Blood Type Infected (Book 4): Betrayal of Hope

by Marchon, Matthew

  The chainmail vest. That’s where her vest is supposed to be. The one that Buckley stole when he attacked her from behind. It would have protected her, just like it did downtown when I thought I lost her. The vest is supposed to save her life, that’s why I put it on her. Her and Felecia. They’re supposed to be protected. It was my job to protect them.

  How could I let this happen? She shouldn’t even be here. She’s supposed to be on the vehicle, safe, shooting, where they can’t get to her. Not out here saving me. I’m supposed to be saving her. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves better. Better than me. Better than this world.

  I drop to my knees beside her as she hyperventilates, staring at the blood on her hand every time she pulls it away from the wound. I know she’s trying to speak but her words aren’t able to roll off her trembling lips.

  Her eyes tell me all I need to know, this can’t be happening. It can’t.

  This has to be a mistake. This can’t be right. We were so close. We… we were there. We’re there. The Stryker, it’s right there. All we had to do… this isn’t happening. This isn’t real. It’s not. I hit my head. This is not happening, it can’t be.

  “Caylee.” I can’t, my words aren’t working. I can’t breathe.

  “I don’t wanna go,” she cries, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. “Please, I can’t. I love you Noah. I know I can’t but I do, I love you. I don’t wanna go. Please. This can’t be happening.”

  But it is. I can see the teeth marks through her torn shirt. She’s infected.

  Caylee, no.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Caylee!” Felecia throws herself down beside us as I cradle our friend in my arms. But she’s more than a friend. I don’t know what she is. Whatever you call it, there’s none better than her. She’s irreplaceable. We can’t lose her.

  “I’m so sorry Felecia. I tried to protect him but I’m just not you. I tried. I love you guys. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I do. I just wanted us to live happily ever–”

  “We will.” Felecia presses her finger against Caylee’s lips to quiet her. “Drink this.” She pulls a small canteen from her military belt.

  The saltwater. I forgot. I couldn’t see it through the spots floating in front of me. She filled it with ocean water back on the fishing boat. We didn’t know how much we needed to stop a person from turning, or how much it took to burn one of these bastards alive, but we filled it anyway and figured we’d hope for the best. At least we’d have some with us if we needed it.

  We should have taken more. We knew it at the time but didn’t have anything to put it in. We should have gone back with every container we could find. How could we think one little canteen would be enough?

  Caylee coughs half of it up, trying to swallow the disgusting substance not meant for our bodies to tolerate but failing miserably.

  “Fucking drink it,” Felecia screeches, grabbing Caylee by her chipmunk cheeks. “I’m not losing you. You have to drink it.”

  She rips the tooth torn shirt open even more and pours some of the water over the wound before dumping another gulp down Caylee’s throat.

  “Noah, kiss her, hold it in. Make her hold it in. She has to swallow.” She must sense my awkward hesitation because she continues before I can protest. “Please,” she whispers, tears filling her giant eyes. “We’re not losing her. She loves you Noah. It’s okay.”

  I give in and press my lips against Caylee’s as saltwater dances between our mouths. She kisses back, falling into that state of delirium before the transition begins.

  This has to work. We can’t lose her like this. I care about her more than I should and I can’t bear to see Felecia lose a friend. No matter how little I understand this dynamic, it feels right.

  I’m kissing another girl in front of my girlfriend and somehow it’s okay. Felecia, for whatever reason, cares about her as much as I do, and I can’t let that be ripped away because of me. Because they came back to rescue me.

  Felecia’s hands leave us abruptly, I can tell by her grunt she just beheaded an incoming party crasher. Judging by the noises coming from the other side, Norwood is blocking us from that direction, but they can’t hold them off forever. And no matter how much I want this kiss to last all afternoon, it can’t.

  I slowly pull away, letting her lock onto my lower lip until she can’t possibly do so any longer. She tilts her head back and swallows the rest of the saltwater, heavy breaths making her chest rise and fall dramatically.

