pick it up, Sarah realized that he wasn't done with her yet. She turned and got up, completely out of breath but forcing herself to go on. She ran slower than she could before, but she made her way along the rest of the floor heading for the stairwell as the killer picked up the bat and followed.
She reached the door and opened it, throwing a glance over her shoulder. He approached in a steady march, holding the smoldering bat by his side, taking his time. Sarah turned her attention back to the stairs and went to run down them.
She finally remembered the trap she had laid on the fourth floor as her foot slipped on the puddle of windshield washer fluid and she tumbled down the stairs. Her body slammed against the hard edges of the steps on her way down, but thankfully the books wrapped around her body cushioned the blows and protected her bones from breaking. She crashed hard on the landing, falling on the dense patch of thumbtacks that she scattered across the floor. They stabbed into the books all over her body and once again she was protected by the assorted literature. But her hands weren't.
When she fell, Sarah instinctively held her hands out in front of her to cushion the fall, and dozens of thumbtacks stabbed into her palms, fingers and wrists. It took a moment for the pain to set in, and when it came to her, she howled in agony. It felt like a thousand tiny fiery-hot pokers jabbing into her. The pain made her hands shake violently as she saw the faintly visible glints of the thumbtacks stuck in her hands.
Footsteps echoed behind her, muffled at first, then the door opened and the killer stepped into the stairwell above her.
Sarah cried as she looked over her shoulder at him, then she crawled forward, trying to get away from him despite the pain. The pain intensified times a thousand when she pushed her hands against the floor, but she needed to in order to get to her feet. She felt like her body was going to shut down due to the trauma, but she stumbled down the stairs away from him.
The killer slowly followed, watching his footing on the fluid and sidestepping the thumbtacks. He stalked her as she passed by the third floor and continued down to the second.
Sarah reached out for the handle and blubbered in pain as she twisted it, using her last bit of strength to slowly open the door to the second floor.
A crippling blow struck her in the back over her right shoulder blade and she spilled forward into the hallway. She landed on her stomach and tried to crawl away, too weak to fight and too weak to run.
The killer stepped through the door behind her and swung the bat on her leg, hitting her in the side of the calf.
The consuming wave of dull pain numbed her leg as it shot out straight and spasmed. Sarah's tears dripped onto the floor and her mouth hung open, squeaks and whines the only things coming out.
The killer let her crawl away a few feet before he hit her again. The next blow struck her in the small of the back and he watched her squirm.
Sarah futilely tried to escape from him, heading for the open door of a blood lab up ahead, but he stayed right behind her, raining down blows all over her body. Sharp pain was traded for numbness and numbness was traded for sharp pain.
He continued to laugh softly as he lowered the bat and crouched over her. He ran his hand over her butt, trying to squeeze it through the stiff layer of books. His hand slid down along her leg, then came back up and wedged itself into her crotch. He wiped his fingers hard against her and brought them up to his nose, sniffing them. Then he rolled her over onto her back and tried to fondled her breasts under the thick paper.
Sarah tried not to look at him as she used her one good foot to push herself toward the blood lab behind her.
The killer stood up and extended the bat in front of her face with both hands as if he were lining up a shot in golf. He swung carefully and twisted his hips to follow through.
The tip of the baseball bat caught her helmet just under the rim above her eyes and the chinstrap popped off as the helmet was ripped off her head and bounced into a wall.
He lowered himself over top of her as she whimpered, and he sniffed the pretty blond hair that he loved so much. He opened his mouth and licked her neck up to her chin.
Sarah was repulsed, but she tried to ignore him and get to the blood lab.
The killer worked his way up her face, licking her cheek and then shifting his head and lowering his mouth onto hers. His tongue squirmed around like a thick slug as it rolled over her lips. Sarah freaked out and waved her arms in the air, trying to grab his head and push him off and only being met with the pain from the thumbtacks stabbing into her. He ignored her protests as he held the sides of her head almost gingerly, the blood from the gaping wound in his hand where she shot him dripping out and staining her hair with crimson highlights. His tongue had a mind of its own and tried to force its way into her mouth, but she rebuked him, keeping her lips tightly sealed.
