The Remaining: Fractured

by D. J. Molles

  Halfway down that narrow alley, he stopped and looked behind him. Deuce wasn’t following.

  “Deuce,” he said at a loud whisper. “Come on!”

  When he faced forward again, something large and dark stood in front of him and it lashed out and turned his vision into stars and he tasted blood.

  CHAPTER 6: GUT CHECK

  Lee hit the ground on his back. He rolled onto his side and tried to bring himself up, gripping the knife in close to his body and praying that he wouldn’t lose it. He could smell dirt and grass and when the sparkles cleared in his vision, he was looking at mildewed vinyl siding, wriggling patterns cut through the green by the slime trails of slugs.

  “Stay down!” someone shouted. “Drop that knife or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

  Lee opened his mouth, felt blood dribble out onto his chin, and he wondered if he’d lost another tooth. He twisted slightly, slumping against the dirty vinyl siding. The figure stood over him, just an impressionist blur. Lee blinked rapidly, trying to bring the figure into focus.

  A large man, well over six feet. A giant, reddish-brown beard that looked like it had been grown long even before the collapse, only now it clumped into dreadlocks towards the bottom. An old black cap with no logo and a crumpled and tattered brim shaded the man’s narrowed eyes, dark and suspicious. He wore a black hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves bunched up at the elbows, revealing a clutter of blue tattoos on both forearms. The man held an M4 carbine, the barrel oriented perfectly with Lee’s face.

  “I said, ‘drop the fucking knife’!” the man yelled again.

  Lee complied, half because he truly believed the man would shoot him, and half because he wanted him to stop yelling. He held up both hands, palms speckled with dirt. “Alright,” he said quietly. “I dropped the knife. You need to be quiet.”

  “What the fuck did you say?” two thick eyebrows came together in the center of the man’s face.

  Lee’s mind kicked into gear. Slightly delayed, but better late than never. The barrel of the man’s rifle was too close to Lee, only inches from his face. Action would always be faster than reaction, and a trained man would know to keep his gun out of reach of his enemy.

  Lee pointed back behind him. “There’re infected back there!”

  The man’s eyes tracked up, away from Lee.

  Lee pivoted his foot underneath his body, getting a good stance, about to launch himself.

  Then two other figures appeared around the corner of the house.

  Lee stopped himself.

  One of them held an AK-47. A pale, skinny kid that couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. He pointed his rifle at Lee and eyed him coldly. “What we got here, Kev?” He stood with his head cocked to one side, and he spoke in that certain way that said he desperately wanted to appear tougher than he was, but had likely come from a soft, upper-middle-class life.

  The second newcomer was a middle-aged man with dark hair and a beard, both shot through with gray. He wore a blue knit cap, under which his long hair hung in a single braid, just slightly longer than shoulder-length. He held a pistol-grip shotgun with a sidesaddle full of spare shells. His eyes were a frosty blue and he looked like the type that didn’t talk much.

  Kev—the guy with the big, red beard—looked back down at Lee’s face. “You fuckin’ with me bro? I don’t see any infected.” His moustache and beard compacted as though his lips had disappeared from between them. He reached down with one hand and hauled Lee to his feet. “Get the fuck up against the wall.”

  Lee didn’t resist it, knew that he’d already lost any impetus he might have gained by distracting Kev. The big man shoved him up against the wall and kicked his legs open. Lee’s mind scrambled and he cursed himself silently—for thinking too slow and for letting himself fall into this situation in the first place. He could feel Kev’s hands roughly grabbing through his pockets and pouches, searching him quickly. Appropriating his knife and the two magazines from his chest rig.

  He’s going to search you and then he’s going to kill you.

  Because you’re no good to him.

  Kev put a hand on the back of Lee’s neck, pushed his face into the side of the house. He tasted the bitter taste of the mold, the copper of the blood running from his nose down into his mouth. He closed his eyes and breathed, tried to marshal himself.

  “You ain’t got much,” Kev observed.

  What are you gonna do, Lee?