  I didn’t even realize I was holding the canteen, Felecia must have handed it off to me before leaving our side.

  Smoke rises from Caylee’s chest as I pour the water over it. She writhes in pain, a vampire caught in sunlight. The only thing I can think of is to press my lips against her chest where I’ve dreamt of kissing her so many times. Her skin is on fire but I don’t pull away, planting gentle pecks on her scorching wound, pretending my lips can heal her, just like they did Felecia.

  It’s working! She’s cooling off. It’s really working. The magical healing lips of Noah Britton. I suppose it could have something to do with the saltwater but we don’t want to jump to any conclusions here. I think we’ll stick with my lips being the cure.

  “Am I dead?”

  “Not if we can help it,” I say softly as the world ends around us, gently stroking her cheek. “Are you thirsty?”

  “Oh please don’t tell me I need to drink any more of that crap.”

  “You’re not thirsty?”

  “No. Why? What does that mean?” she asks in a panic. “Is that bad? Am I turning? I can be thirsty if you want. Noah, I don’t wanna die.”

  “No it’s good. Before they turn, they get so thirsty they choke. You’re not dying.”

  “I’m not?”

  “It worked?” Felecia asks, winded, squatting down beside us. “She’s okay? Oh thank god.”

  Caylee puts out both her arms to pull us in for a hug, tears streaming down her face.

  “But we gotta get outta here like twenty seconds ago,” Felecia continues, pulling Caylee to her feet. “Come on zombie sister, you’re gonna be wobbly for a minute.”

  “We’re zombie sisters,” Caylee laughs, standing on shaky legs. “Is it weird that I wanna kiss my sister?”

  “Yes, very. Now come on, we’ll make out later.”

  “Get her on board,” I say, prepping my sword to strike, shaking the last of the floating spots from my direct line of sight. “I’ll cover you.”

  “You sure you’re good to go?”

  “I have to be. You two get inside, I’ll hold them off. Hurry.”

  One sword’s not going to be enough, the zombies that look like floating orbs are coming in too quickly. At least they’re less ugly this way, they just all look like balls of light. And they are way too close for comfort.

  I ram my foot into the closest stomach, bringing the sword to his neck while he’s still airborne, hunched over from the impact. There’s no time to see if I successfully severed his head before I’m greeted by a half woman/half skeleton. The entire left side of her body has been chewed off. Was she moments away from escape, in the driver’s seat of a car that could have driven her to safety, but couldn’t get the door closed in time? Did she trip with a herd of them behind her, land on her side and get devoured by twenty hungry hippos before she could so much as roll over?

  The grim fate of America makes me shudder as I jam my blade into her open mouth, unsheathe the sword from my back and hack her head off with one swing. They ate her right down to the bone, there’s no flesh to cut through on that side. Skin, muscle tissue, they eat it all and suck the bones clean if given the opportunity.

  I fling her decapitated head from the tip of the katana. It bounces off the grass, directly into the feet of the second wave of undead track stars who have apparently never played soccer before. Or kickball.

  The errant head trips up Cowboy Boots, sending him crashing down on the field and tumbling, taking down both of his comrades in t
he process. Does it count as a strike if there were only three pins to begin with? Have I gone bowling with a zombie head before? I feel like I have. Did I want bowling alley nachos last time as well? I’ve fought so many of these things they’re all blending together. I might as well be a serial killer with Alzheimer’s.

  Oh shit, she’s coming straight for me. I’m guessing the one on the right must have been a cheerleader or a gymnast because she springs to her feet after one roll and launches herself in my direction. Her mouth’s open like there’s no way she’s not going to rip a slab of meat off my neck.

  There’s no time to jump out of the way or devise some sort of plan that might thwart her attempt. All I can do is hold my swords out in front of me and hang on tight as they slide into her chest. She doesn’t care. What’s another hole or two in her body? They’ve already chewed through her cheek, her arm, her stomach, thigh, foot. These two new incisions in her chest mean nothing. They just bring her a few inches closer to her next meal.

