The Demented Z (Book 2): Desolation

by Derek J. Thomas

  Hank added, “Might bring out the crazies.”

  “They came out a long time ago.” Kelly said.

  ******

  Tom sat huddled between a pair of overgrown shrubs. His face and hands itched from the rough branches that scratched him while he got into place. He had been sitting for several minutes, watching the front gate that led to Lincoln’s school. There were three infected staggering around the gate. They showed little interest in getting inside the fortification. It was like they had gathered there and none of them could remember why. One of them, a small woman wearing a stained summer dress, would touch the thick iron gate, almost caressing it, and then stagger away, only to return a few moments later.

  After deciding Kelly and the others were surely in place, he looked left and right along the fence. A few infected were gathered in the street to the left, like a group of kids getting ready to play street hockey or a pickup game of hoops. To the right there were a few vague shapes moving in the distance. They were far enough off that Tom decided to the right was the better option.

  He began crawling backwards through the shrubs, grimacing as they scraped at his exposed flesh. Bits of plant material broke off and worked their way down his back underneath his clothes. He tried not to think about all the spiders and bugs that lived in hedges like these. He wasn’t necessarily scared of little critters, but he preferred they stayed to themselves.

  Once back in the yard, and up on his feet he brushed himself off and began moving along the natural fence in a low crouch. Having left his assault rifle with Hank, he carried only a semi-auto Glock and a small revolver concealed in an ankle holster. He didn’t like leaving a high powered rifle behind shortly after getting it, but if their plan was to work it had to be done.

  The moonlight made getting through the yards a fairly simple task. Tom was more worried about there being unexpected guests inside the houses or hidden in the dark shadows between the homes. Every few paces he would crouch down and listen. Hearing only distant sounds, he would continue along, slowly progressing parallel to the school’s fence.

  Tom made the determination that he had moved away from the front gate far enough. Following a home’s sidewalk he silently made his way back to the street. Looking both ways he felt good that he was close to halfway between the gate and the infected he had seen in the distance. Now that they were closer he could see that there were about a dozen of them. They were spread out along the street and both sidewalks. Like those he had seen before, they seemed to have no real purpose, just meandering about like ticking time bombs.

  Slowly standing, Tom began staggering directly across the road. Out in the open it felt like there were hundreds of eyes staring at him. In his mind he pictured all of the infected in the streets rushing his way and barking loudly for reinforcements. He looked both ways and only saw the same slow moving forms.

  Standing at the base of the chain link fence he was glad this was a school and not a prison. There was no concertina wire, no angled wires, and in fact no barbed wire at all. Not wanting to remain in the open street any longer, Tom stuffed his pistol in the back of his pants, and climbed up and over the fence. At first he felt better being on the other side, but then remembered that he was now on Lincoln’s turf. Before the world fell apart he would have had a difficult time thinking of a creature worse than a zombie...ironic that it turned out to be another human.

  Tom pulled the pistol back out from his waistband. Looking around he did not see anybody, only a few cars in the nearly empty parking lot. His heart hammered in his chest. Here goes he thought to himself. He raised the pistol and both hands above his head and started walking across the parking lot. “Lincoln!” He shouted. There was no response and being the middle of the night, he did not expect one right away. “Lincoln!” He shouted again as he continued to walk across the dirty pavement.

  A soft glow appeared in one of the windows. It bounced and shifted erratically. The glow slowly dimmed and faded only to reappear in the next set of windows. As someone walked their way down the central hall with a flashlight the glow continued to move from window to window.

  “I’m here, you wanted me, and here I am.” Tom shouted while still holding his hands up above his head.

  More lights flicked on inside the giant brick building. They all trickled into the interior hallway and eventually coalesced near the main entrance. Both large doors swung wide open, allowing blinding lights to pierce the night. Tom squinted his eyes, trying to shield them from the brilliant glow.

  “Lincoln, I’m here. It’s Tom.”