  How are you gonna get yourself out of this?

  The tough-guy-wannabe spoke up: “Kev, man. Fuck this guy.”

  Lee’s eyes came open. He couldn’t fight. That wouldn’t work. All the bravery in the world wasn’t going to get him out of this one alive. He needed to think his way out. He needed to trick his way out. And that meant that his damaged brain needed to start working.

  Lee felt cold metal against the back of his head.

  “Well…” Kev drawled, casually.

  “Yo, head’s up,” the wannabe said. “There’s a dog back there barking at us.”

  Lee seized on it. Opened his mouth and the words tumbled out. “Wait! Don’t shoot the dog! He’s not barking at you. He can smell infected. That’s why I told you there were infected coming. He starts barking when he smells them.”

  There was a sort of stillness. Like Kev and the wannabe were processing what Lee had just told them. Lee could hear Deuce yammering his head off and when he twisted just slightly, he could see the dog, skirting back and forth along the edges of the woods. He didn’t want to stay so close to the woods, but he clearly didn’t want to be near the unknown men that were holding Lee at gunpoint.

  Kev shifted. “Don’t fuck with me, bro.”

  “I’m not fucking with you,” Lee said. “That’s why I keep that dog around. Because he can smell them coming. So they don’t sneak up on me. Like an early-warning system.”

  Silence.

  Lee pushed forward. “He doesn’t bark like that unless they’re close.”

  “How close?”

  “Real fuckin’ close.”

  The wannabe spoke up. “Kev, man. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “James,” Kev’s voice was irritated. “Could you shut the fuck up and let me think for a minute?” Kev seemed to readdress himself to Lee. He prodded Lee’s head with the muzzle of his rifle. “You wouldn’t play games with me, right? You wouldn’t play games when your life was on the line, would you?”

  Lee swallowed and closed his eyes. “No games.” Lee wasn’t going to play coy. He wasn’t going to hide his own desperation. Between the rifle muzzle against his head, and infected moving in on them, he didn’t have time for Kev to put the pieces together on his own. Lee was going to have to spell it out for him. “Look, man. The dog will stick with me, but he won’t go with you guys. He doesn’t know you guys and he’s already scared. If you keep me alive, I can control the dog. We can work for you. Tell you when the infected are coming. I know you could use that. I know…”

  Kev silenced him by banging Lee’s head against the wall. “Alright, shut up.”

  Deuce’s barking bordered on panic now. The same sound Lee remembered him making when he’d stood over Lee’s barely-conscious body when he lay in the middle of the road, left to die by Eddie Ramirez with a gunshot wound to his head.

  Come on, Kev, Lee pleaded silently. Make up your mind you stupid fuck.

  Lee felt a hand close around one of his wrists, yank it behind his back.

  “Zip ties,” Kev commanded.

  “Seriously?” James-the-wannabe gawked.

  “Zip ties,” Kev barked loudly. “Now!”

  “Aight, aight…”

  Lee’s other hand was yanked behind his back. A thin plastic band looped around his wrists. It tightened, biting into his skin, but Lee didn’t really feel it. Because he’d just earned himself some more time. He’d managed to buy it with a little bit of quick thinking. It wasn’t the most flattering of positions to find himself in, but Lee would do what he
needed to survive.

  And right now he needed to play nice.

  With Lee’s hands secured, Kev pulled him off the wall and pointed to the dog. “Call your dog. And he better fucking come when you call.”

  Lee looked out at the nervous animal and then glanced behind him. “I’m not gonna run. But I need ya’ll to back up or he’s not gonna come.”

  Kev grit his teeth. “You run and I shoot.”

  Lee nodded. “I know.”

  Kev motioned his little crew back a few feet. “Give him some fucking room.”

  James and the older man with the shotgun shuffled back, looking unsure of themselves.

  “Deuce!” Lee called. “Come on, boy!”

  The dog pranced unsurely, tail tucked. He looked back and forth between Lee and the woods.

