When the coast was clear, Sarah emerged from the woods and made her way over to the fire that was still emitting white and wispy streams of smoke. The dog they had spit roasted over the flames remained, its picked-apart and eaten remains charred black. Sarah looked around, trying to figure out some way to get the bandits' attention. All they left behind were a few lawn and patio chairs—some of them had the misfortune of sitting only on milk crates—and some garbage. The shells of the torched cars surrounded her, but they were stripped bare and she knew she had no use for them.
Sarah stared off at the rest stop to make sure no one was going to come out, and she placed a milk crate next to the fire and laid the crutches on the ground. She pulled off her shoes and stuck her feet out over the campfire, letting the residual heat warm them. When she felt toasty and her socks partially dried, she put the shoes back on. It was a slight reprieve, and in that moment, it made all the difference to her.
She stared at the blackened wood, watching the wind blow the smoke into creative swirls in front of her. Peering underneath the pile, she could see glowing embers, still red-hot. As soon as she noticed them, the rest of the plan struck her like a brick wall and she looked over at the rest stop again, thinking about the small green box the last bandit had taken with him. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what was inside, and if she was right, it would work perfectly.
Sarah decided to leave her crutches next to the fire as she headed across the road for the rest stop; she wanted to be as silent and agile as possible. The building was much the same as the one she had seen when she spotted Jenny breaking inside and eating that poor woman; it was small with only two restrooms on either side, partitioned in the front by a wall separating the entrances. She'd seen that the first two bandits had disappeared into the ladies' room on the right, and the last one carrying the box slipped into the men's room on the left.
Rough snores floated out of the building from both restrooms as Sarah approached, and she waited off to the side near the men's room entrance, listening. She didn't hear anyone rolling around or fidgeting, and it seemed like everyone was asleep. She waited for five minutes just to make sure, her hands and feet starting to freeze again as she huddled in the snow. When she was convinced that there was no movement inside, she spun the ice pick around in her hand, holding it so that the pointed end was facing down in case someone was startled awake and she had to silence them. She held the blanket around her with one hand and she crept up to the door, peeking inside.
A handful of cots were haphazardly placed in the room between the stalls and the sinks. Some of the stall doors had been torn down, leaving toilets exposed, one of them shattered in half. Four bandits occupied the cots and cradled their assault rifles in their arms with the straps wrapped around their wrists. They lay on their sides, all except for one. The bandit that had brought the green box in lay on his back on the cot farthest from her. It was dark in the room, but there was a window high up in the far wall letting just enough light in to see. The bandit at the end appeared to be sleeping. His eyes were closed, but he was directly facing her, and all he had to do was open them and he would spot her instantly.
Sarah kept just half of her face peeking past the doorframe, glancing around the restroom. Finally, she spotted the green box sitting underneath the cot of the bandit facing her at the far end. The scene was almost too convenient, and it seemed that he was just lying in wait for her, like if she went in and tried to get it, he would suddenly spring up from the bed and shoot her, aware of her presence the whole time. And complicating the matter further, the three other bandits were crowded in front of him, their cots sitting at odd angles that she would have to weave her way through.
She remained at the door for a few more minutes, too petrified to take action. The bandit guarding the box was just lying there with his chest gently rising and falling and his hands clasped together on his solar plexus. He didn't snore like the others, nor did he fidget. His face was completely expressionless and Sarah watched it closely, looking for the tiniest movement. She remained on the spot, but a voice inside her head told her that the time was now before the killer disappeared from the house or came after her again.
Sarah drew her foot forward into the restroom and placed it on the floor. She was conscious of every tiny sound that she made, including the faint suction of the water being displaced under her shoe. She paused and waited to see if there was any reaction, then she continued. She let go of the doorframe and slowly moved into the room, feeling naked. The closest bandit had his cot perpendicular to her, and it took up almost the entire path. She made her way to the wall, gently holding onto the tile as she moved past the bandit's head. She stared down at him as she did and became paranoid that he would open his eyes and see her now that she crossed over to the side he was facing. She eyed his assault rifle, but like the next two bandits, its strap was wrapped around his hands and wrists.
The next cot sat along the door to a bathroom stall that hadn't been removed, making it much easier for her to pass. She kept her eyes on the floor, searching for puddles of water so that she didn't slip. She glanced up at the bandit guarding the box at the end of the room periodically, but still he remained asleep.
His pistol sat on his hip on the opposite side of him from Sarah, and she looked at it longingly as she crossed the third bandit. The cot was wedged into the bottom corner of the final bandit's cot, blocking Sarah's access to the gun. If she wanted it, she would have to reach over him.
Sarah reached the side of the final cot without incident, her pulse racing. She still couldn't get over how little the bandit lying in it moved and she still felt like it was a trap. She pulled the blanket over to one side a bit to free up her other hand holding the ice pick. She looked down at the bandit's throat as she clutched the tool, calculating where she would have to strike and how much force she would have to use in order to keep him from making a lot of noise or attacking her. She tried to determine if it was worth it to be proactive about it, and her hand trembled as she considered it. Not even aware she was doing it, her hand slowly rose into the air, tilting the tool slightly so that it was pointed at his throat. She quickly glanced over her shoulder at the others who were still soundly sleeping and snoring, then she looked back.
