The motorcycle’s tire tracks ran down the dirt path. Don didn’t like the long confined space. It reeked of a trap. So far the walkers had been mostly mindless, but he’d also seen them act with thought and purpose. What real choice did he have? Going around and picking up the trail at the other end would expose him even more, and he needed the motorcycle. Then he remembered the oldest trick in the book.
Don picked up a broken piece of concrete the size of a golf ball. He ordered Tank to sit and stay. Then he hurled the stone as far as he could, making sure it hit the fence. It nailed a section of white PVC, cracking it. Nothing happened at first, but after a few seconds, a section of stockade fence further along the alley slide out of place.
Don lifted the shotgun and turned to Lester. He’d removed the speaker from the broken hockey stick and now held it in his hand. “You ready?” Don knew where they were and had the advantage.
Lester nodded and turned on the music. They started down the alley, staying in the weeds and hugging the fence. When they were halfway, Don realized he’d been wrong, a section of fence hadn’t been removed. He turned quickly, acid burning a hole in his stomach. The end of the alley was clogged with people wearing gas masks. They stood in a line holding knives, clubs, and a couple had guns. A crowd was gathering at the other end. They were trapped. He’d been tricked into thinking he knew where they were, where they’d come at him, only they had circled back.
Somewhere, the dirt bike sparked up, and then receded into the distance. The men were inching into the alley. The air stank of gas and smoke, as some of the walkers carried torches. Tank was barking, and the loud heavy metal music wasn’t having its normal effect. As Don looked closer, it became clear why.
These weren’t sleepwalkers at all.
This was exactly what Don had feared. The younger generation lived their lives hoping for the zombie apocalypse, and many retail companies, military surplus stores, and religious zealots only threw fuel on the fire started by video games, the internet, and the panic-driven media. These people had no idea what they were doing, and Don cringed at the thought that they might even be having fun.
The lead guy yelled for Don to drop his gun. They were getting closer, and guns were being sighted, and arrows notched to bows. There were people coming from the other direction as well. Don fired two shots in quick succession, blowing a huge hole through the PVC fence to his right.
Tank was the first one through, followed by Lester, then Don. All three of them ran blindly through a border of bushes, out onto a thin patio, and then fell headlong into an in-ground pool.
Don came up sputtering and coughing. Lester was already climbing up the steps out of the pool, and Tank was swimming as only dogs can, legs pumping, head nodding above the water. Don scrambled toward the nearest side and was impeded by the shotgun slung over his shoulder. That caused a moment of panic as he looked frantically toward Lester. The pack was still on his back, but was dripping wet, and he still held the M16. Hopefully, the ammo wasn’t drenched.
Don pulled himself from the pool, and ran after Lester and Tank. A shot rang out, and a bullet whizzed by his head, and planted itself in the side of the stucco-covered house in front of the pool. There were muffled screams as the men chasing them tried to communicate through their gasmasks. Another shot rang out, and Don was hit, and went down on the patio that surrounded the pool. He rolled over and leveled his gun on his pursuers. He knew it probably wouldn’t fire, but he had no other options. Don didn’t want to shoot these confused assholes, but he was fighting for his life, and one of them shot him.
The gun did fire, and the first man through the bushes got blown from his feet. He pumped the slide, waiting to shoot again. A moment passed. Then two. Don jumped up and headed for the house. Lester stared through the backdoor window, waiting for him. The door was opened a crack. He had forty feet to go.
“Duck!” Lester yelled through the crack, and Don dove randomly to his left, and went into a roll. A bullet hissed by, and Don came out of his roll facing his pursuers.
He pulled the trigger, and the gun didn’t fire. Don racked the slide, ejecting the wet cartridge. Another bullet hissed by. Don’s closest pursuer was firing on the run, with what looked like a rifle. That was difficult even for an experienced marksman, and he guessed the only firing range these chumps had been on was Xbox.
He fired twice, and both times the powder caught, and expanded. The double boom, and the felling of two of their crew, paused the rest of the rouges. Don got up and ran to the house. His leg hurt like he’d been stabbed, but he felt lucky. When he reached the house, Lester let him inside, and they barricaded the doors and lower windows as best they could.