  Lee clicked his tongue. “Come on, Deuce!”

  Come on you stupid mutt! You’re gonna get us fucking killed!

  A flash of movement from the opposite side of the trees. Something—several somethings, actually—slipped in between the houses, heading for the little patch of woods. The only thing that stood between Lee and being torn apart.

  Lee felt the adrenaline in his toes first, then his fingers, and then it slammed his chest. They were coming, and Lee stood there with his hands tied behind his back, completely defenseless. Infected in front of him, and men with guns behind him.

  He began to backpedal, yelling as he did. “Deuce! Let’s fucking go!”

  Behind him, Kev called it out: “Infected! Move it back, guys!”

  And right at that moment, when Lee was almost certain that he was about to get a bullet to the back of his head while Kev and the others made their escape, Deuce finally broke. He jumped away from the trees and began hauling up the overgrown back yards, knifing through the waist-high grass, tail tucked, ears back.

  Lee turned.

  Kev was there, grabbing him by the jacket.

  They didn’t speak. They just ran. Ahead of them, James and the quiet man with the shotgun backpedaled. When they saw Kev turn and begin running, they followed suit. Lee craned his neck and glanced behind him as Kev dragged him along. Deuce was at his feet, still running scared.

  They rounded the corner of the house, headed for the street. Parked at the curb was an old, gray utility van. Exhaust rose up in gray clouds from the tailpipe. Lee could just see inside the slightly-tinted front windows. He could see the driver looking at them and thought that it looked like a woman. The engine revved, the brake lights flashed.

  The side door of the van flew open just before James and the Quiet Man reached it. There was another figure in the van, but he was in shadows and Lee couldn’t see much of him. The figure reached out and hauled James and the Quiet Man into the door. As they drew close, Lee tried to get a better look at the man inside the van, but Kev shoved his head down and catapulted him forward into the van so that Lee hit the floor of it face first, skinning his cheek bones.

  Kev clambered in after him. “Get your fucking dog in here!”

  Lee rolled into a sitting position. All over the floor there was a collection of scavenged items—canned goods, bottles of water, and what seemed like an odd amount of sweets. Lee kicked through the items as he righted himself and leaned out of the open van door. Deuce was just outside, but still not sure about jumping into the van with strangers.

  “Deuce!” Lee shouted. “Get in here!”

  A screech echoed through the houses. Followed by a series of barks that seemed to surround them. That was all Deuce could handle. He jumped into the van, immediately plastering himself against Lee’s chest, looking warily at the others and whining loudly. Lee instinctively tried to put his arms around the dog, but was reminded that he was bound by the wrists.

  Captured.

  The man that Lee had not been able to see leaned forward and slammed the sliding van door, then pointed forward. “Get us out of here, Shelley!”

  Lee glanced up towards the driver. It was a woman, as Lee had thought. Young. Pretty at first until you saw the coldness in her. How used up her face seemed. She eyed Lee with a quick, unpleasant evaluation, and then turned back forward, hitting the gas and causing everyone in the van to lurch backwards as the vehicle took off.

  Lee struggled to right himself. A cloth sack was suddenly pulled over his head. It was rough, like burlap. Smelled like dirt and cedar. The fabric was coarse enough that Lee could see some light through it, but no details. Just smudges.

  Kev’s voice in his ear. “Just sit tight…”

  “Wait a minute.”

  It was the voice of the fourth man. The one that had waited in the van for the others.

  Something tickled Lee’s subconscious. Maybe a memory.

  “Pull the hood off,” the fourth man ordered.

  There was some hesitation, but not long. Kev clearly deferred to the fourth man. He didn’t question why the cloth needed to be removed, and the fourth man didn’t offer an explanation. Kev simply grabbed it by the top, pinching a chunk of Lee’s overgrown hair with it, and he ripped it up and off.

  Lee blinked rapidly.

  Focusing on the face that stared at him.

