CHAPTER 6
All I can do is watch as the bus drives away. I know I was hoping for this last night but so much has changed since then. If Mr. Buckley joins the ranks of our ragtag group of survivors, there’s no telling what fate they’ll meet, but I know it won’t be desirable. And now my friends are going to be joining them, only, they’re not because Marty doesn’t know where he’s supposed to meet them. How long will they wait? If we leave now we can walk there by noon, but we can’t leave now. First, I have to dig. I can’t risk Caylee’s life. Neil’s snapped, I wouldn’t put anything past him.
“Felecia,” I yell, rushing to her motionless body on the side of the road. “Are you okay? Please, please you have to be alright.”
“I think I’m okay,” she moans into the pavement, spitting pebbles from the blood in her mouth as I throw myself down beside her.
“It’s okay, I got you,” I say, resting her against me, brushing the red-stained strands of hair from her cracked lip. “Here, let me untie you.”
“You can’t.” The voice she uses when it’s only me and her around is hands down the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, so warm and sensual, like a sexy late night DJ who plays nothing but classic love songs. “He didn’t use rope, it’s a zip tie. We’ll have to cut it. Can you hold my hair? I have to spit out more blood.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” I whisper, brushing her hair aside. “I’m not letting him get away with this.”
“Noah, it’s okay,” she whimpers, a long strand of blood tainted saliva still clinging to her lower lip. “This is what we wanted. We’re gonna be alright. We’re gonna find a way out of this. You and me, we’re gonna be okay. There is no one else I’d want to be here with, we can do this.”
She looks so vulnerable yet strong. Her hands bound behind her back, that pleading look in her eyes that tells me we’ll be fine while at the same time begging me to prove her right. It takes all my strength not to just lay down beside her and wrap her up in my arms as if they’ll be enough to protect her from all that’s going on around us.
Her eyes nearly double in size when she shifts her gaze from me to something over my shoulder. Something in the field.
“Shit, Noah, run,” she whimpers with an urgency so strong I don’t even need to turn around.
“Quick, that barn up on the hill,” I shout, helping her to her feet. Something in there will act as a weapon, with any luck we’ll have our choice. There’ll have to be some kind of blade I can use to free Felecia.
I pick her up when we get to the small barbed wire fence that lines the road. It’s so old I could probably kick the wooden posts over and put my foot right through it but we don’t have time to waste. Three of them run through the open pasture, former farmers judging by their clothing. They’re gaining on us. Having Felecia draped over my shoulder like this reminds me of yesterday, escaping the school with her on my back. I don’t want to let her go but we’ll be faster running side by side. I gently place her down, careful not to cut either of us.
Once she’s safely on her feet, I crawl between the two lower strings of barbed wire as delicately as possible. I must look like a woman in a dress entering a boxing ring for the first time, really masculine Noah. And of course the hottest girl known to mankind is standing right there watching. The old mankind, not this new version where we eat each other, I don’t think they care how hot she is.
She doesn’t crack a joke or so much as laugh at me, she just waits patiently until I’m safely through before we take off running. The uneven land makes it difficult to pick up speed, not to mention we’re going uphill. The ominous structure grows larger with every calculated footfall as we do everything in our power not to trip. Twisting an ankle would mean certain death out here. These fuckers are fast.
A loud crash at the bottom of the hill forces me to turn my head. The first one reached the fence and either didn’t see it or simply didn’t care. She’s wrapped up in the rusty razor wire, tearing her body to shreds while trying to break free. She took the two nearest posts down with her, I don’t see this holding them off for long. The other two aren’t far behind.
The closer we get, the more I question the structural integrity of this place. The roof is sagging, the wall boards have holes in them, there isn’t even a door. It certainly isn’t a place to hide out and regroup. We’ll cut the zip tie, get our tools and get the hell out of here, all while praying a giant gust of wind doesn’t blow the place down on top of us.
