“Did those people all die in there?” Jillian asked without blinking.
“Not sure,” Sutton said. “But someone wanted us to be among their ranks.”
“What’s that mean?” Vazquez questioned.
“It means we sprung a trap and that’s why we had to shoot the door,” Metzger answered, feeling angered that someone guarded their stash with creatures worse than attack dogs.
Part of him wanted to blast every single one of the undead and investigate inside until he found the person responsible, but he also knew that someone capable of devising such an ingenious trap might be an engineer.
And might have more traps waiting inside.
It also explained, in part, why the person was able to rig undead props around the restaurant. Metzger knew it might take an insane person to wrangle the undead so fearlessly and create traps around and inside the building.
“Those people are varying degrees of decomposed,” Luke noted, studying the undead who accidentally scrubbed the door’s glass clean by rubbing against it, like flies trying to get to daylight through a window.
“Someone wanted to add us to their collection,” Sutton surmised, a layer of fury bubbling beneath his calm exterior.
Metzger knew Sutton wanted to dispose of the undead, stomp inside, find whoever was responsible for the trap, and turn his head into red mush with shotgun pellets, but it wasn’t the most rational play. While Metzger also felt furious that he was nearly bitten and turned into one of those monsters, he suspected more traps awaited them inside. He also doubted the insane person who created this restaurant of horrors dared go on the hunt beyond the grounds. That person likely wanted to protect something, whether it was supplies or his sick, mobile wax museum of zombies.
“I want to find the guy who did this,” Sutton grumbled.
“How do you know it isn’t a woman?” Gracine asked. “We can build shit, too.”
“While a woman’s mind is a complex labyrinth of emotions and intellect, I can’t think of any female I’ve ever met capable of this kind of cruelty.”
“Point taken,” Gracine acknowledged, waving one hand in the air.
“We waste a lot of resources if we try taking this place,” Metzger said. “And for what?”
“Some of these people were alive a few weeks, maybe a few days ago,” Sutton countered. “They fell into this fucking trap just like we did, except they didn’t make it out. You really want other people dying needlessly, or this fucker coming out and going on the prowl when he runs out of victims?”
Sutton appealed to Metzger’s humanity, which Metzger detested. The man already knew how to push his buttons to get a desired response from him, and Metzger wasn’t about to place other innocent people in danger. He knew other decent people still existed in the world, and he’d already seen how predators made short work of the unsuspecting.
“I’m not particularly interested in dying,” he admitted. “I might have an idea that keeps us safe and solves our problem at the same time.”
“Lay it on me,” Sutton said.
***
A few minutes later, Metzger stood with Sutton near the box truck while the others guarded the door for escaping zombies, dealing with them as needed.
“I know you got some goodies from the military assholes that attacked Gracine,” Metzger stated. “I’m wondering if you got some tear gas or something that might bring our mad scientist out to us, assuming he’s inside and alive.”
Sutton cupped his chin in thought.
“I might just have something like that. We got a few grenades, but that seems like overkill and might blow up anything useful inside.”
“I’m not sure this guy has a stash worth taking,” Metzger said. “I think he’s just fucked up in the head.”
“Or he’s constantly adding to his defense system.”
Sutton rummaged through a tactical backpack after opening the back of the box truck, sorting through a few guns and random items until he pulled out a small, silver canister with a pull pin. The side of the can readily indicated the contents were riot gas, and the use of such gas seemed straightforward.
Sutton clutched the tear gas grenade as the two men returned to the front, finding Vazquez carefully examining the center of the two doors.
“I think I found how this thing locked behind you,” he said. “I can probably pop it if you want to deal with the undead.”
“Let them come to you for now,” Metzger said. “They’ll be easier to deal with that way. We’re about to flush any living souls from the building a different way.”
Sutton held up the canister for everyone to see, so they knew not to stand beside the door and breathe in the noxious fumes about to come their way. Everyone nodded in understanding, allowing the two men to step to the front of the building where Metzger had spied the clerestory windows earlier.
“You’re going to want to cover the employee entrance in back,” Metzger said as Sutton prepared to give him a boost onto the roof.
“I know. I’ll have a present or two waiting for our host if he comes out.”
With Sutton’s help, Metzger managed to pull himself up to the angled roof, ascending the pitch almost ten feet before he reached the tiny windows that provided light inside the building under optimal conditions. He waited about thirty seconds for Sutton to get positioned along the back before swiftly kicking one of the windows with the steel toe of his boot, pulling the pin, and lobbing the riot gas into the restaurant below. The sound of the canister hissing began instantly, and he was able to see a cloud of white smoke forming below, as bright as any he’d ever seen in the sky.
Not waiting around to breathe in the gas that filtered upward, Metzger climbed the roof a few feet higher before crossing the peak and descending the other side to observe Sutton. He took the time to dump the expended casings from his revolver, letting them hit the roof and roll down to the gutter. Since he didn’t wear any kind of gun belt, simply using a holster that attached to his belt, he didn’t have the luxury of carrying lots of extra rounds. Fishing through his right front pocket, he loaded six fresh bullets into the gun as he carefully stepped to the edge of the roof, seeing Sutton already aiming his own sidearm at the painted red metal door.
