As quickly as I could, I shot through the wall five times in the direction I thought he might be. I was rewarded with a “Fuck! I’m going to kill you for that!” so I figured I’d hit him, but not badly enough. I sprayed another handful of bullets through the wall, hoping to force him either out of or away from the corner. When I didn’t hear anything else, I set the rifle down and drew my pistol as I got up. I ran quickly to the corner and risked a peek. I immediately noticed two things—they were going to need a new dining room table and, more importantly, the man was gone. Figuring he was trying to sneak around behind me again, I ran around after him, and caught up to him as he burst into the kitchen.
“Die, Motherfucker!” he yelled as he sprang out shooting.
“You first!” I yelled. I gave him just long enough to start to look in my direction, and put one through his head. He collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
Which left me staring out the glass door from the kitchen onto the back porch at the other six people I’d been told were up in the house. Several of them had drawn pistols and were starting to aim at me. I fired twice, causing them to dive down and cover themselves as the glass door exploded into shards on them, then I dove back toward the dining room to dodge their fire.
Six people were more than I wanted to face with just a pistol and knife; I needed my rifle! I got up quickly and raced through the dining room to the other side of the kitchen. The cannibals were just coming through the remains of the door. I traded fire with one of them as the rest dove out of the way; he grazed me on the arm, but I hit him in the forehead. I loosed a few rounds at them one-handed, just trying to keep their heads down as I grabbed the rifle in my left hand and ran back into the dining room, slamming another magazine into the rifle once I was out of sight.
But now I was trapped. They were in the kitchen, but they also had a good view of the foyer and the front door, which was on the other side of the dining room. Had I known there were that many more, I would have run out the front door instead of shooting the last one of the first group with my pistol. And yelling at him had been stupid, too.
Oops.
Twenty-twenty hindsight didn’t help me much; I needed a plan, and I didn’t have any time to think up anything, so I threw my pistol toward the front door, then charged out into the kitchen from the other side. The clatter as it hit the tile in front of the door caused all of the cannibals to look that way, then I was upon them, my executioner’s mask upon my face.
I killed the first two while they were still looking at the pistol lying on the floor, then a third as he started to turn. Realizing he’d been had, the fourth threw himself onto his back so he could aim at me and got a shot off that was close enough to my ear for me to hear it go past. I shot him four or five times—I wasn’t entirely sure, I was so scared at that moment—then lowered the rifle to take stock.
Which was when the remaining cannibal, who’d followed me through the dining room tackled me. He hit me hard and high from behind, wrapping his arms around me, and drove me to the floor. Happily, his momentum carried us into the living room, so when my face broke our fall, it was at least on carpet rather than the simulated wood of the kitchen.
I lay there, stunned, as my air whooshed! out of me, and the cannibal took the opportunity to release me and climb onto my back. He grabbed my head in both of his hands and rammed it into the floor. I saw stars, and then more stars as he did it again, but he had gone too far up my back, and I got my hands and knees under me and boosted upward, throwing him off me.
He was faster getting to his feet, but had to spin back around and we came up at the same time to face each other—me with a knife in my hand and him armed with nothing more than a frown. I smiled as I advanced on him, but he took a step back and yanked a lamp off an end table—pulling out the plug—bashed the lamp shade off, and came back at me, using the broken glass at the end of the lamp like a blade of his own.
He now had a substantial reach advantage over me, and I gave ground as he advanced, looking for something to even the odds.
Unfortunately, I tripped over one of the bodies behind me. As I started to go down backward, he saw his chance. He rushed forward and tried to stab me in the stomach with the broken lamp, but I pushed off on the faux wood floor and slid backward; the lamp dug a chunk out of the flooring between my legs. As he recovered, I levered myself up with one hand and drove my knife into the meat of his left thigh, which was as high as I could reach.
He stumbled backward, his left hand going to the knife, but he managed to trip over the same corpse I’d fallen over, and he went over backward. I jumped to my feet, ran two steps forward, and scooped my rifle up from where it had fallen. He was just starting to get back up as I turned toward him, and three rounds in the chest put him back down.
I stood up, stretching, and took a deep breath, only to see motion from the corner of my eye. I flinched, but couldn’t avoid it, and the object hit me in the stomach like a punch. I looked down and saw it was a meat cleaver as it fell to the floor—someone on the porch had thrown it, but the handle hit me, not the blade. I looked up, and the man I had shot in the back earlier was standing on the far side of the deck, just visible in the dim light spilling out of the kitchen. A grill was set up out back, and it looked like someone had been making barbeque.
He looked at me, and I looked at him; he looked as spent as I felt, and had a look of genuine disappointment on his face—he’d been sure the cleaver would kill me. I could see a dark stain on his shirt; he probably had been losing blood while I fought the rest of his friends, and I could tell he didn’t have much left as he reached over to pick up another knife. He drew back his arm to throw it at me, and I shot him in the face. He went backward and over the low railing around the deck.
