Blood Type Infected (Book 4): Betrayal of Hope

by Marchon, Matthew

  I’ve always understood him more than most, but now, I’m really starting to grasp what makes him the way he is.

  “And I’m the bad guy? The loose cannon? The one you’re all scared of? Why, because I’m not okay with people like that doing the twisted shit they do and you’re all too scared to call them on it?”

  He points at every corpse we pass, as if addressing each one of them individually.

  “They’re heroes and I’m the outcast? Sure, put them in your little school newspaper and high school highlight sports reels. Give them scholarships and let them float through life with everything handed to them. For what, so they can do shit like this? And get away with it? Not in our world Noah, fuck no, not anymore. Guys like you and me, girls like her, we run this shitshow now. I don’t care if it’s from here, the London fucking Bridge or the side of Mt Fuji. This is our planet, our rules, and people like that, from now on, they answer to people like us. We’re the future.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Sonny Valley. We’re here.

  Rays of sunlight reflect off the windows in the suburban paradise. From up here, it’s almost a birdseye view. The downtown district gives way to residential, where rows of houses sit an equal distance apart on streets that all seem to end in culdesacs. I feel like we’re driving into a Hidden Valley Ranch commercial. There’s even a carnival in the town square. The streets are full of families going about their middle American hustle and bustle. I bet everyone knows each other’s names. It’s straight out of a painting… from a distance. The deceiving imagery won’t last long. I know what awaits.

  “Norwood, Britton,” Maxwell’s voice comes through the walkie talkie, “you guys ready up there? I’m looking for a way to skirt around town but I’m not seeing anything.”

  “We’re cocked, locked and ready to rock. That’s a negative on the safe route, I’m not seeing anything. Noah?” Norwood holds the button, aiming the walkie talkie in my direction.

  “There’s fences and pools everywhere. Rock gardens. Burst through a fence and wind up on the neighbor’s diving board. I think we gotta go through downtown. It’s a straight shot right through. Is that the dam on the ridge over there?”

  “I’m checking the coordinates right now. That’s gotta be it. Too flat to be part of the mountain. Man, I was expecting it to be a lot closer to town. We can’t let them get caught up in the undercarriage. That’s five miles as the crow flies, we’d never make it on foot. Whatever we do, we cannot let them swarm this vehicle.”

  “Copy that. Hey Max, tell Marty to get his fingers out of his ass and be ready to blow these cannibals to hell.”

  “Well,” she chuckles, “take this for what it’s worth I guess, he just sniffed his finger and blew you a kiss.”

  “Bro, your bus driver’s the man. I got stuck with big sweaty Carl, neck hair sticking out of his shirt, ear wax dribbling. The bus monitor was kinda hot though.”

  “She’s like sixty.”

  “But that rack, come on. The wheels on the bus go up and down, up and down, and so do Kathy’s knock-ers. You’re telling me you wouldn’t smash that, just once? A little veiny motorboat action.”

  “I can safely say I would not. Kind woman, nice smile, always laughing, she’d make a great grandmother, however, our intimate moments would have to stop at a kiss on the cheek. The ones on our faces.”

  “Agghhh,” he groans, waving me away. “Some of us are a little more desperate. We don’t all have two hotties helping each other pull down our zipper at the same time, you greedy bastard. And speak of the devils,” he says with a grin as the hatch opens. “Like a couple of sexy little gophers.”

  “First old women and now gophers. Dustin, I love you and all but your sex life worries me.”

  “Just imagine when I get gophers and grandmas in the same bed.” He shakes his head until spit flies while naying like a wild horse.

  That is one deranged individual. But I’ll be damned if he isn’t right, not about rodents and geriatric kama sutra, but about friendship and people and the world in general.

  “Um, Noah,” Felecia says with a subtle nod in Norwood’s direction, “I think your trusty steed is broken.”

  “Broken, no, he’s just in need of a breeding mount.”

  “Ewww,” she shudders, trying to shake the cooties off.

  “A breeding mount?” Caylee asks, head tilting to the side as she tries to figure out what’s going on.