Sutton placed his index finger over his lips, indicating for Metzger to remain quiet. Standing on the edge of a roof, carefully reloading his weapon, Metzger didn’t exactly have plans to yell or jump up and down. Not quite a full minute passed before the two men heard heavy coughing from inside the building, exchanging knowing glances that someone might be bursting out of the metal door at any moment.
A gunshot rang out from behind him, and Metzger wondered why the others opted to shoot the undead rather than silently take them out one at a time. When a second gunshot filled the air, he looked to Sutton, receiving a nod of approval before running up the roof and down the other side where the group was confronted by the entire group of zombies from inside the gift shop. It appeared that eight undead were left, now backing the group further into the parking lot where they were trying to make a stand. Metzger didn’t dare aim down and start shooting, because if he missed, he might hit one of his allies who were just on the other side of the undead.
With the undead focused on the five survivors in front of them, Metzger decided to take advantage from behind to keep from attracting more undead, or marauders who might want their goods. Placing his hand at the edge of the roof, Metzger quickly positioned himself as close to the ground as possible before leaping down to the paved parking lot. Despite bracing his legs for impact and trying to deaden the impact, he still felt some pain in his left knee when he landed, but there wasn’t time to stop.
“Someone undid the thing holding the door,” Vazquez yelled to him, which didn’t distract the zombies one little bit.
Metzger drew his knife from its sheath along the left side of his belt after replacing the gun, immediately stabbing the closest zombie in the skull, downing it. He barely pulled the blade free before it
was dragged to the ground, potentially taking his arm and shoulder with it. Jillian moved forward, taking out another of the undead with a hatchet, leaving them with half a dozen still standing. Metzger quickly thrust the knife into another one’s head without it ever spotting him. His actions attracted the attention of the zombie standing closest to it, and it turned with malicious intentions as Metzger heard a pained yell from behind the restaurant that sounded like Sutton.
Strangely, no gunfire or other sounds accompanied the cry, and as Metzger turned to look, the zombie now focused on him as a delicious meal drew dangerously close. It opened its jaws, prepared to bite into his shoulder when several panicked warnings came from his group, allowing him to spin and plant the knife into the side of its skull with practiced precision.
“You guys got this?” he asked quickly, seeing only four undead stragglers left as Gracine used some kind of blunt weapon to bash another of the undead in the skull.
“We got it,” Luke promised, taking aim with a firearm to back up the others who were trying to utilize more silent techniques.
Despite the pain in his slightly injured knee, Metzger took off in a dead sprint around the first and second corners of the building, reaching a shocking sight behind the building. He found Sutton lying on the ground, his face extremely bloody and battered as his assailant stood, aiming his hateful, crazed eyes at Metzger. With gray hair and eyes that looked a strange ice-blue, the man appeared to be in his early fifties. And though he looked fairly stout, and just under six feet in height, Metzger had to question how he got the jump on an armed man and roughed him up without Sutton getting off a single shot.
A quick glance at Sutton revealed the man struggling to catch his breath, and blood sputtering from his mouth, presumably from his face as it dripped down, each time he coughed.
For some reason the older man came at Metzger without the benefit of a gun, bladed weapon, or blunt object. He could have easily snatched Sutton’s gun, unless it was rendered useless for some reason, and taken several shots at Metzger. Instead he trod angrily toward Metzger with his shoulders hunched forward, never blinking as he stared with insanely wide eyes, saying nothing.
In the old world Metzger would never have dreamed about punching another human being without significant provocation because he needed to set a good example for his school kids, and he didn’t particularly want to be arrested. Those restraints were certainly lifted shortly after the start of the school year, so as the man quickened his pace into a run, Metzger sidestepped him when he drew close enough. At the same time he launched a hard right fist into the man’s jaw, knocking him to the ground on his side as though he were a shot carnival game target falling straight back.
His limbs appeared to go rigid, which Metzger knew was called posturing from what little first aid he learned during his teaching days. It often occurred when someone received head trauma from a blow, though it happened far more frequently in sports than everyday life. He wished the others would hurry his way, but they were probably still finishing off the last of the zombies and keeping Samantha safe. Sutton hadn’t let Buster out of the box truck, which seemed to present more bad than good. The dog provided an ample distraction and warning system for humans, remaining instinctively intelligent enough not to confront the undead himself.
Metzger started to move toward Sutton to check on him, but after only a few steps turned around because he sensed something amiss. The restaurant’s inhabitant exhibited a level of insanity compounded with superior intellect because he had temporarily duped Metzger into thinking he was seriously injured. Now Metzger found himself at a disadvantage because the man was already charging him, so Metzger rolled with the tackle placed upon him, keeping his arms free to land an elbow in the man’s jaw before either of them hit the grassy ground.
Barely fazed by the elbow, the man mounted Metzger at mid-torso and threw a few solid punches. Metzger blocked them as best he could, but one got him in the left cheek, immediately drawing the copper taste of blood inside his mouth. Angered, he used his arms to grasp the man, and bucked him off to one side, returning the favor with a few solid punches of his own. Despite being struck in the face, the man sneered wildly as though nothing in the moment registered in his mind.