I bent over, trying to catch my breath, while still looking for more of the assholes—there seemed to be an endless supply of them—when I noticed something beyond the blood dripping into my left eye. Gun fire was still coming from the car dealership next door. I sighed.
Guess I’d have to go help with that, too.
There was no rest for the wicked in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-One
I reloaded my rifle quickly—no sense charging into battle without ammo—and wiped the blood from my eye. Apparently, I either had a cut or a bleeding carpet burn on my forehead from where the asshole had banged my head on the floor. Nice. When it wouldn’t stop, I tore off a strip from one of the cannibal’s shirts and made a bandage out of it, seeing as how he wouldn’t be needing it anymore.
Before I left the house, I searched the rest of it, as I didn’t want anyone sneaking up behind me again. I found one more of them hiding in a closet. He came out…with two 9mm holes in his chest. Seriously, there were way too many of these people—it was amazing they hadn’t already depopulated all of Clanton; they must have had access to some alternate food sources, at least for a while.
When I got down to the car dealership, I found the attack group huddled together in the parking lot. “What’s going on?” I asked Jacobs.
“At the moment, nothing,” he replied. “One of them saw us coming and ran into the building with the hostages. Looks like there are two more in there with him. They’re threatening to kill all the people if we don’t leave.” He took a closer look at me. “You okay?”
I rolled my neck, trying to keep a clear head. More hostages. If I didn’t already hate these people, I would now. Something about taking hostages just irritated the crap out of me. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. “Pissed off, mostly.”
“How many were in that house?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. It all seemed a blur. “Ten or twelve.”
“How many got away?”
“None.” I shrugged. “None that I’m aware of, anyway.”
“You killed ten or twelve by yourself?”
“Yeah. Turns out it’s something I’m good at.” He stared at me, mouth open. “I know, right?” I asked. “
I had no idea either.”
“Want to be our sheriff?”
“Not really,” I replied. “I’d rather kill the rest of these people and get some rest. I feel like shit.” I nodded toward the north. “What about the barricades?” I asked. “Heard anything from them?”
“Yeah, the two southern ones are clear, as is the northern one on Highway 145. They all came running up once the gunfire started. They were in the open and didn’t last long.”
“So, just the northern group on I-65 is left, besides whoever’s in the building?” I indicated the car dealership with a finger.
“I sent some people to check out I-65, but those guys had split, and I don’t particularly want to chase them through the forest at night. Do you?” I shook my head, and it made me dizzy. Note to self—don’t do that again. “I have someone going back to town to get some dogs to track them. We’ll find them in the morning.”
“Awesome,” I said. They officially became Someone Else’s Problem, and I focused my attention on the building. “So, three total bad guys in the building?”
“We think so, based on the return fire we’ve taken. There might only be two, and they’re running around like crazy in there trying to pretend like they have more people.” He shrugged. “Could be more, too, I guess, and they’re just hiding out to ambush us.”
“Well, I’m tired of this shit, and I’m tired of these assholes,” I said. “It’s time to do something about it.”
“Got something in mind?”
“Yeah,” I replied, studying the building. “I’m going to kill them all.”
Final solutions work best in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jacobs looked at me and cocked his head. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly do you plan to do that?”
“I guess I could just go up and ask them nicely,” I said. “Maybe I can win them over with my charming personality.”
“It’s possible,” Jacobs said with a nod. “Then again, it’s possible monkeys may come flying out of my ass, too. Neither one’s very likely, but they’re both possible.”
I chuckled. “When we’re done with this, I could see about getting you some monkeys, if that’s what you’d like…”
“No, I think I’m good without ‘em,” Jacobs said. “Figured out how you’re getting in?”
“All things considered, I’d rather not go in the front door,” I replied. “As the whole thing’s glass, I expect they’ll see me a long way off. I’d rather go in a back door, but I suspect they’ll all be locked, and they’ll hear me breaking in.”
“You could also just have Anderson open the door,” one of the guys sheltering behind the truck next to us said. “I think he works there…or worked there, before the fall.”
I looked at Jacobs and rolled my eyes. “That might have been good info to have prior to now.”
He held up his hands, and his eyes went wide. “That’s the first time I’ve heard about it!”
We both turned to glare at the man behind the truck. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I just found out on the way up here. He wasn’t at the original planning meeting, and I forgot he used to work here.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“I think he’s on the other side of the parking lot.”
Wonderful. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go look for him, and then I will go kill the remaining assholes. And then I’m getting some sleep.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
I gave the guy behind the truck another glare—he shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry”—then I was off, running between the cars. I worked my way around to the other side of the parking lot, without anyone knowing who Anderson was. I finally made it to the last person.
“Have you seen a guy named Anderson, or do you know who he is?”
“No idea,” the man said. “Mighta been him,” he added, pointing to a body lying on the pavement between the car he was hiding behind and the building. There was a lot of space between us…and obviously someone in the building was a decent enough shot to shoot that far.
Shit.
I sighed. Apparently, nothing was going to be easy tonight.
“What’d you need him for?” the man asked.
“Someone said he used to work in that building and might have a key to get in.”