  “It’s like a giant sex doll,” Felecia whispers. “You know, that they give to horny horses to impreg–”

  “Ohhhh. Ewww! Wait, they do that? I’ve seen like every Disney movie and the horses never did that. I feel like I’ve led a more sheltered life than you guys.”

  Felecia pets her on the head with a smile. “It’s about to get a lot less sheltered.”

  “Wait,” Norwood exclaims, perking right up. “You mean, because you guys are gonna make out?”

  “What? No!” Caylee looks a lot more offended than Felecia.

  “Not saying I wouldn’t, but no, you pervert, because of that.” Felecia points dead ahead, at the town full of expired citizens who seem to have just noticed our mobile snack machine rolling down the mountain in their direction. “We’ve never fought through that many at once. Noah, that’s like Bayport all over again, maybe worse.”

  “Don’t sweat it pretty lady,” Norwood says with an informal salute. “This time, you got backup. A few thousand of them, about ten of us, I’d say the odds are pretty much even. Hey, I don’t mean to speak on something that isn’t any of my business, but I wanna say sorry for what those assholes did to you. In our world, we’re not letting shit like that happen, because people like them, we’re not letting them live in it. My buddy Noah though, they don’t make them any better than him. If I can promise you one thing, he’ll take care of you.”

  “I don’t need to be taken care of,” she says harshly, before cracking a smile and shrugging, “usually. And when I do, it’s always him. And sometimes my girl Cayles,” she adds, throwing her arm around Caylee’s shoulder. “And I’m pretty sure we’re all gonna need each other here.”

  “Guys, look.” We all follow Caylee’s finger towards the mountains that tower over the planned community. “That’s the helicopter.”

  It shines like a beacon of hope, coming into view as we round the corner on our descent into the storybook village. It doesn’t look like much from this distance, but it’s the first time we’ve seen a way out since this all began. The mass of humanity that surrounds it fades into the background, that speck of shimmering light is the symbol of salvation. It exists. Hope in a sea of doubt. You don’t believe the unbelievable until you’ve seen it. And still, I find myself questioning its validity. But there it is, awaiting our arrival. Our ticket out.

  We creep to a stop on the winding hill just outside of town. From this vantage point, I can make out what I assume is the laboratory all this was built for. It’s like being transported back in time.

  You see it in old movies, like The Sandlot, and that football one, Little Giants, that’s it, where kids ride their bikes freely without a care in the world, and the parents let them because nothing bad happens here.

  Dads are out mowing the lawn and grilling while mothers hang laundry on the line in the backyard.

  White picket fences. Downtown shopping. The picture of perfection that hasn’t existed for a long long time. Yet, somehow, it’s what I picture when I think of America. Maybe it did still exist, or who knows, maybe it never did. Maybe behind that idealistic image, there were always zombies, we just didn’t know they were there.

  The cannon turns on the growing mob of curious culdesac dwellers, slowly making their way up the road. I’m not sure if they can smell us or if they remember that something on wheels means humans are inside, but they’re marching towards us with a determination that attracts every straggler they pass. Our army diminishes while theirs expands.

  “What?” Felecia yells into the hatch her and Caylee are gopherin
g out of. “Got it! Everyone cover your ears!”

  We do as instructed just before the blast rocks the entire vehicle, expelling an empty shell from the back that looks like a Pringles can on steroids. A fireball erupts in the middle of the gathering, sending bodies and car parts raining down in a fiery hail. Flames shoot skyward from the burning vehicles he hit, thinning their herd to a much more reasonable number.

  But it only drew the attention of the undead townsfolk not yet aware of our arrival. They know we’re here now, and the explosion isn’t any type of deterrent. They’re running right through the raining limbs like human extremity showers are a normal occurrence in picturesque Sonny Valley.

