Bone And Cinder: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Zapheads Book 1)

by Nicholson, Scott

  “I’m sorry!” Artiss shouted. “I’m so sorry, man. Please don’t do this. Look, I changed my mind, okay? I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I took a shot at Dante, but I barely nicked him! I knew it was wrong, okay? Inside, I knew all of it was wrong.”

  Mackie ground the Glock’s barrel deeper into Artiss’s forehead. “You agreed to something that would’ve gotten innocent people killed or worse. I don’t give a damn about your last-minute change of heart.”

  “Let me help!” His eyes bulged in desperation, swiveling back and forth in their sockets as if looking for an escape hatch. “Give me a chance. To make this right, okay? Just one chance. Please.”

  “How could you help me?”

  “You can’t go back there alone, man. They see you comin’, they’ll know something happened to me. They’ll shoot you on sight—”

  “They won’t see me coming.”

  “You don’t know that! It’s not just Herrera. It’s Krider and that other one, and those soldiers. Your girls, they might get hurt, too. You can’t do this alone, Mackie.”

  “My ‘girls’?”

  “Well, yeah, I know you’re tight with all the girls here. The blonde, the black girl, Rebecca, the crazy Zap chick—”

  Another swipe of the Glock’s barrel across Artiss’s forehead, another whimper. “She’s not crazy, you little asshole. She’s sick.”

  “Okay, man, whatever. But I know you don’t want them to get hurt. So let me help you. Let me try to make up for this.” Artiss’s body shook with sobs.

  Mackie stood and backed away. “Get up,” he said.

  “What’re you—”

  “Get up.”

  “Don’t do this, man, c’mon.”

  “Up. Now.”

  “I can’t get up, man. You hurt me—”

  “You don’t know hurt yet. Last time I’m gonna ask.”

  As his whimpers increased in volume, Artiss propped himself on his hand and knees, and then slowly stood, his trembling legs threatening to collapse under his weight. The tears on his face glinted in the sunlight, and his lower lip quivered like a child’s.

  “You’re going back there,” Mackie said.

  “What—”

  “Shut up. You’re going back to campus. You’re going to tell Herrera that you succeeded, that Dante and I are dead.”

  “O-okay—”

  “Don’t speak again until I’m finished. After you convince Herrera that you pulled this job off, I want you find Kara and Meredith. Tell them I’m alive. Tell them to come find me. I’ll be in the woods between here and campus. Tell them to walk in a straight line through the woods toward Faculty Hill. I’ll leave a marker for them. I’ll see them coming, and if you sell me out to Herrera or Krider or McRae, I’ll see them coming, too. And after I kill them, I’ll come for you next. If you think you can hide, you can’t. I was good at finding people. Even better at killing them.”

  Artiss nodded vigorously, mouth gaping as he realized he just might live after all.

  “You understand what I’m asking you to do?”

  “So...so what’s your plan?”

  “Like I could trust you? For now, just do what I’m telling you. Make sure Kara and Meredith find me. And make sure no one else knows. You make this happen, it’ll go a long way toward the redemption you’re trying so hard to convince me you want. If you sell me out, I’ll kill you. Wherever you try to hide, I’ll find you. And when I kill you, I’ll make sure it hurts for real.”

  Artiss nodded again, wiped his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt, and then bent over to pick Dante’s assault rifle from where Mackie had tossed it.

  Mackie raised the Glock. “Hell you think you’re doing?”

  “I can’t go back without a gun, man. He told me to be sure I brought them back with me after I killed you two. Herrera will know something’s up if I don’t. Guess I could tell him I lost the Glock, though. He’d probably buy that.”

  “Just leave that where it is a second,” Mackie said. He ejected the Glock’s magazine. Nine rounds left in a thirteen-round magazine. Mackie had brought one additional magazine with him to campus in his backpack.

  Mackie reinserted the magazine. “Did Herrera give you any other ammo?” he asked Artiss.

  “No. Just what was already in there.”