  “Drop the gun!” A voice shouted from behind one of the flashlights.

  Leaving one hand above his head, Tom slowly crouched down and sent the pistol clattering across the pavement. He used his newly freed hand to cover his eyes in an attempt to diffuse some of the blinding light.

  The noise had stirred up the infected that stood at the gate, their moans cutting through the night. Metal clanged as they shook the gate. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that this would draw demented and undead from all around. A few weeks back this would have been deeply unsettling to everyone, but people had quickly become accustomed to their presence.

  “Austin, check him for weapons.” Lincoln said.

  Austin crossed the ten foot span while he slung a beat up AK47 over his shoulder. He walked back behind Tom and began patting down his chest and waist. He moved lower to Tom’s thighs.

  “Whoa big guy, keep going.” Tom said.

  This got the reaction Tom was hoping for. Austin stopped checking him and said, “Don’t you wish.” He stepped away and unslung his rifle. “He’s clean.”

  Lincoln started to say something, but his voice was drowned out by the growing number of infected at the gate. “Grab him, let’s get inside.” He shouted.

  Austin pointed his rifle at Tom’s chest and said, “Get going.”

  The group of men at the top of the short steps turned and headed back through the front doors. Tom and Austin followed behind them. Relief flooded over Tom when he fully realized that he would get inside the building and still have his revolver. Looking ahead, he quickly counted at least seven bobbing flashlights...more than they had guessed during their planning.

  After the doors closed behind them, blocking out the sounds of the infected, Tom said, “Stop, where’s Sam? If you...”

  Before he could finish Lincoln spun around and shouted, “You’ll what? You aren’t going to do a thing, we own you.”

  Using every bit of restraint Tom could muster he stood still and said nothing.

  Lincoln went on, “Even if we chopped your precious son into pieces, cooked him up and ate him, there’s not a thing you could do.”

  Austin let out a low chuckle from next to Tom.

  Anger flushed over Tom, turning his face hot with rage. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He continued to stand still, using every bit of effort to appear calm on the outside. He could hear his heart pounding, each beat sending shockwaves through his head.

  “What...nothing to say.” Austin jeered from next to him.

  Resisting the urge to punch him in the face, Tom Looked at Lincoln and said, “Please don’t hurt him. Do whatever to me...he’s already been through more than any kid should.”

  “No worries, we won’t hurt him.” Lincoln pointed back toward the demented at the main gate and added, “They might though.” He looked over to a couple men standing next to him. “Go get the kid...throw him over the fence.”

  “ Nooo!” Tom shouted.

  “Wait.” Lincoln said to the two men who had started to walk down the hall. “Throw him over where there are no walkers.” He looked back at Tom. “We’ll give the kid a chance...do the honorable thing.”

  Just the thought of little Sam being outside the fence by himself at night, nearly brought Tom to his knees. He would sit scared and crying until the infected found him. His last moments would be wondering why Mom and Dad never came for him. Tom prayed it would never come to t
hat.

  Chapter 11: Execution

  Lincoln stood in the middle of the hall smiling at Tom. It was an egotistical grin of self-satisfaction, knowing he had won. The revenge he had wanted so badly had finally come to fruition. Not only had he stole a massive stockpile of weapons, food and supplies, but he had also captured the man he hated most. It was time for the fun part, time to make him pay.

  The same arrogant grin was still on his face when the first shots rang out. The rapid volley echoed down the large hallway, causing Lincoln and all his men to turn. Their confusion caused them to move in what felt like slow motion, all of them with a look of surprise on their face.

  Tom was ready for the shots and had already planned out his move. He sprinted for the large opening that would usually have a couple secretaries sitting at the counter waiting to help kids and parents. Knowing Lincoln and his men would only stay confused for a second or two, Tom launched himself head first through the opening knocking papers and office supplies from the counter before crashing to floor on the other side.