  I raise the grenade launcher, steadying it against my shoulder. I never thought about what one would look like but I certainly didn’t picture a cross between a machine gun and a cowboy’s six shooter. It’s probably a good thing I’ve got six in the chamber because I have no idea what I’m doing here. There’s like six holes in the damn viewfinder. One for each grenade? I don’t know. Which one am I supposed to look through? I like Caylee’s more, hers looks like something a GI Joe would have. One scope. Simple. How’d I end up with this confusing contraption?

  My finger pulls until it can’t anymore, jerking my body back with more force than I’d anticipated, like the first time I fired a shotgun. I still don’t know if I’m fond of the feeling or not. It’s a power I’m not sure humans were meant to possess.

  Okay, where the hell did this grenade go? I know it left the barrel. But I’m looking at the car I aimed at and nothing’s happening. I figure Marty’s got the right idea, blowing up vehicles will cause bigger explosions, more damage. Was my grenade a dud? Does that happen?

  An explosion rocks the sidewalk a couple blocks past my target, leveling a bench, a tree and a nearby fire hydrant, but not a single zombie. That, is, exactly what I was going for. Um, yeah, create a distraction. Yeah, I meant to do that.

  A torrent of water shoots at least twenty feet into the air, I mean this geyser is epic. Why are the dead people not watching it? They line up to see these things blow in Yellowstone, and they’re just running past it like it’s nothing.

  Whoa, okay, except him! One of them just tried running right through it and got shot into the air. The flips are enough to make any gymnast jealous but I highly doubt he’s going to land with any more grace than I do after my flying karate kicks.

  The aquatic aerialist lands with a splat on the other side of the street. We’re too far to really tell but I’m pretty sure he bounced a good foot or two in the air. Not helping, he’s on his feet already, a little discombobulated but barely enough to slow him down.

  Another explosion rocks downtown, someone hit a van. The blast sends bodies flying in every direction, half of them on fire, crashing to the street beside burning car parts. But how many did it actually kill? They’re all getting up, despite some of them no longer having feet to stand on. They balance on their mutilated stumps like stilts and continue hobbling towards us, a bunch of demented Bambis learning to walk. They trip and stumble over every crack in the concrete but it’s not stopping them.

  We must all notice it at the same time because a barrage of grenades rains down on the quaint shopping district. Explosion after explosion, tearing through the street, knocking down stoplights and powerlines, transformers bursting into flames, their spark adding to the growing pockets of fire slowly overtaking Main Street. The tents covering the farmer’s market, a towering inferno sending plumes of smoke rising into the picture perfect spring day.

  The quick blasts overpower one another, cutting off their deafening roar like dueling thunderstorms. They detonate so frequently my body doesn’t have time to flinch from every individual burst.

  My heart skips a beat with each bang, hammering to catch up with itself in the silence that follows. Silence becomes a high pitched wail encompassing my brain from every angle. Between the four of us, we must have shot off over twenty grenades within a few seconds. The ringing gives way to my muffled breathing and all I can hear are my heavy breaths.

  A forcefield of flames separates us from downtown. Even from this distance, I can hear it crackling away as it devours the vegetable stands and tables topped with ugly quilts and crafts you only find fascinating when you reach your fifties. I hope we get the chance to collect ugly quilts and homemade crafts someday. I know Felecia will tease me for it, but secretly, she’ll love our little doohickey collection. Me and Caylee will drag her to flea markets every weekend.

  Was that a weird thought to have? Because I meant Felecia and I will be going together and Caylee will be tagging along as our friend, but it felt weird. Where was her boyfriend or husband in that little scenario? Why am I–

  They’ve breached the wall!

  Burning corpses are bursting through the flames, smashing through tables and boxes of produce. The explosions, the fire, it isn’t enough to hold them back. They run, hobble and drag themselves towards us, clothes burning off their bodies, singed hair curling up and frying in the heat, flesh melting slowly from their bones.

  Why did we think this would work? We’d need to drop a nuclear bomb just to even consider making it through this infested landscape of our former glory. Flatten the whole town and maybe we’d stand a chance. But this…

  Their undead army walks through the incinerator without a care in the world, leaving us staring down a wall of death engulfed in flames, eager to claim its next batch of victims.