  Nine rounds left for Herrera, Krider, McRae, anyone else that might choose to get in the way, and for any Zapheads he encountered before making it back to campus.

  Nine rounds in his Glock versus a number of assault rifles and other handguns as well. Not to mention an unlimited, unseen army of mutant killers.

  Far from ideal.

  But Artiss was right. If he showed up without Dante’s rifle, Herrera would suspect that Artiss failed and either Mackie or Dante—possibly both—were still alive and planning an assault. They’d be on high alert after that and the girls would be in lockdown.

  Even a bullshit story to explain the Glock’s absence would be a tough sell and could possibly arouse suspicion. A chance they’d have to take.

  “Tell him you were attacked by Zaps and had to empty the clip. You tossed the Glock when you ran out of ammo. Tell him whatever you think he’ll believe, but make it sound damn convincing. The way snot’s running out your nose, he’ll believe you were scared shitless.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Artiss said. “I won’t have to fake that.”

  “He’ll expect you to bring back some supplies, too.” Mackie picked up his backpack from where it lay, placed it on the hood of the Toyota, and emptied the contents, leaving Sabbath, her cans of food, and the bottles of water inside.

  “Is that...dude, is that a cat?”

  “Yes. Take these things with you. Go back into the house you came out of, find a garbage bag, gather up some other supplies—canned food, toiletries, anything useful you can find. Put everything in the garbage bag and take it with you. And leave the rifle here until you’re finished.”

  Artiss placed the assault rifle on the Toyota’s hood next to the supplies from Dante’s backpack and walked back into the house he and Dante had entered earlier. While he waited, Mackie dipped his free hand into the backpack and stroked Sabbath’s fur. With his other hand, he held tightly to the Glock and kept his gaze locked onto the house.

  Mackie felt exposed out on the street, but there was no movement besides a soft breeze that pushed the trees and weeds. The stench of death and rot was carried away for a moment, and besides the blood and bodies, the scene was almost peaceful. The people here had lived quiet lives in the shadow of the college, a fantasy land of sorts. And reality had burned a hole through the fabric of their dreams.

  After the passing of what felt like ten or fifteen minutes, Artiss emerged carrying a white garbage bag sagging with weight.

  “Open it,” Mackie said.

  Artiss set the bag on the ground and opened it. Inside were various canned foods and canned sodas, along with most of the same toiletry items that Mackie raided from Ms. Kinney’s place.

  Mackie spotted a Hershey bar with almonds.

  “Give,” Mackie said.

  “What?”

  “The Hershey bar. I want it.”

  “But that’s—”

  “War reparations.”

  Artiss sighed and tossed Mackie the Hershey bar.

  When Mackie was satisfied with the rest of his look inside the bag, he nodded and Artiss scooped the other items from the Toyota’s hood and added them to the stash in the garbage bag. He then slowly reached for the assault rifle, looking to Mackie for permission.

  “One more thing,” Mackie said.

  He rammed a fist into Artiss’ gut, drawing a bug-eyed grunt.

  “That’s for abandoning me in the stairwell,” Mackie said. Then he nodded at the rifle, scratching his chin with the barrel of the Glock. “Now get out of here while I’m still in a good mood.”

  Artiss slung the rifle across his shoulder and walked away with the garbage bag in hand, heading for the wooded area that stretched
behind the cul-de-sac. He didn’t dare glance back at Mackie.

  Mackie opened the Hershey bar, took a large bite that erased nearly half the bar. He kicked open a side door to the garage of the house closest to him. He surveyed the contents of the garage while finishing the chocolate bar.

  There.

  He collected a small, red plastic canister of gasoline. He spotted a mason jar filled with nails on the garage’s windowsill. He dumped out the nails and filled the jar with gasoline. After a brief scan of the assorted crap scattered on the floor, Mackie discovered a lid that looked like it would fit the jar. He screwed on the lid.

  Not bad. But it needs another layer of protection. After all, he would be keeping the jar inside the backpack with Sabbath.

  His gaze landed on a large ziplock bag sitting on a shelf, with various tubes inside.