Don collapsed against the wall and pulled his fatigues down. The bullet had passed through his upper leg, and missed bone. Lester arrived with a damp towel and cleaned the wound.
“Damn,” Lester said when he saw Don’s bare legs, which were a spider web of scars. “You look like a ragdoll.”
Don chuckled as he tore off a piece of drapery that hung beside him, and tied off his bleeding leg. He’d been shot and stabbed a few times before, and he’d been lucky this time. “Yup. Almost all of it for king and country. That long one there is from a particular perp. The ass had fallen, but in his panic, he continued to fire his machinegun. The eight shots almost severed my leg, but if he hadn’t fallen, I’d be dead. This gunshot is nothing by comparison.”
But now he had an open wound.
There was an explosion in the distance, and the ground rumbled, and the windows shook. Don and Lester looked at each other. “What do you think that was?”
“No idea. Get that pack off and get the ammo out. Make sure it’s dry.”
Lester realized what Don had minutes ago, and fear tugged at his face. He opened the backpack, and looked up at Don. “Looks fine. The inside of the bag is dry.”
They all collapsed in the living room, stealing glances out the front window. It was quiet outside. Don let his head fall in his hands. He wasn’t used to losing, and he didn’t like the feeling.
He was still dripping wet, and he was watching a puddle form when he heard the M16’s trigger lock hit the floor. He looked up to see Lester breaking down the weapon.
“That was fast.”
“I’ve picked that lock many times.”
“And you know how to field strip an M16?”
“Jerry taught me. We used to time each other and see who was faster.” Lester got up and disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he had a dishrag, and resumed his work cleaning and drying the weapon. Don laid his shotgun next to Lester, and he and Tank went through all the rooms in the house. Other than a cat hiding beneath an upstairs bed, there was nobody there.
When Don got back, Lester handed him the M16. “Locked and loaded. This stuff should be good to go as well.” He’d dried the bag, and had it on his back. The shotgun was slung over his shoulder. “Check this out,” Lester said, as he went to a side window. A Nissan Pathfinder sat in the driveway. “And look.” Lester pointed at a key box.
Don looked at the keys, then out the window at the Pathfinder. He’d tried the subtle game. I hadn’t worked. If cops wanted to join him at Rick Dempsey’s place, great. Otherwise, it was time for him to move on.
Night was coming.
Chapter Twelve
Maureen had made up her mind. She was leaving the island. She understood the arguments for staying, but wasn’t willing to risk her life further since she believed there was no worthwhile reason. They’d argued all the angles, let all their self-interests show, and there was no agreement. The group’s verbal rumble echoed through the Glades as everyone tried to have their opinion heard.
“You want me to leave Lilly?” Conrad said.
“And Sheryl,” Raul said. He had snapped out of his trance, and his eyes were burning red as his ride ended and he came back down to earth.
Everyone was talking at once, and Maureen tried to stay patient, but listening to the babble was
just making her angry. She stared at the ground, watching a scorpion work its way toward Saura’s blanket. The scorpions that inhabited southern Florida couldn’t kill you, but they packed a nasty sting. Maureen hoped the scorpion didn’t get much closer, because then she’d be forced to decide if the young woman got a painful bite. She was afraid of the decision she might make.
“Leave? What about the trip?” Saura said. To Maureen, it looked as if the insect doubled its pace.
“Will we get our money back?” Ping asked.
“Enough!” Maureen yelled, and the bickering ceased. “Conrad, do you have a plan? We searched most of the island.” Ping started to speak, and Maureen shut him down. “You’ve been sitting on your ass while the rest of us have been searching. You don’t get a say.” Ping looked pissed for an instant, but didn’t speak.
“Look some more,” Conrad said. “That’s my plan. To search until I find her.”
“Even if she can’t be found, or doesn’t want to be?” said Raul.
Maureen smiled. There was sober Raul. In her mind, he was the only other rational person in the group. He’d said what Maureen had been thinking. Perhaps Lilly and Sheryl didn’t want to be found, though the idea made no sense at all. What made more sense was they were dead, or being held by whoever had killed Hawk and Geoff.