The bandit's fingers were lightly intertwined as the same expressionless look remained on his face. She had to strike... she had to before he could alert the others.
The ice pick was frozen in the air. She stepped directly next to his head. Then she lowered her arm.
A pent-up ball of air exerted tremendous pressure on her lungs and she wanted to let it out. But she kept it in, knowing she had to be silent at all costs. Instead, she crouched down and looked at the green box sitting underneath the edge of his cot.
In the faint light coming through the window she could just make out what was written on the side of it in yellow stenciling: 7.62x39mm.
She wrapped her fingers around the box and quietly pulled it out. She carefully opened the lid, staring at the bandit's face the whole time. Inside the box was exactly what the stenciling stated and what she had hoped to find: it was filled with AK-47 ammo. There looked to be at least a few dozen cartridges, and they would do the job just fine.
Sarah closed the box and picked it up, propping it in the crook of her arm under the blanket. Before she turned to leave, the bandit's pistol caught her eye again. It was the only weapon out of the four of them that hadn't been secured.
It sat on the far side of him on his hip, and it glinted in the moonlight like a prize flashing and shining in front of a small child, begging to be taken.
She gulped and looked at his face again, then she decided to go for it. She slipped the ice pick into her pants and leaned over his body and extended her arm, but the stretch was farther than she anticipated. She brought her shins right to the metal frame of the cot without touching it and stretched her arm out. She reached the central point in her balance where she had to choose between staying upright but n
ot reaching the gun or reaching the gun but tipping over, needing to balance on the cot for support. She struggled with her situation as her fingers stretched out for it like a dandelion reaching out for the sun. The box of ammo tipped in her arm and some of the cartridges inside started to roll around.
The bandit cleared his throat very roughly and shifted around on the cot.
Sarah nearly had a heart attack as her hand snapped back like she touched something hot, pulling her arm under the blanket and grabbing the ice pick. She stood bolt upright and froze in horror, waiting to see what his reaction was.
But after readjusting with his eyes closed, he cleared his throat again, softer this time, then settled back into his slumber.
The fear slowly washed out of her lungs and loosened its icy grip around her heart, and she composed herself. Her skin tingled all over her body and paranoia set in, causing her to imagine that she heard sounds all around her as she glanced back at the other sleeping bandits. She decided to quit while she was ahead and quietly turned and headed out for the door. She made her way through the bandits just as carefully as before, but quicker this time. When she passed the last bandit, sidling against the wall, it took everything she had not to run through the door as fast as she could.
When the wind nipped at her face outside, she trotted back to the campfire and knelt down, laying out her stolen treasure. She inspected the fire and saw the hot embers still burning underneath the pile of charred wood. Smoke still came out of it, and it was a mercy that the fire hadn't gone out completely. She left the ammo in the circle between the cars and made her way over to the woods, collecting an armful of small branches and shavings. She placed them on the fire, using a thick branch to rearrange the wood and stoke it. The breeze became stronger and gusted through the cars like it was a wind tunnel. The smoke swirled furiously from underneath, and with more poking and prodding, Sarah saw tiny flames start to consume the wood. With a bit more effort, they climbed up the pile until they were greedily lapping up at the sky.
The fire roared and crackled and Sarah looked at the rest stop then at the woods behind her. She went over the rest of the plan in her head before she took action, imagining her leading the bandits through the woods to the house at the edge of the cliff. The ones in the mall hadn't done anything to stop the killer, but this time there were no zombies to distract them and this time the killer was weakened. She knew they wanted revenge on him and she would give it to them.
She opened the box of rifle cartridges and turned it upside down, letting them fall onto the fire in a clinking shower of gold.
Sarah dropped the box and picked up the crutches that she had left. She hurried away from the fire over to the woods. She wanted to keep up the proper illusion in front of the bandits, and she knew she would have to give up the crutches and make it the rest of the way on her own two feet. No sooner did she toss them away into the woods than the cartridges began to explode in the fire.
They went off like fireworks, splitting the silence of the night with loud cracks and bangs and sending small pieces of wood flying as a shower of sparks and embers followed.
Sarah stood at the edge of the woods, visible but ready to flee. She pulled the blanket up over her head and held the edges in front of her face, creating a hood that left her identity in shadow and cloaked the rest of her body.
Yells came from the rest stop and seconds later the bandits appeared, staring at the fire with looks of utter shock on their faces. They screamed out into the night, demanding answers and screaming at each other in their confusion. They started to move up to the campfire, then stumbled back and crouched down, trying to take cover, when a strong burst went off and blew large chunks of wood toward them.
The exploding stopped and the fire roared into a tall and twisting monster for a few seconds before settling down.
"That was the ammo!" one of the bandits yelled as he reemerged from the restroom. "Someone took it!"
"Over there!" another one of them yelled, pointing.
"Oh my God," one of them said. "Is that him?"