  Gaunt. Wild hair. The right side of the man’s face was all angles and cruel lines. The left side was mottled with scar tissue. The man’s beard grew patchy there, and almost white. But it was his eyes that told the story. They stared at Lee and they knew him, recognized him, and hated him all at once.

  Lee’s gut tightened. “Deputy Shumate.”

  The man kneeling in front of him just shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  ***

  Harper stood in the cargo bed of one of the LMTVs, leaning over the roof of the cab and trying to let the morning sun warm him. He stared out into the long, empty section of Highway 421 that stretched out in front of him. They’d spent the night on the side of the road, surrounded by open fields. It gave the watchmen a chance to see any intruders before they got too close.

  The highway was four lanes, two heading northwest and two heading southeast, divided by a grassy median. It was on this median that they had parked the train of vehicles so that they had a clear, 360-degree arc of fire with no cover for attackers.

  Standing to his right, shoulder to shoulder with him, was Julia. She was bent over a long, black bolt-action rifle, her left eye squinted and her right staring through a high-powered scope. As she squinted, her lips parted just slightly, showing her left incisor.

  “What do you have?” Harper prodded, rubbing his balding head and wishing for a hat.

  “Three,” she said quietly, shivering just slightly from leaning against the ice-cold metal of the LMTV’s cab. “Two males and a female.”

  “Infected?”

  Julia considered this for another moment, then let out a steady breath that fogged in front of her face. “Yes. Looks like they’re rooting through a pile of trash in the median.”

  “Guess they smell somethin’ good.” Harper shifted his weight. “You okay?”

  She sighed heavily. “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “Go ahead then.”

  Julia slapped the top of the LMTV. “Hit it,” she called.

  Under that roof was Mike Reagan in the driver’s seat, and his wife Torri in the passenger seat. The “cute couple” as Julia had observed on several occasions with a sort of flagging sense of sentimentality. Both of them were in their early thirties. Mike dark-haired and athletic-looking. Torri blonde and slender. The type of couple that used to live in upscale condos, drive matching BMWs, and regularly visited the gym together.

  In response to Julia’s signal, Mike blasted the horn three times.

  Julia settled back to her scope. “Okay…they’re looking up…right at us…” She paused for moment, then sounded exasperated: “They’re aggressive.”

  Harper leaned back away from the cab as he saw her finger move to the trigger. The first blast from the rifle’s muzzle jarred his chest and cracked at his ears. He winced against the noise and put his fingers in
his ears. Down the road, one of the small figures spurt red mist and then tumbled to the ground.

  The other two kept sprinting towards them.

  Julia’s feet spread wider to stabilize herself as she racked the bolt-action back and slammed in a fresh round.

  A long pause as the first shot echoed back to them.

  She fired. Racked the bolt. Fired again almost immediately. The second figure went down, now just over a couple hundred yards out. Julia chambered the fourth round and took her time aiming, waiting a full ten seconds until Harper could almost hear the strange barking-chuffing noise of the third infected as it ran headlong towards them.

  Another boom.

  The thing’s body jerked, a fleshy explosion coming from its chest. It faltered, then regained its feet and kept running for another ten or fifteen yards before it collapsed. Maybe a hundred yards down the road from them.

  Julia opened both eyes, and looked over the top of her scope.

  The thing was still alive. Its moans were audible as it clawed at the ground, working its way slowly towards them. Harper glanced back and forth between the figure on the ground and Julia. She still leaned over her rifle, but looked like she didn’t really want to take that last shot. Was she going to put the damn thing out of its misery or just let it die on its own?

  He supposed it didn’t matter. It would never reach them. Its heart was most likely pulverized by the shot to the chest. It was dead. It just didn’t know it yet.

  She straightened and lifted the rifle from its rest on the cab of the LMTV.

  He fixed her with a suspicious gaze. “Never shot a bolt-gun before, my ass.”

  Julia shrugged. “Beginner’s luck.”

  Harper just shook his head and moved to the back of the LMTV. He climbed down off the bed with Julia following and they made their way around the LMTV, walking towards the three bodies Julia had just taken down.