  Tubes of acrylic paint. Someone in the house was an artist.

  He emptied the bag and placed the jar of gasoline inside.

  He left the garage and headed into the forest toward campus, his strides long and hurried, eyes scanning the shadows and hidden spaces.

  15.

  In the woods, Mackie gathered a small pile of stones and placed them between two trees to leave as a marker for Kara and Meredith.

  The idea was to place the stones close enough to his chosen perch to alert Kara and Meredith to his presence, but not so close that someone spotting the stones could immediately divine their meaning. Anyone finding the stones—especially anyone that was a threat—would hopefully lift his gaze to the tree to Mackie’s left, giving Mackie time to use the Glock.

  Plenty of holes in that plan, too. But he was improvising on the fly here. And it seemed Zaphead-proof as well, unless those mutants possessed an uncanny sense of smell.

  He climbed his chosen tree near the stones, settling himself onto a crooked branch twenty feet up. He was adequately camouflaged by the shroud of leaves, but he still had a clear view of the woods below.

  No chance of anyone—human or Zaphead—sneaking up on him now.

  He placed the Glock in his lap within easy reach. Then he removed one can of Sabbath’s food from his backpack and opened it with the can’s pull tab, careful to make as little noise as possible.

  Next, he unzipped the backpack a few inches wider and pulled Sabbath free, holding her tightly against his chest. She meowed once, until she spotted the opened can of food resting against Mackie’s leg, and then her head was buried in the can, lapping away at the wet, meaty bits.

  She’d been a quiet kitty so far, but if she meowed or made other noises that could alert others to Mackie’s presence, that could be a problem.

  Not something he’d worry about just yet. The company was worth a little risk.

  While Sabbath devoured her meal, Mackie opened one of the sleeves of Ritz crackers and dipped crackers one by one into the jar of peanut butter, washing down each with a mouthful of Gatorade.

  He couldn’t remember anything tasting better.

  After they finished eating, Mackie placed Sabbath inside the backpack again, along with the empty packaging from their respective meals. Thanks to the protein infusion, he was already feeling better than he had in days.

  Sabbath mewled inside the backpack, and Mackie did his best to quiet her with soothing words. The mewling stopped after a few moments, but Sabbath continued to squirm inside the backpack before finally settling into a comfortable position.

  Mackie fought the exhaustion that seeped into his bones and muscles. He wanted to doze off up in the tree but couldn’t afford that luxury. He had no idea when, or even if, Meredith and Kara would show up, and if he dozed, potential threats could slip into the area unseen.

  After his meal, he felt warm and relaxed, not unlike the sensations that radiated through his system after a dose of pain pills. He’d been too distracted to obsess over his habit. But here in the tree, in the empty quiet, with only the cat in his backpack for company, the specter of his addiction coalesced into a solid, shadowy presence.

  Playing along with Krider no longer mattered now. Mackie was ready to make his move to stop the horror that was surely coming. If he wanted to eat more pills, he could. He could even get into heroin, if Krider had amassed enough supply.

  But not yet. Not until this was done.

  But then what? Even if they conquered the Zaphead menace, how could they rebuild a society without the technology that had made the modern world operate? Who was going to reinvent the wheel? And who would be in charge of making it all happen?

  The worries shifted into softer memories of better times. Soon the memories blurred into thoughts of things that probably hadn’t occurred, and then into the impossible.

  Sleep claimed him before he was even aware enough of its presence to muster up resistance.

  ###

  He awoke fitfully, his arms flailing and his upper body rocketing forward.

  Then he remembered where he was and regained his balance before plummeting to the ground. His Glock slid from his lap, but Mackie snatched it before it fell beyond arm’s reach.

  Inside the backpack, Sabbath stirred against the canvas fabric but made no sounds. The sky had darkened only marginally, but the red and purple of sunset had begun to creep into the blue. Still plenty of daylight left. A faint odor of smoke drifted in the air, as if a distant forest fire raged.

  How long had he been out? Had Kara and Meredith passed by without noticing him up in the tree?