At last, he pulled away from her and stood up. He had a look of mild disappointment on his face, and then he
smiled. His mouth was widened more than ever before, hideous and monstrous. He picked up the bat and held the tip just over her nose. He raised it above his head and swung it down.
Sarah had reached the doorway to the blood lab and she pulled on the frame with both hands, sliding her body into the darkness as the bat missed her face and struck her in the ribs instead, glancing off and bouncing against the floor.
The killer paused in front of the doorway as her legs disappeared into the dark room. He heard her cough and sputter as she crawled away.
The moonlight coming in the window behind him highlighted the corner of a large table sitting in the room, but not much beyond that.
The killer walked forward into the darkness, moving very slowly and swirling the bat around loosely in his hands.
Sarah's ribs were killing her, and she thought they were broken. Her uncovered head bumped into the table, and she crawled around, trying to remember exactly where she put it. She moved around to the opposite side as the killer followed behind her. Her hand ran along the floor next to the table, waiting to feel something touch her. And in the next moment, her hand bumped into something sharp, and she was certain it wasn't a thumbtack. She picked it up and continued to crawl back around the table to the front of the room where she came in as the killer slowly sauntered behind her in the darkness.
When she reached the front of the table by the door, she rolled onto her back and pulled the cap off the road flare. She felt the rough striker pad on it with her thumb and scratched it against the top of the flare. The brilliant light gobbled up the darkness in the room and cast everything in a red glow.
The killer stood in front of her, raising the bat now that he could see her again.
Sarah pulled herself toward the door until her torso was in the hallway. She threw her concoction at the killer's feet and lifted her legs up in the air, rolling them outside of the doorframe and slamming the door shut.
The last thing she saw before the door closed was the killer staring down at the item she had made: the other can of pressurized primer with the other road flare taped against it, along with a couple dozen three-inch nails, their heads all taped flat against the can and their sharp tips pointing straight out in all directions.
The can exploded on the other side of the door and a few nails drove through the wood and stuck out on Sarah's side by half an inch.
She crawled away from the door until her back was against the far wall, and she rested there, watching and recuperating from all of her injuries.
The next seconds counted by with agonizing slowness, and finally the door to the blood lab was thrown open.
Small pockets of flame coated the interior of the room, lighting it in a dim glow, and nails were embedded in the table, the walls, and the ceiling.
The killer stumbled out into the hallway. His body was covered in nails, with one of them stabbed into the side of his neck, and another one punctured through his cheek and into his mouth. He opened his lips and reached his fingers inside, feeling the nail. Two more nails had been driven through his hand between the knuckles of his first two fingers, and he looked all around his body, slowly touching his fingers to each piece of shrapnel in him. And for the first time he seemed like he was genuinely hurt.
Sarah watched him walk right past her as he headed for the stairwell. He didn't even look at her as he did, and his legs started to wobble on the way. One of them gave out and he fell onto one knee before pushing himself back up. A trail of blood followed him in little drips and drops as he went, and it looked like he might have passed out at any moment.
Sarah watched him in awe, in complete disbelief that he was retreating.
He disappeared into the stairwell as the door slammed behind him. Sarah could hear him stumbling and falling down the stairs, then getting up and staggering away.
His footsteps faded completely and Sarah lowered her head onto the floor, closing her eyes.
19
Retreat
The ceiling of the hospital stretched out in her view and her eyes mindlessly traced the length of it back and forth. The hallway was empty and silent. There was a sereneness to her surroundings that was completely alien to the brutal fight that had taken place just a few minutes before, and one that gave the illusion that it hadn't taken place at all. But when Sarah rolled onto her side at last and assessed the damage, the blanket of calmness suddenly evaporated and every last painful feeling, every last pungent smell, and every last miserable sight acted as if they had never left.
Sarah tried to move her body, avoiding the areas where the killer had bludgeoned her with the baseball bat. She ached, but she didn't think anything had been broken—miraculously.
The stench of burnt materials wafted through the air, and the worst of it was the charred chemical fumes coming out of her winter coat. She stood up and removed it, feeling the pain run through the length of her arms right to her fingertips. She dropped the coat on the floor and staggered forward, glancing into the destroyed blood lab. Small fires continued to burn, but they were isolated to nonflammable materials and seemed like they were starting to peter out.