The fence is barely slowing them down. I can hear them panting, salivating at the mouth as their meal draws closer. They stumble and fall on the unfarmed pasture, tripping over themselves like newborns learning to walk. They’re never down for more than a second. Injuries don’t phase them. Twist an ankle, walk on it anyway. Lose an ankle, walk on the bloody stump. They don’t care.
We enter the stillness of the shadows, the rising sun’s light not yet enough to illuminate the decrepit barn. Slivers of early morning glow pierce the decaying boards, offering just enough light to see. I can make out rusty tools hanging on support beams, ripe for the picking. Their age means one of two things, they’ll either be too old to use and the wood will fall apart in our hands or they’ll be the sturdiest long handle tools we’ve ever touched. I’m really hoping for the latter.
“Come on,” I say, searching the nearly empty barn for anything useful, “we gotta find something to cut that zip tie.”
“We don’t have time. Noah, they’re coming! They’re here.”
I grab the closest thing to me, a pitchfork that’s seen better days. The electrical tape wrapped around the handle falls off on contact, disintegrating beneath my touch. Maybe electrical tape wasn’t the wisest adhesive to use. The handle wiggles but doesn’t detach completely. I guess this’ll have to do.
Felecia backs away from the opening, retreating into the shadows of the age old structure. Its bones groan and creak in the gentle breeze, sending plumes of dust swirling like miniature geriatric tornadoes.
The first one reaches the doorway, a silhouette of an older man in overalls, disfigured, large chunks of his neck and shoulder devoured by human teeth. His combover, wet with sweat and blood, dangles over his missing ear. The early morning sun glows on his bald patch covered in age spots. His eyes scan the dark barn frantically, searching for us. He knows we ran in here but the lack of light paired with the fact that his glasses are dangling on a string around his neck means he can’t see us.
He tilts his head back and sniffs the air as I race towards him with my pitchfork poised to strike. My scent registers a second too late and before he can make his move, the four rusty teeth-like blades plunge into his upper torso, meeting minor resistance on his frail bones. They slide into his chest, neck and cheek with little difficulty but do nothing in terms of stopping him. The impact kills my wrist, causing me to whimper in pain but the wrap around it is helping more than I thought it would.
The old man growls as I pull the pitchfork from his sunburned body and swing it again, this time going directly for his face. The forks break through his skull, shattering bones, breaking teeth, disappearing into his eye socket. But it doesn’t stop him. He thrusts his feeble body towards me, clawing and grabbing, desperation setting in. Blood gushes from the holes in his face, cascading down the blue jean material of his overalls and saturating his flannel shirt.
A younger one comes racing in behind him, more agile, stronger. I kick the old man in the stomach and pull the pitchfork from his face. His body falls backwards, crashing into what must have been his grandson. They fall to the dirt floor but won’t be there for long. The sight of the old man’s eyeball on the uppermost tine of the pitchfork makes my stomach knot up. I drop the tool in disgust, the tail of the optical nerve slapping the ground a second later, leaving a puddle of blood and slime coating the dry dust of the barn floor.
The pitchfork isn’t working. I need something else. Something that can slice through a human body with ease. I never intended on becom
ing a serial killer, things like this never crossed my mind before yesterday. How the fuck am I supposed to know what weapons will decapitate a resurrected corpse? I’d rather not know, I would have preferred going the rest of my life without knowing.
With my good hand, I rip a pickaxe from its nails on the wall where it’s probably been hanging for the last twenty years. This certainly isn’t what they were intended for but I spin around without a moment’s hesitation and ram it into the young one’s skull. No matter how much of this I see, the last one never prepares me for the next. I have to stop myself from vomiting. My stomach does flip flops around my butthole as I yank the axe from his collapsed face and swing again, this time at the old man. Half his face is already missing but I’ve found out the hard way on more than one occasion that that’s not nearly enough to quell their hunger.