Perhaps the indignity of being chased from his rabbit hole infuriated him, but Metzger suspected the man’s mental capacity for everyday conversation and life vanished with the apocalypse, or well before the world changed. The two tussled half a minute longer, exchanging punches and elbows until the man gained the upper hand. His weight pinned Metzger to the ground once again and his hands wrapped around the former teacher’s throat, beginning to squeeze with the intent of cutting off his air or crushing his windpipe.
Metzger had already poised his right thumb to jab the man’s Adam’s apple or an eyeball, but he didn’t need to because the sound of a clank reached his ears first. The older man’s eyes registered surprise instead of insanity for the briefest of seconds before rolling back in his head as he slumped sideways to the ground.
In his place, backlit by the partly cloudy sky, Gracine held a shovel, offering a weak smirk before stepping over him to check on Sutton. Metzger quickly stood, glancing at the unconscious man who nearly cost them their lives, feeling more assured he wasn’t getting up this time. Lacking the means to bind the man at the moment, Metzger darted over to check on Sutton’s condition, while Gracine knelt beside him.
“Oh, shit,” Metzger muttered, finding her dotting Sutton’s face with some kind of cloth.
While the cloth absorbed some of the blood, removing it from the surface, her actions revealed the cuts and bruises occupying much of his face. He groaned, still not speaking or showing any sign that he consciously recognized them.
“How the hell could that guy have fucked him up so quickly?” Metzger questioned, checking the rest of Sutton’s body for signs of injuries, finding none.
“Taser,” Sutton muttered, giving both Metzger and Gracine some relief.
Metzger noticed the Taser and its expended probes and wires lying on the ground closer to the employee entrance. He envisioned the occupant opening the door, perhaps crouching low, and firing the weapon when Sutton drew closer. Only when he inspected the weapon a bit more closely did he find blood coating the cracked exterior from where it was used to bludgeon Sutton in the face. Vazquez and Jillian made their way around the corner, their faces immediately registering concern.
“We need something to secure him,” Metzger said, nodding toward the unconscious man. Vazquez started for the door. “No, no! We haven’t cleared it yet. Find something in one of the vehicles.”
Instead, Vazquez looked at the defenseless man with anger.
“Why shouldn’t we just put a bullet in his head and be done with it?”
“Because we aren’t monsters.”
“This man tried to kill you. Us.”
“We don’t know that. He was trying to defend this place, and maybe there’s a good reason.”
Vazquez stewed in place momentarily, debating whether he wanted to find something to subdue the man, or buck Metzger’s wishes and simply kill him.
He finally chose to leave the area in search of rope, handcuffs, or some other binding material. Metzger wasn’t certain he wanted to leave the man alive, out and about, if he was a threat to other travelers. He still wanted to know if the man could be reasoned with, or if something had driven him to such extremes at the diner.
Jillian hadn’t moved much since finding Sutton in such bloody condition. She finally moved closer, kneeling beside Metzger to see if she could assist. By now the sky was darkening and they needed to find shelter for the night soon. Driving rural roads meant easier navigation because there weren’t many stalled vehicles, but hitting a zombie was a common occurrence, more so than hitting deer in the old days.
“We need to get him to one of the vehicles,” Metzger suggested, nodding at their injured colleague. “Can you stand if we help you?” he asked Sutton directly.
He received an indiscernible groan in reply, which he figured meant ‘no’ if Sutton couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.
Vazquez returned with some handcuffs a moment later, looking extremely displeased when he rounded the corner.
“Found these in the box truck,” he stated, leaning down to position the older man correctly before slapping the cuffs on his hands.
“You should probably frisk him,” Metzger suggested. “We haven’t had time to check him for weapons.”
Vazquez groaned before patting the man’s shoulders all the way down to his ankles.
“Nothing,” he finally reported.
It required all four of them to basically drag Sutton all the way around the building. They placed him in the passenger’s seat of the box truck, which Gracine volunteered to drive since Buster knew her pretty well. The dog immediately began licking his master’s wounds, openly concerned for Sutton’s well-being.
“Let’s get the asshole,” Vazquez said, leading the way to the back of the building.
Metzger half expected the man to have dashed off into the woods, or back inside the building, but they found him unconscious, taking shallow breaths atop the untended green grass.
“We should check this place out,” Vazquez insisted.
“We will,” Metzger said. “In the morning. There could be all kinds of traps in there and it’s getting dark out.”
Both of them grabbed the man under the shoulders and dragged him to the smaller of the two trucks, heaving him in back like a sack of grain. The group secured the front and rear entrances as best they could, given the limited materials nearby. As he walked past the main doors, now missing some of their glass, Metzger saw the row of undead bodies lining the parking lot like some kind of stone paver path to a garden. The others had taken down the threat one at a time as he wanted them to, and he felt a sense of pride that they actually followed his suggestions.
A sky of purple barely lit the way as the three vehicles exited the parking lot, continuing along the route Sutton had chosen before his sudden stop. Metzger allowed Gracine to take the lead since she had some idea what her riding partner was looking for when he deviated so far from the state highway.
The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again Page 29