  Damn it. Should have looked for a wind-up wristwatch. One of those corpses was bound to have been wearing one.

  He would wait a little longer, just in case. But if Meredith and Kara didn’t show up soon, he’d have to climb down from the tree and draw up a new plan. The girls wouldn’t likely go looking for him in the dark, not in these woods, and not without the benefit of flashlights or some other light source that would help them spot the stone-pile marker he’d left for them.

  Assuming Artiss even made it back, much less followed through on their agreement.

  And then he heard the sound of feet scuffing in the leaves somewhere behind him. He shifted on his perch as quietly as he could so that he had a view of areas to the south and west of his tree, though visibility was worsening quickly. And this would also be the worst possible time for Sabbath to make noise. Thankfully, she chose not to vocalize any of the uncertainty she surely must have felt.

  Mackie clutched his Glock and tried his best to penetrate the thickening murk with his gaze.

  Yes, the impromptu plan he had come up with after giving Artiss a pounding definitely had some holes.

  Mackie had banked on Artiss being fearful enough of Mackie to comply, but if the stupid kid had at least one active brain cell he’d choose to be more fearful of Herrera and sell Mackie out immediately. The kid was probably too dumb to understand that Herrera would reward him for his failure with a bullet to the brain. Mackie’s danger was theoretical, and Herrera’s was immediate.

  Mackie had been confident enough to believe that he’d be able to quickly spot any approaching threats while perched high in a tree and pick them off with his Glock.

  But sleep and the approaching dark were things he hadn’t counted on, and they proved to be far bigger threats to his plan than Artiss’s compliance or lack thereof.

  And then he spotted the tiny pinprick of yellow light floating in his direction, not from the south or west, but from a northern angle. The woods were just murky enough to obscure the two moving shapes surrounding the small glow.

  16.

  Small silhouettes with feminine shapes stood out faintly against the gathering dark, thanks to pale radiance from the light that floated above them.

  Kara and Meredith.

  As the light moved closer, Mackie realized it was the bobbing flame of a cigarette lighter. The prick of light illuminated one of the faces, then vanished, leaving a small orange dot.

  Kara was having a smoke.

  A rush of air blew through Mackie’s lungs and out his mouth and n
ostrils in a relieved sigh. They were here, and it seemed almost too good to be true.

  The lit cigarette and the silhouettes cut to the right and moved east back toward campus.

  Shit.

  Hadn’t they seen the pile of stones Mackie had left for them? Had Artiss even mentioned that Mackie would leave a marker to alert the girls to his presence?

  At this distance, Mackie would have to shout to get their attention. Not happening.

  He unzipped the backpack and felt inside for the empty can of cat food. As his fingers closed over it, Sabbath brushed against his hand with her fur and whiskers. He stroked her, pulled out the empty can, cocked it back like a football, and sent it sailing toward the moving shapes.

  The silhouette farthest from the light was cradling an oblong shape in its arms. That was likely Meredith holding an assault rifle while Kara hovered so close their silhouettes melded into a single shape. Either Krider had trusted her enough to carry a weapon, or she’d somehow managed to procure one through stealth or seduction.

  Once the can landed, it might startle Meredith sufficiently enough for her to squeeze a shot from the rifle without thinking. Mackie hoped like hell that wouldn’t happen. He’d just have to trust that her military training outweighed the new state of panic that coursed through all the survivors.

  The can sailed overhead before descending in an arc. It struck against a tree a few feet in front of the girls, a tinny pop ringing through the humidity-choked air as metal collided with bark.

  The girls stopped short. It was definitely Meredith holding the rifle. The silhouette cradling the oblong shape had longer hair pulled back in a ponytail, as opposed to Kara’s shorter cut. She jutted her weapon in Mackie’s direction.

  Kara stooped to examine the can. The girls exchanged a few whispers—further confirmation that they were indeed who Mackie hoped they were—and then they moved in the direction of Mackie’s tree. He heard the word “Zaphead” and figured they’d be on edge.