The weight of the books taped to her pulled her down, and her legs were already too tired and shaky to support her own weight let alone the excess. It took Sarah a long time, but she pulled off each row of books in long lines of tape. She removed them from her arms and from her legs under her jeans, running her fingers over the knife gouges in some of them, marveling at how they had actually saved her life.
She wandered over to the nearby block of patient rooms, searching them until she found a thick and suitable blanket to wrap around herself. Searching further, she found a pair of crutches to use and take the strain off her bad ankle.
When she came out into the hallway again, her eyes came across the trail of blood that the killer had left. She wanted to think that he left and he would never come back, but she knew that was a fantasy. She was surprised to see him so badly injured and that he, too, was human. But he would be back just as soon as he could heal his wounds.
Sarah deliberated as she stared at the dark droplets, then she hobbled over to the window on her crutches with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and stared out at the fresh snow.
The moonlight reflected off the white film covering the land, creating a brightness almost mimicking the daytime, though it was well into the night.
She squinted her eyes and saw footprints in the snow. There were a few sets spanning off on slightly different paths. She spotted two sets coming toward the hospital and one set leaving. It was far away, but in the footsteps leading away from the hospital were distinctly visible patches of blood. The trail led to the gap in the fence where the sets of footsteps converged, then it disappeared beyond her view. Sarah stared at the blood as the gears in her head turned. She felt like she was almost too weak to do anything, but she knew that he was vulnerable too. She could follow him and find out where he was hiding, and maybe she could finish him off once and for all.
Sarah stepped away from the window and the strength in her leg gave out. Her crutches slipped out from under her and she fell onto her knees.
It was a harsh reminder that she was in no shape to finish anyone off, let alone someone as hard to kill as her stalker. But she couldn't let him get away; there had to be some way she could pull it off.
She lifted her head and looked at the stairwell. With a sudden burst of resolve coming from some untapped well deep inside of her, she knew that she would do it.
The cold air outside was refreshing after the inferno that she'd been subjected to. Sarah trudged through the snow, carefully maneuvering her crutches so that she didn't slip. She followed the blood trail that sporadically rained down on the killer's footsteps, some parts in only tiny drips or dry as a bone, and other parts that looked like the killer had collapsed onto the ground or had taken a long moment to rest as his plasma oozed out of him onto the clean snow. His footsteps were uneven like he had been stumbling, and the line itself w
eaved with a slight back and forth, running across a road and into the woods.
It was dead quiet, and even with the dense trees surrounding her, the moonlight reached the snow by her feet and created enough brightness for her to see the path the killer traveled without any trouble. At times he had wandered from a straight path significantly, but it still appeared that he had been heading in a specific direction.
Hobbling through the terrain was tricky, as the snow covered tree roots and rocks that sinisterly stuck out of the ground. Sarah made her way slowly and carefully and rested when she needed to, but she was determined to follow the killer and see where he went. The thick blanket she wrapped herself in did its job fabulously, and despite the pain of her injuries, there was nothing that impeded her journey aside from general fatigue.
Eventually, she smelled the smoky, sweet scent of burning wood. Looking up at the sky, she saw a glint of orange somewhere far off in the distance. When she got closer, the unmistakable sound of a sizzling fire came, followed by voices. They were garbled at first until she got closer, and eventually she started to pick up bits of conversation and realized whom the voices belonged to.
Sarah neared the edge of the woods as the blood trail wound its way along the edge and continued deeper into the trees. There was a road out of the woods nearby and a group of bandits sat on half-broken patio chairs surrounded by a few burned-out cars. A campfire roared in the middle of them with what looked like a skinned dog spit roasted over it. The men huddled in coats and blankets, some of them obscured by a destroyed Chevy sitting in front of them, while they swore and argued.
The blood trail had been pretty steady leading through that stretch of the woods, but when it neared the bandits, there was a big splotch where it looked like the killer had stopped, then it led up near the edge of the trees in tiny droplets, ending in a rather large pool of blood behind an ash tree near to the road. A bloody handprint was planted on the back of the tree and Sarah inspected the clues like a detective. It looked like the killer had been watching the bandits for quite a while before his footsteps and blood turned and continued on his path through the woods.
Zombie Apocalypse Series Books 1-3 (Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set) Page 63