  Oh great, I’ve been in this situation before, they just slide themselves closer, letting the blade pierce through them without a care in the world. If she grabs onto my hands, I’m screwed. But if I pull the swords out, it only brings her closer to me. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. And I don’t exactly have time to weigh my options here because the klutzy soccer stars are scrambling to their feet.

  I take a step back, preparing to pull the swords out and, I don’t know, kick her in the stomach when she comes for me, or maybe try to sidestep it and swing before she has a chance to strike. I need to do something, but she doesn’t give me the opportunity. What in the hell is this malnourished cheerleader doing?

  She pulls away, arching herself into a backbend until the swords exit her upper ribcage. She catches herself on her hands like this bitch is doing some sort of advanced bridge in yoga class. What the hell?

  She propels back to a standing position with an arrogant snarl as if taunting me, knowing I couldn’t do that if my life depended on it. And she’s right, I couldn’t.

  Yoga Yolanda lunges for me the second she’s vertical, one fluid motion. I swing with a left, catching nothing but air as she ducks and hits the ground in a somersault. She rolls through and pounces at me from a backwards squatting position like we’re a couple of luchadores in a choreographed fight to the death.

  I drop to my hands and knees, hoping I’m low enough to dodge her spinning backflippy thing– and oh my god was that close! I didn’t realize he was right there. She crashes into the uncoordinated soccer reject with a full body press meant for me. I swear to god her hair grazed me as she sailed right over.

  The girls, they’re climbing onto the Stryker, clinging to the handrails above the backdoor. Maxwell couldn’t even open it for them because she wouldn’t be able to close it in time. It moves like one of those sliding doors at the supermarket that opens too slowly and you bump into it on your way through and have to act like you didn’t because it’d just be embarrassing.

  And that’s my cue to get the fuck outta here. I holster the katana on my back and take off like I’ve got rockets strapped to my ass.

  “Norwood, they’re good, go!”

  “Ain’t gotta tell me twice.”

  A few of them snuck through our defenses, they’re pounding on the door while running. While running? Shit, the Stryker’s moving. She has to, they can’t wait any longer, the fence on the other side of the field has been breached.

  We’re surrounded.

  Maxwell can just run them over with her eight monster tires, there’s gotta be two feet of clearance under that thing, but the fuel truck is another story. If they get tangled up in the gears like they did with the bus, that tanker isn’t going anywhere.

  A series of loud pops are followed by multiple explosions across the field. They’re trying to clear the path with bombs. I doubt they can even use the cannon when they’re moving, the accuracy would be too far off. Not to mention the size of the hole it would leave which we’d have to navigate around. And if I don’t run faster there won’t be a we because they’re picking up speed in order to evade the million man march we’ve got going on behind us.

  “Noah, you’ve got one on your tail,” Norwood shouts from beside me as I kick it into overdrive.

  Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me, it’s her, Yoga Yolanda. She’s broken out ahead of the pack and at the rate she’s going, she’ll be tackling me in about three seconds. Where the hell did she even come from? Is Doug’s sword slowing me down that much or is she just that fast? I’d be that fast too if my legs were a mile long, totally unfair advantage.

  She is literally right there. I can hear air escaping through the holes in her chest, I must have punctured a lung. She’s gonna pounce. I can feel it. I know she’s gonna throw herself at me like a cheetah taking down a gazelle just trying to grab a drink from the damn watering hole.

  I can’t outrun her, she’s gonna jump any second and I’m still a hundred meter dash from the Stryker, which I can finally see now that the floating spots have moved on to my peripheral vision.

  “Shit, Noah, she’s right there!”

  What the fuck am I supposed to do? What do I do? I can’t go any faster. I can’t stop and have a duel to the death right here in the endzone. If she strikes, I’m going down and at this speed, I’m breaking something and never getting back up again.

  I’m out of ideas. And out of time.

  Her breathing changes as she gears up to strike.