  We never should have left that fishing boat. My eyes meet Felecia’s, and in them I see our mistake. We both do. But in that regret is the slightest glimmer of hope. We’ve been on the verge of death since Tuesday morning, and this is the first time there’s an end in sight. An end that favors us for once.

  I can see it shimmering in the distance. A light at the end of this tunnel we’ve been walking through for days. We told ourselves there was an end in sight, but that end involved a war we couldn’t possibly survive. Well, we did. We made it here. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let a bunch of peg legged burn victims stop us now.

  I’ve fought my way through the school, through the streets, the gas station, the farm fields, downtown Leyland while it was going up in flames, the convoy crash, the hospital, military base, the beach, the island, Bayport and back again. These assholes have another thing coming if they think Noah Britton is going down without a fight. And I’ve got news for you, he’s not alone.

  I jump down from my gunner seat, sword in hand. The second my feet hit the pavement, a surge of energy shoots through me. Electricity through my veins. I’ve been fighting them face to face since this all began. No guns, bombs, military artillery or anything that might make you think I could come out on top in this hopeless battle.

  Felecia and Norwood touch down beside me. We knew this is what it would come to. Us against the world. Bring it on.

  CHAPTER 24

  My blade slices through the molten flesh of his neck like margarine from a tub. I’m not sure if it’s because this is a katana like Felecia’s, because I spent half an hour sharpening it, or if it’s the fact that his body is melting to a point where skin is literally dripping from his muscle tissue.

  The flames emanating from his charred frame wrap their fiery fingers around every inch of my body like we’re slow dancing in a sauna. My pores open in a flood of perspiration and all I wanna do is make my way over to the giant sprinkler I created and splash around under the rainbow for a while. Wet t-shirt contest!

  I can make out the uppermost spray from the geyser shooting into the air over the farmer’s market. There’s no way through the flames, I’d have to go around. I need to figure something out because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to fight with all this sweat pouring into my eyes. As if the scorching sun weren’t enough, these idiots thought it’d be fun to light themselves on fire and see how long it takes for their bodies to dematerialize. Answer, longer than I’d like.

  Still, it’s helping. The flames ma
ke a decent first line of defense, at least it slows them– shit, spoke too soon.

  The new wave are navigating their way around the blaze, pouring over the fence that surrounds the ballfield. They’re not even jumping it, they’re just climbing over each other in a giant pig pile. This must be how they cross rivers, a mass of humanity and tangled limbs that form a bridge for the others to walk across. They’re not working together, they’re trampling each other on their quest to feed. Are they strategically avoiding the flames or simply going out around because they can’t all fit?

  A rapid round of machine gun fire mows them down at the ankles. Bullets blast through their feet, disappearing into the grass so green it has to be AstroTurf. The steady pop-pop-pop from the Stryker sounds almost like they’re rolling over a giant sheet of bubble wrap.

  Go Caylee! She must have climbed into the gunner seat. When the frontline of the undead militia are done getting their ankles clipped, she smiles and waves wildly at me like Mom used to do from the sidelines at my track meets. How was it annoying when my mom did it but adorable when Caylee does?

  They won’t be down for long. Bullet wounds will certainly take a little pep out of their step, maybe even blow off a foot, but it’s not nearly enough to stop them, just enough to let me get my wits about myself and wipe the sweaty Niagara Falls off my forehead. If I give myself a good wet dog shake, I’d probably put out the fire.

  The cannon rotates a couple inches until it’s pointed directly at the tangled web of extremities wrapped up in the fence. Before I have a chance to react, Marty fires, expelling another shell the size of an elephant turd.

  The direct hit on the pile of infects sends limbs and chunks of grass raining from the sky like the ingredients to a cannibal’s smoothie. That oughta slow them down, let’s see you move without anything to walk on. No, never mind, seen it before, not pretty, in fact pretty creepy. Please, do not drag your legless torsos across the grass or swing them like pendulums as you scoot around on your knuckles. I’ve seen enough of that for one lifetime.