I spin the axe around and bring it down once more, this time using the bigger counterweight side in hopes it will sever these bastard’s heads off. It doesn’t. The sharp surface digs into the old man’s neck but comes nowhere close to decapitating him.
Blood bubbles from his exposed windpipe, popping with sickly gurgling noises every time he breathes. His remaining eye is trained on me, longing, desperate to sink his shattered teeth into my flesh.
He attempts to sit up so he can lunge for me but fails miserably. His body moves, leaving his head resting on the dirt floor, attached by nothing more than a few stubborn plates in his spinal column that aren’t enough to support the weight.
I swing again and connect with a bone shattering crunch. His head rolls to the side, blood oozing from his mangled neck. His body goes still, arthritic fingers curled into claws, reaching for me.
The young one tries to get out from under the weight of what was once his grandfather but I bring the heavy side of the axe down on him once again. It disappears into the open cavity of his mouth. I pull it back, bringing him with it until the weight of the lifeless body on top of him holds him down. The wide spike releases with a slurping and I slam it down in the same spot, splitting his head in half at the mouth. The mangled remains of his tongue flap around uncontrollably, free of his upper jaw. The top of his head is barely hanging on, his eyes and nose pointed skyward, his lower row of teeth chomping at the air, dying to sink into my flesh.
I swing one last time, separating the two halves of his decimated skull. Brain matter leaks out through the open end of his nasal cavity, mixing in with blood and mucus and other bodily fluids that have no business being in the outside world. But he’s not moving. All that matters is that he can no longer get us. We’re safe again. But for how long?
CHAPTER 7
“Noah, I think I found a table saw,” Felecia yells from somewhere in the darkness as I try to regain my composure. “I think I can cut the zip tie off but I’ll need your help.”
“I hate to tell you but I don’t think that thing’s gonna power on. This place hasn’t seen electricity in our lifetime,” I say limping over to her. I don’t even know which foot I’m limping on. Both? Everything hurts. I need time to let my body heal but I don’t see that opportunity coming anytime soon.
“No, if you can help me up onto the saw, I can slide the zip tie across it until it breaks. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. They’re down, we just gotta keep an eye out for the woman, I think she’s still tangled up.”
I wrap my arms around Felecia’s petite frame and lift her onto the table saw. She begins sawing through her captivity bracelet, never taking her eyes off mine. Something about this feels so intimate. I don’t know what it is. The fact that our bodies are so close I can feel her warmth? The intense eye contact and heavy breathing that makes it feel like her naked body is riding mine? The handcuffs like this is some kinky sexual endeavor that requires a safe word? Whatever it is has my heart about ready to slam through my ribcage.
The small snapping sound makes her eyes close, finally breaking the stare down we’ve been embroiled in. She’s free. After a couple rolls of her wrists, she gently wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. I squeeze her so tight she whimpers involuntarily, her mouth against my ear. I don’t know if she meant to or not or if she even knows but it is hands down the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“You and me,” she whispers, her words catching in her throat. “We’re gonna make it Noah. Whatever happens, we’re gonna make it out alive. I promise you.”
“Felecia, I think I–”
“Don’t, it’s okay. Not here. Not now. There’ll be a time and place. When we’re safe. We’ll figure it out then. But now, right now,” she says, letting go of our death grip embrace, “we need to go dig that grave before they come back. Neil will kill her, he’s snapped. This is all too much for him.”
“What did he do to you Felecia? What happened?”
She sighs heavily, blowing flyaway strands of her golden mane from her forehead before answering.
“He was supposed to watch out for me. I didn’t want to go to the party anyway but I was upset, so I let him take me. He didn’t watch out for me because he was too drunk. He was too drunk to know someone slipped something in my drink.”