"Who?"
"The one from the mall! I think he's holding a knife!"
Sarah remained still for a moment, keeping the blanket held tightly around her to conceal her identity as she exaggeratedly held out her other arm to display the ice pick. In the next moment she was ducking and fleeing as bullets flew her way.
"After him!" a bandit yelled from behind.
Sarah tore through the woods, trying to concentrate, and followed the footsteps back to the house. The uneven ground was hell on her legs, but she ignored the pain in her ankle. She stayed low to the ground and never stopped moving forward, her hands and feet sometimes churning uselessly on the snow and slicked ground underneath every time she fell.
Bullets occasionally whizzed past her, disappearing into the forest or striking trees near her and sending showers of splintered wood in every direction. The bullets stopped before long as they lost sight of her, and they resorted to yelling to each other, informing each other about glimpses of her or the trail of footprints she left.
Her body was running hot, but all of her limbs had quickly frozen as she clambered over the ground, finally reaching the last hill that led up to the house. She crawled on her hands and knees, using the ice pick to stab into the cold ground and pull herself up. She had gotten a good head start on them and just as she neared the edge of the woods, she stepped into the set of footprints she had been following that led right to the house, then she jumped off to the side and landed in the snow. She scurried backward, wiping the snow in front of her as she went to conceal her tracks. If the bandits were paying close attention, they would discover her trick without any trouble, and she prayed that they were too excited and focused on revenge for them to notice.
Sarah continued until she had slipped behind a felled log draped across the top of a short mound of earth. She wiped up the last of her prints in the snow, then she stayed low and watched.
The bandits came up the hill, still furiously shouting at each other as their eyes were glued ahead. They occasionally glanced down at the footprints to make sure they were still going in the right direction, and they crested the hill and went right past her, heading for the clearing ahead.
When they were gone, Sarah propped herself up to see them, but she couldn't from her vantage point. She moved around to the side, this time not worrying about the marks she left in the snow, until she came up to a thick tree near the edge of the woods that looked out at the house from the front-left corner.
The bandits came out into the clearing and sized up the property, looking from the house to the shed.
"He's hiding somewhere here!" one of the bandits shouted. "Flush him out!"
Sarah peeked out from around the tree, watching as the bandits started to fan out. The tension immediately gnawed at her and she felt herself become panicked, torn between excitement that the bandits would kill her stalker and a wriggling doubt whispering to her that maybe they wouldn't.
"Jack, go check that shed!" one of the bandits cried. "Everyone else, surround the house!"
And so they spread out, the bandits at the edges of the group trotting ahead to make their way around to the other side, all of them keeping their heads on swivels for anything at all that moved.
Sarah watched them surround the killer, and her eyes moved back to the bathroom window where the killer had been removing nails from his body. But as she looked at it, she was met with an odd sight.
Something was obstructing her view of the interior, and no longer did she see any orange glow from the candle. She could see the glass and she knew the window hadn't been boarded up, but it almost looked as if something had been pushed up to it from the inside, blocking it. Then she saw that the front door was sitting slightly ajar as if the bandits were being let right in. The mysterious image was so innocuous, but it filled her with a deep and terrible fear. She knew something was wrong.
The bandit named Jack wrenched open the shed door
s and disappeared into the darkness as the others completed their circle around the house, all of their rifles raised and pointing at it. They all waited for just a moment, and then the bandit leading the group said, "Let's kill the son of a bitch."
They all converged on the house and the ones in the front shoved open the front door, followed by a sound coming from the back of the house of another door being shoved open.
At first there was silence and Sarah waited on pins and needles. She clung onto her blanket, bringing it back down onto her shoulders as she held the ice pick uselessly in her other hand. She could hear the sound of her breath rattling in and out of her lungs, and she saw the frozen vapors she emitted floating away in her periphery.
Shouts came from inside the house, sounding confused.
The front door suddenly slammed shut. It happened so fast that Sarah didn't see who had done it, but whoever had was inside.
More shouting came from the house as Sarah began to notice both windows in the front had been blocked by something as well. The fear that had started to dissolve came roaring back and she began to whimper, having a very bad feeling about all of this.
Another loud sound rang out in the night, very similar to the front door slamming, but this time coming from the back.
The yelling became frantic and the front door started to rattle in its frame as someone pounded on it from the other side. Black smoke seeped out from under the door and through the cracks under the windows as screams of pure terror came from inside.
Gunfire went off in the house and bullets pierced through the door and part of the wall, but a moment later, a hungry blaze began to climb up the wood, sealing off the exit.
The bandits howled as the entire house erupted into flames.
The other bandit that had gone in the shed ran outside, hearing the commotion. When he saw the flames covering the building, he nearly fell to his knees. His mouth hung open as he stood flabbergasted by what he saw. He tried to mouth some words, but nothing intelligible came out. His legs started to move, slowly at first, and he ran to the side of the house looking at the bathroom window and then went around to the front, trying to find a way for them to escape. But it was too late.
Zombie Apocalypse Series Books 1-3 (Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set) Page 65