“Well, if he does, it’s probably there with him. I heard him say something about being able to get in there.”
“Really?”
“Mmm hmm.”
I looked at the body. Anderson—if that was really Anderson—was an average-sized guy. He’d be heavy, but I could drag him back to cover. It would probably be safer than standing out in the open searching his pockets.
The guy was only armed with a pistol, so I handed him my rifle. “What’s your name, and do you know how to shoot one of these?” I asked.
“Yeah, and I’m Bob.”
“Good, then cover me, Bob.”
“You’re going out there?”
“You know another way to get the keys out of his pocket?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither.”
“So you’re going?”
“Yep.”
“Well, shit. Good luck. You know he got shot out there, right?”
“I figured as much. You going to cover me or talk me to death?”
“Trying to keep you from doing something stupid,” Bob said, “but if you’re all fired-up to do it, I guess you’re gonna do it.” He shrugged. “Your life,” he muttered as he braced my rifle on the hood of the car and looked through the sights. “All right, I’m ready.”
“Here I go…now!” I exclaimed as I ran out across the lot. I’d taken four steps before the first shot rang out from the dealership. I was already zig-zagging, so all I could do was hope the guy would miss. I heard the round go by—so it was a miss—and I could hear Bob fire back with my rifle. That, at least, appeared to get the shooter’s attention, as the next couple of rounds he fired didn’t come anywhere close to me.
I made it to Anderson’s body, grabbed him under the armpits, and began pulling. Anderson was a lot heavier than I thought he was going to be, and there wasn’t much way for me to zig-zag with his corpse. The pavement exploded next to my feet as a round hit, and Bob started trying to light the shooter up with rapid fire, making the person shooting at me stop momentarily as he tried to evade the lead headed toward him. Before he could shoot again, I made it to the safety of the cars.
“Damn, that guy’s heavy,” I said, dropping him to the pavement.
“Eww,” Bob said, as Anderson’s head hit with a thud.
As I started rifling through the body’s pockets, Bob asked, “Is that Anderson?”
“I don’t know yet,” I replied. I hadn’t found any keys, but I did come across his wallet. I pulled it out and found a driver’s license that belonged to Fredrick J. Anderson. I dove back into his pockets, looking for the keys.
“Hey, Mister?”
“What?”
“Find the keys?”
“Not yet; still looking, Bob.” I’d checked all the pockets and was going back for a second round.
“Hey, Mister?” Bob asked again.
I was nearly frantic looking for the keys. I needed the stupid things to finish my mission, but they weren’t anywhere to be found. I ignored him.
A second search proved as fruitless as the first. I started a third, my frustration rising to an overwhelming level.
“Hey, Mister?” I ignored him again, searching the rest of the body. Maybe the keys weren’t in his pants pocket, but a pocket somewhere else.
“Hey, Mister?”
“What the hell do you want?” I yelled, turning on him. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Bob sheepishly looked down. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just thought you’d like to know that there’s something that looks like a set of keys out on the pavement.”
“There’s a…what?” I dropped the body ag
ain and looked over the trunk of the car. There, where the body had been on the pavement, sat a set of keys. They may have been in Anderson’s hand and fallen out when I moved him—or somewhere else—but a set of keys was definitely sitting out on the pavement.
Well, shit. “Sorry about yelling,” I said. “I’ve been a bit out of sorts, lately.” And where the hell did the urge to “finish my mission” come from? I needed to get the hell out of here, find Boudreaux, and get my personality back. The one I had—or the absence of one—was starting to crack.
“We all have,” Bob said. He shrugged. “Want me to cover you while you go get them?”
“Unless you’d like me to cover you while you go grab them?”
“No thanks,” he said. “I’m pretty happy here.”
“Okay, then, cover me.”
“You got it,” he said, taking up his position again. “Go.”
I raced out as Bob fired into the building. A shot came back, then, when Bob didn’t return fire, several more came from the dealership—including some fired from a second weapon—and I sprinted for all I was worth, dodging as I went. No more shots came from my new “friend” Bob, and the fire from the dealership picked up. I grabbed the keys without stopping and raced off in a different direction, causing several shots to go wide, but then they were back around me again. A round slammed into a car as I dove over its hood. It wasn’t graceful, but it accomplished the job. A bullet shattered the windshield next to me, and then I was behind the car and—mostly—safe.
“What the…” I tried to catch my breath. “What the hell did you stop firing for?” I asked.
“I ran out of bullets,” Bob said. “Got any more?”
Some people need a little more initiative in this Fallen World.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Three
I took my rifle from Bob—grabbed it back would have been more accurate—and crouched while I ran over to the back of the building. While the front of the building was all glass and clear lines of sight, the back was the opposite—there wasn’t a single window on it, making it easy to approach. I contemplated following it around to the front and dodging inside through the broken glass, but if there were people in back with the hostages, it would give them time to kill some or all of them—we had no idea how many of them there were—so I decided to stick with the first plan.
Don't Call Me Ishmael Page 17