  The gunshots came to a stop and were replaced by shouts from the men. There was confusion whether they should go after whoever fired the shots or go after Tom. Using their indecision to his advantage, Tom reached for his ankle holster and pulled the revolver free.

  Gun in hand, Tom scrambled back to his feet and raced through the office area to a narrow hallway that he remembered from when he rescued Rachael. Tom raced past the doorways, trying to gain as much distance from Lincoln as possible. Just ahead he could see that the hall opened into a larger room, maybe a break room. Light flared down the hallway, casting a long shadow on the wooden conference table.

  Cack...cack...cack

  The shots went whizzing past Tom, far too close for comfort. He hunched low as the men continued to fire down the hall at him. Reaching the entrance to the next room, Tom ducked to the side, out of the line of fire.

  He quickly surveyed the room and found that it was an employee break room. Along one wall sat a pair of vending machines, one for beverages and the other for snacks. Both had their viewing windows busted out and all the contents removed. Next to the machines ran a long counter with a microwave, coffee maker, and a mini-fridge sitting on top. Light bounced erratically as Lincoln’s men climbed over the counter in pursuit. Even in the difficult light Tom could make out a set of three large windows along the outside wall and a wooden door on the opposite wall.

  Knowing he would never have time to climb out the window, Tom turned and flung open the door. He raced into the darkness beyond, slamming the door closed behind him. He found himself back in the main hallway that ran the length of the school. To his left were the bouncing flashlights of the men that chased after the source of the initial gunfire. Tom spun in the opposite direction and began sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Gunfire erupted in the hall. None of the shots were directed at Tom.

  The darkness got even deeper as he continued to run down the hall. Behind him the door was flung open, slamming into the wall with a loud crack. Someone shouted and then a bright light cut into the darkness around him. The new light was immediately followed by a volley of gunshots. Pain shot through Tom’s arm as one of the rounds caught him near his elbow. The wound burned with excruciating pain. It felt as if his nerve endings were exposed to searing acid. Pushing through the pain, Tom continued down the hall, bullets flying all around him. Another shot clipped his leg, sending him crashing to the hard tile.

  “I hit him, I hit him.” One of the men shouted.

  They stopped firing down the hall. Other than boots pounding on the floor, the hall was filled with an eerie silence. There was sudden shouting, but it was distant, at the far end of the hall.

  Tom looked to the side of the hall and saw a classroom door. He pointed the revolver toward the men that chased after him, and fired of several rapid shots. Barely even looking to see where his shots went, he quickly scrambled for the door. Grasping the doorknob, he blindly fired off two more quick shots, opened the door, and slid through the opening.

  He slammed the door closed and looked around the room. It was dark, but moonlight spilling through a wall of windows let in enough light to see. The large space was dotted with children’s school desks. A giant blackboard ran the length of the nearest wall.

  Seeing no other exits, Tom could think of only one thing to do. Fighting through the pain, he forced himself back to his feet and looked to the windows. He started racing across the classroom, gun raised. As he neared the window he fired a single shot into the center of the glass. The pane did not break, but it punched a hole that sent cracks stretching out in all directions like a giant spider web. Just as he reached the wall, the sound of someone working the doorknob could be heard behind him. He was fully committed. Raising his forearms in front of his face, he leapt head first through the window.

  Tom was surprised by the jarring impact. In the action movies they made it look like an effortless and painless task. Instead, stinging pain shot through his forearms and head from dozens of lacerations. The hardened glass nearly brought his momentum to a halt, dropping him on the pavement directly below the window. Landing hard on his shoulder, pain shot through his arm and back, knocking the air from his lungs. Shards of glass crashed down all around him.

  “The window.” One of the men shouted from inside the classroom.

  With a groan Tom regained his feet and looked out across the pavement. The large fence that surrounded the school was nearly fifty yards off and Tom didn’t know if he could cover the ground before being shot in the back. Making a quick decision, he ran along the school’s wall, his entire body aching with every pounding step.