“What do you mean they might not want to be found?” Conrad asked.
“We should have found them. Maureen and Tim went around the entire island, you walked across it, and Raul and I zigzagged from shore to shore. Don’t see how we all could have missed them, Conrad,” Wendy said.
“And all that blood,” Raul said. They’d seen puddles of blood, but no body parts.
Nobody wanted to say what everyone else was thinking; Lilly and Sheryl were dead. The group’s angst was clear. It was like when they lost a patient in the operating theatre. There was always a delay before the patient was pronounced dead, as if the surgeon and his team were giving the deceased person one last chance to claw back from oblivion.
What made this situation more complicated was there were facts that supported the idea that Lilly and Sheryl were still alive. If they’d been murdered, why weren’t their body parts with the others? Why hadn’t they found their bodies, or any signs of the women? Her nurse’s brain nudged her, and said, “How do you know you haven’t found signs,” and Maureen realized she didn’t know for sure. She had assumed those were Hawk and Geoff’s limbs because of the head, but how did she know some of the limbs weren’t Sheryl or Lilly’s? She hadn’t examined the arms closely, but she had looked at the hands, and she didn’t remember any nail polish, or a missing finger, nor did she recall thinking the limbs were anything other than male body parts. Then there was the bone splinters and blood.
“So you’re saying they’re gone? Dead?” Conrad said.
No one answered him. Instead, the group broke up, even though no decision had been made. Saura lay back down on her blanket, and Ping flipped his burgers. Apparently ride, besides giving you a thrill and improving your mood, made you a moron. Maureen ran forward and stepped on the scorpion that was now two feet from Saura’s blanket. The Asian woman jumped and looked up at Maureen with contempt.
Maureen lifted her bootie, and the crushed scorpion lay there.
Saura’s expression softened. “Thank you,” she said.
Raul, Wendy, and Tim followed Maureen, unsure what to do. Conrad cursed and stalked off. He stopped by a large Gumbo limbo tree, and leaned against it. He covered his face with his hands, and slide down the trunk until he sat with his back to the tree, head in his hands.
Raul lifted an eyebrow. “We can’t get stuck in the kayaks after dark, and I don’t recall seeing another island this big where we could stop,” Raul said.
“That’s probably a good thing,” Wendy said. Her ride appeared to have ended as well, and she looked mostly sober.
“How so?” Tim asked.
“Because we can secure a small island, or a hardwood hammock, because we’ll be able to see everything,” Maureen said.
“Seems we’d be more exposed to crocs,” Tim said. Maureen looked at him as if he were a dead rat.
“We have the rifle. Someone can stand guard, Bradley Cooper,” Raul said.
“So we’ll paddle until dusk, and then in the morning we paddle out, and get the police,” Maureen said.
“I can mark Hawk’s location on the map, and we’ll know right where to send them,” Tim said.
The four conspirators nodded agreement. Maureen watched Raul as he stared at Saura and Ping, who were still oblivious to the severity of the situation despite the fact there was a blue kayak strung in the trees containing Hawk’s body. Conrad still sat with his back to the tree, his face buried in hands, whimpering. “What about them?” Maureen asked.
Raul shrugged, then said, “They’re adults. We can’t make them come, and I understand why Conrad doesn’t want to leave.”
“And it’s probably best he’s not alone,” Wendy said.
All valid points. “Okay, then. I’ll tell them what we’re doing while you get packed up and ready to leave.” Like a huddle breaking, they went their separate ways.
Maureen and Tim were explaining things to Ping when Raul and Wendy joined them, and informed Maureen they were ready to go. Ping and Saura didn’t know what to do. They didn’t want to leave Conrad, but the fact that everyone else was leaving had brought Ping back to reality. Maureen doubted Saura ever lived in the reality she did.
Conrad still sat next to the tree, and every few minutes Maureen would glance in his direction to make sure he was all right. He hadn’t moved, and the sobbing had stopped. He looked to be asleep. Seeing Maureen’s concern, Tim said, “I’m going to try to talk to him one more time.”