  CHAPTER 28

  The sword. There’s no other option. I toss it behind me like an underhanded backwards dart throwing competition which probably doesn’t exist because it’s stupid and the level of inaccuracy would probably get one of the participants’ eyes poked out. I’m just hoping it isn’t me.

  How do I know if it worked? Do I just have to wait and see if she tackles me? Because I’m not okay with that.

  “You got her Noah,” Norwood yells from somewhere beside me, he must be a few strides behind as we close the distance between us and our ticket out of here. “You got her! It’s in her neck. You’re losing her.”

  It worked. My stupid plan worked. I am now the king of underhanded backwards darts. I’m not sure what I was aiming for but I hit her and that’s all that matters. But her neck, I couldn’t have hit that if I tried. That’s like a hole in one. And that is why I’m the undisputed champion.

  A pang of guilt creeps over me because that’s all I had to remember Doug by, the sword he used to save my life after the crash. But it was either this or die and not be able to remember him, period.

  The girls are finally on top of the Stryker, shaking their hands worriedly, mouthing come on over and over again which can’t mean anything good. I know how close we’re cutting it but it’s not like Maxwell can go any slower. Judging by the speed my feet are carrying me, she’s gotta be doing fifteen right now and these things are closing in from every angle.

  What just crashed? Something crashed. I heard it. It came from the front. Oh no, do not tell me something broke on this tank on wheels. We can’t deal with this right now.

  The Stryker swerves, sending the girls toppling over, grabbing on for dear life. What the hell is going on? No no no, Felecia’s sliding off, headfirst, attempting to hold onto the railing while Caylee grabs her ankles, trying to pull her back up. Why are we turning? The only way out is straight ahead, through the–

  They’ve knocked over the fence. The whole thing collapsed. There were too many, it gave out under the weight of all of Sonny Valley trying to climb over it at once.

  Their roar overpowers the engine. It sounds like the game winning touchdown at the Superbowl, just one massive human rumble, thunder echoing across the plains, their incoherent groans harmonizing with one another in the devil’s cathedral. No words, just guttural cries that signal the end of mankind.

  I don’t know where Max plans on going but one thing is for certain, we won’t make it there on foot.

  I was aiming for the back o
f the Stryker before it turned and I can’t risk running a second longer, I can feel them gaining on us. They don’t lose their breath or get cramps in their sides, their muscles don’t fatigue. If it takes running forever, they’ll do it.

  Waiting for an opportune moment to jump will get me killed, it’s now or never.

  Her hand grabs my shoulder. Jesus Christ, she’s right there! Sword jammed through her throat at an awkward angle, it must be protruding out the back of her skull. It barely slowed her down. Blood is gushing from the entry point as the blade rattles around somewhere just below her chin, where half the flesh has already been scavenged from the bone.

  In the split second glance over my shoulder, her posture changes, she’s about to lunge for me. She’s got her fingers wrapped around the velcro strap of my bulletproof vest.

  She’s jumping.

  I’m out of options here. This is it. I make a leap of faith and pray my fingers wrap around that railing with enough force to hold on.

  We leap at the same time, her death grip tearing the velcro from my shoulder as I stretch my right arm as high as I can, knowing she’s going to drag me down. There’s no point in even trying for both hands, she’d just throw me off balance.

  My sweaty palm meets the cold steel, barely able to hold on with the added weight pulling me back. But my fingers wrap around the bar and cling to it with everything I have.

  The shoulder strap tears under her weight and releases, sending her sailing into the tires. My body slams against the side of the vehicle as I swing my legs out, trying to keep them out of the wheels so I don’t end up like her.

  Yoga Yolanda gets squished between the massive tires, sending her insides squirting out like squeezing those goo filled stress balls too hard. The bones in her pelvis and upper legs get pulverized between the reinforced wheels. She’s still reaching for me in denial, mouth open, until she disappears from view.

  And here she comes again, stuck to the tread in the tires, her insides gushing from her mouth. She may as well be a tube of toothpaste held too tight. Her flailing arms reach for me, grabbing at my ankles every time she comes back around.