  Glass clinked to the pavement as the men peered out into the night trying to find their quarry. “That way.” One of them shouted. Loud booms split the night as they began firing at Tom’s fading form.

  Tom was relieved to reach the far corner of the school, dodging around the back side, out of the barrage of gunfire. The hail of gunfire stopped, replaced by shouting and more breaking glass.

  Knowing the men would not give up the chase easily, Tom began sprinting across the short span of pavement that led to the back fence. There was a small section of road that ran to a rear loading dock used by delivery trucks. The fence butted up against the road’s curb, barely more than a dozen feet away. A short span of trees separated the fence from the road beyond.

  Using the cement curb to gain some height, Tom launched off of it, catching the top of the fence at waist level. The fence rattled loudly as he hoisted himself over one leg at a time. Dropping to the bark covered landscaping, Tom saw two men round the corner of the school. They stood for a moment, looking for him, and then one of them pointed Tom’s direction.

  “There!” One of them shouted.

  Before they could get off any shots, Tom ducked back through the overgrown trees, disappearing from sight. He quickly raced down the row of trees, looking for a thick Spruce. Just a few trees down he found exactly what he was looking for. The prickly branches were thick and full, drooping nearly to the ground. Tom slid in under the spiky appendages and then used the large branches to climb up off the shredded bark floor.

  Within a few short moments he could hear the chain link fence rattling as the two men chased after him. There were footfalls on the pavement followed by silence. Tom couldn’t see what was going on, but he could imagine the two of them standing in the middle of the street looking around, trying to decide where he could have gotten to. The far side of the street was packed with various small businesses and shops.

  Tom remained motionless as he tried to listen to the two men whispering to each other.

  “...gone far...buildings...maybe...far side...” There was a moment of silence then Tom could hear one of them say, “...split up. You go that way.”

  The sound of footsteps got louder as one of the men ran down the road in Tom’s direction. He knew he was hidden from sight behind the thick branches, but
Tom’s heart still pounded in his chest. Taking slow breaths he tried to calm himself and keep as quite as possible.

  The surge of adrenaline was wearing off, being replaced by stinging pain from his cuts and bullet wounds. The worst of his pain was in the gunshot near his elbow. Looking down, he was horrified to see his entire arm and shirt covered in dark blood. The moonlight was greatly diminished inside the trees cover, but he could still see the deep black liquid. A deep, ragged gash marked the wound itself. Gingerly feeling it with his finger, he found the bullet had ripped through the side of his bicep just above the elbow. The round missed bone, but tore out a huge swath of flesh. Fighting through the pain, Tom used his hand to cover and apply pressure to the wound. He squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to stem the flow of blood.

  An eerie silence came over the area. The footfalls had faded into the buildings across the street. The only sound was Tom’s own breathing and a steady drip, drip, drip as blood continued to seep out of his body, forming a pool in the bark below. The noise was a reminder of the limited time he had to get to their predetermined fallback location. It was only a few blocks off, but he only had so much blood to lose.

  His stomach clenched thinking about the others. Had they found Sam? Were they able to get him? Did they get away? If everything went perfect they would be waiting in the large parking lot of the strip mall over a few streets. Sitting anywhere for too long in the city was a dangerous proposition, and the longer it took Tom to join up with them the greater risk they would be taking. In the planning he told Hank that if he was more than ten minutes late they should leave. Kelly would ensure they stayed beyond the ten minutes, but they would have to leave eventually.

  Gunfire tore him away from his thoughts. They were close, sounding like it was just across the street. A few steady shots turned into a volley of rapid, panicked gunfire. The shots were cut off by anguished screams. The bone chilling screams resonated through the night and were surely heard far in the distance. It was only a matter of moments before the screams abruptly ended. The eerie silence that existed before the gunshots did not return. Instead the angered growls and unnerving shrieks of the demented echoed through the night. They would be coming, hundreds of them.