“Oh my god, no, don’t tell me–”
“He let them rape me. All of them,” she squeaks, her voice so frail it’s barely audible. “I can still feel them on top of me. It’s been two months but I feel it as if it’s still happening and I don’t even know who I’m feeling. All I know is that he wasn’t there. He promised me he would look out for me. He promised. But when the time came, when I needed him, he was nowhere to be found. The one time I needed to be protected, he let me down. No one stopped it.”
“I didn’t know,” I whisper, trying to fight back tears in a losing battle.
“I know you didn’t,” she says, shaking her head, rubbing my face with her hands. “I know you didn’t, because you’re the only one who would’ve protected me.”
Her face inches closer to mine. I know what’s coming. I’ve wanted it for so long I can feel her lips press against mine before it even happens. She holds my face steady, cupped in her tender palms. There’s no escape. I wouldn’t want to if I could. The world can go to hell around us, this moment is all that matters. Me and her. That’s all there is. That’s all I need. I can hear her lips purse as they draw so close I can feel the warmth of her breath meet mine. I’ve never wanted–
What’s that noise?
Felecia jumps down before our lips meet, her eyes fixed on the doorway. What remains of the woman who got tangled up in the barbed wire comes hobbling in, scraps of clothing and flesh dangling from her shredded body. Blood drips from her elbow where the lower half of her arm once was, barbed wire wrapped around her limbs, dragging behind her like a mangled tail of metal and human body parts.
She hobbles toward us, the remaining muscles on her calves barely enough to hold up the weight of her body. Her forearm enters the barn a good ten feet behind her, tangled in a bloody ball of wire and frayed flesh. It’s wrapped around her face, tearing the cheek clear off the bone, revealing the inside of her mouth. A few feet behind her arm, the wooden post comes into view, she’s dragging half the fence along with her. It’s wrapped so tightly around her legs she can barely walk. Every step tears the skin from her exposed muscles. In another few steps she’ll be nothing but a walking skeleton.
After a few seconds of fumbling around in the darkness, Felecia grabs an axe from what appears to be a pile of scrap wood. Without a word she marches toward the barbed wire body I assume is the mother of the teen and daughter of the old man. How quickly did it spread? Out here, in the middle of nowhere, you’d think you’d find safety. A mistake they made. And a mistake we made afterwards. How many more people will come out here, assuming they’ve escaped only to find the horrific truth? There is no escape.
Felecia swings the axe with both hands, snapping the neck of the tangled corpse, knocking her down but not stopping her. She continues to roll around, wrapping herself up even more in the rusty wire. Bringing the
axe down once more, all movement stops. The detached head rolls only a few inches before the barbed wire stops it in its tracks.
“I think I’m keeping this one,” she says, examining the axe. “Two shots isn’t bad. There’s a small one in that log there. A hatchet? You might be able to swing it with your left hand. It’s little but I bet it’ll work. We better get digging, before they come back.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, thrown completely off my game by our almost kiss. I swear to god it was going to happen. Right? I wasn’t imagining it. I couldn’t have been. We were going to kiss. She wanted it as badly as I did. She had to.
I try to pull the hatchet out of the log but she’s right, my hand is useless, I need to use my left. I’m not used to swinging with this hand but when your life is on the line, little things like that don’t matter.
The hatchet feels sturdy. Its handle is shorter than I’d like, putting me closer to these things than I’d prefer to be. But then again, being in the same room as them is less than desirable.
We each grab a shovel off the wall and make our way back to the road. This is the last thing we should be focusing our time and energy on. But I know that if we don’t, Neil will take his anger out on Caylee. An anger that’s been building inside of him for years. An anger that stems from the fact that he’ll never be good enough for his father, the same father they’re going to rescue right now. He’s been a prick for as long as I can remember, and it’s always been his father’s fault. To this day, he’s too scared to admit it. He’ll become what he hates because he’s too weak to admit he hates it. If ever there were a time to step out of the shadows and lead, this would be it. But he cowers and accepts the fate his dad has planned for him.
Blood Type Infected (Book 2): Fallen To The Flame Page 4