“I think we should go, sweetie,” Ping said, and Saura’s face crinkled as she twisted her hair. “We’ll check in at a nice hotel on Miami Beach, and enjoy the rest of the week, no worries.” At this, Saura seemed to brighten, and she got to her feet, and pulled on her sweatpants. Ping got their stuff together.
Tim screamed, a blood-curdling wail that silenced the natural chorus, and tickled Maureen’s spine.
Tim was fighting off Conrad, who was trying to bite him. Conrad’s eyes filled with blood, and veins swelled where the white lines on his face had been. He bared his teeth, and half-wailed, half-yelled something unintelligible. The two men danced in a spasmodic pirouette, Tim adjusting to the jerks and pulls of Conrad.
Saura screeched, and Conrad paused as he turned to see the source of the noise. Tim lashed out with his foot, knocking him backward, and out from under the tree cover into the afternoon sun. It was Conrad’s turn to shriek in pain. He grabbed his head, turned, and rushed Tim. They collided, and the two men tumbled into the shade of the forest, and this gave Conrad new life.
Maureen and the rest of the party watched as Conrad gripped Tim by the arms, and bit his shoulder. Tim wailed again, but this time it was the cry of a man who was losing his battle to survive. Maureen couldn’t believe what she was seeing, but in that instant, all the pieces of the confusing puzzle dropped into place.
Conrad punched Tim in the head, a powerful roundhouse that took his legs out from under him. Tim hit the ground, his head smacking a tree root, and knocking him unconscious.
Tim swelled, his face grew purple, and blood vessels pulsed through his skin. He grunted and pounded his chest with his fists. He barely looked to be the man he’d been five minutes earlier. His boyish features were gone; his mischievous eyes, baby fat cheeks, and ever-present smile replaced with swollen orbitals, distended cheeks, and a blood-thirsty sneer.
Conrad, seeing Tim’s transformation, pulled back and hid in the shade, watching. Tim straightened, and appeared dazed, as if he had just been born.
“What the hell?” Raul said.
Maureen brought up the rifle, but didn’t know where to point it. The tip of the gun flicked back and forth between Tim and Conrad, until finally it stopped on Conrad. Ti
m yelled, and appeared to be trying to communicate with Maureen, but when she didn’t respond to his guttural questions, he charged her. As he exited the shade, and was drenched by sunlight, Tim cringed, agony filling his distorted face, but he didn’t stop. The pain seemed to drive him on, and he came at Maureen with a single-minded purpose.
Maureen was unfazed. Her resolve had grown, and she deftly shifted her aim, and pointed the rifle at Tim as he lurched across camp. She felt pity for her deformed husband, even as he tried to kill her. Beneath the hatred, engorged muscles, and blood was a man she’d once cared about, a man she had loved.
Tim was twenty feet away and coming on hard. No one else moved, as Tim appeared to only have eyes for Maureen. Her finger tightened around the trigger, and she felt the steel beckoning her to fire, but she couldn’t. Tim staggered closer, the movements of his body disjointed and abrupt. When he was ten feet away, he let loose with a battle cry, and Maureen squeezed the trigger.
The shot hit Tim in the leg, and spun him around. He staggered, teetering on the edge of losing his balance. He sat, more than fell, and as he did so, he mutated yet again. Blood drained from his eyes, the swelling of his muscles relaxed, and the veins retreated, leaving only white lines. His lips slipped back over his teeth. He squinted, his mouth fell open, and then the pain from the gunshot wound rocked him. His face twisted, but all aggression had left him.
“Okay,” Raul said. “Am I in the Twilight Zone?”
“What happened?” asked Tim. Maureen still pointed the gun at him. “You shot me?” He sounded incredulous.
Maureen pulled back the rifle’s bolt, discharged the empty shell, and loaded another. The sound of metal on metal as Maureen slammed the bolt home reverberated across the island, and everything paused again. Her pocket no longer bulged with bullets, and she estimated she only had three or four left.
Awake Page 9
