by Dana Fredsti
Someone should’ve told her how bad those tats would look when she was dead.
Their mouths gaped open and I could only imagine the hungry moans that would’ve started up had the soaring music not drowned it out. I drew a bead and fired two quick shots. There was no report at all—just the sight of Tourist Zombie’s left eye popping as it dropped like a sack of potatoes. Tats, sporting a perforated forehead, swayed for a few seconds before slowly crumpling to the ground.
I held my breath to see if their fall would alert the others, but the rest of the zoms just picked their way around the bodies, still fixated on the pavilion.
I repeated this strategy several times—run and hide, run and hide—dropping enough zombies to warrant a change of magazines. Before long I was much closer to the access road. One more quick sprint and I’d be into the trees and hopefully out of sight.
A figure stepped into the open directly ahead, taking me by surprise. I slid to a stop and brought the pistol up, focusing on the front sight, centered on the forehead… only to pull the shot when recognition suddenly sank in.
“JT?”
The figure was gone as quickly as it appeared, melting back into the greenery. But it had been him… hadn’t it?
A coldness gripped the back of my mind as I ran even faster and burst into the grove of trees.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was gloomy in the grove, shaded from the sunlight, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust. But then I saw him standing a few yards away, head slightly bowed.
“JT!”
My heart leapt as he lifted his head to look straight at me, and I saw that his skin color was normal. My relief quickly turned into concern, and then I went on high alert as I noticed the shiner over one eye, the swollen lip, and the fact that he wasn’t bouncing around like a Super Ball. He stood there, arms behind his back.
Damn.
I brought the Ruger up again, trained it, not on JT but on the murky shadow behind him.
“Hey, Ash,” JT said in his normal voice. Distance had rendered the organ music a little less deafening. “Met some assholes when I was looking for Lil.”
“Let him go,” I said, half surprised to hear my own voice.
The shadow stepped closer to JT, transmogrifying into a man in black paramilitary gear.
I knew it. Fucking men in black.
“I knew Griff was blowing smoke.” The man smirked. “She’s dead, my ass. Figured we should stick around and make sure.” He looked me up and down in a way that made me long for a hot shower. “And here you are.”
The Ruger made a spitting sound and a round grazed the man’s cheek. “The next one’s in your eye,” I growled. “I said, let him go.”
The man gritted his teeth, reached up to touch the wound in his cheek.
“Do it,” he said.
Do it?
JT’s eyes widened.
“Ash, watch—”
Not until that first blow caught me just behind the left ear did it even occur to me I’d been outflanked. The world erupted in colors.
I staggered forward, somehow staying on my feet, only to be hit twice more in approximately the same place and driven to my knees. I rolled with it and came up in a fighting stance, trying to get my senses in order, focus my eyes back to single instead of double vision, and stop the ringing in my ears. I’d dropped the pistol somewhere so I went for my tanto, but it was gone as well, leaving me with an empty sheath.
My vision cleared enough to see someone new standing in front of me, also decked out in tactical black, only this guy was stockier and bald, with a truly scruffy-looking beard that looked like a plant in desperate need of watering. He was holding my blade, appraising it.
“Fucking wild cards,” he said in a raspy voice somewhere between Aldo Ray and Harvey Fierstein. “You think you’re all that, dontcha?”
He tossed the knife away to one side, then motioned me up.
“C’mon, girly. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I bunched myself and lunged at him with furious intent, but it became quickly obvious I was screwed. Most of my practical experience was with weapons, not hand-to-hand, and against opponents that were slow, erratic and more than a little dead.
None of which described this guy at all.
He was fast—really fast, despite his size. He slipped my attack with just a sidestep and a twist of his shoulders. And where that next punch came from I still have no idea. It stopped me in my tracks, splitting both lips at the same time, and then a roundhouse kick dug into my side and I felt a couple of ribs crack. The bastard bobbed and weaved, dancing like a butterfly and stinging like a fucking bee, hitting me three more times from three different directions before blasting me with another kick that left me sprawled in the dirt and spitting blood.
Everything hurt. I felt like I’d been dumped in a cement mixer with a load of gravel and spun around a few times. The last time I’d hurt this badly had been when the Walker’s virus had raged through my body. I was vaguely aware that the music had changed, Bach replaced by the hauntingly beautiful hymn “Amazing Grace.”
Suddenly the asshole was right behind me, leaning over me, pulling my arms behind my back with a jerk that nearly dislocated both shoulders.
“I expected better,” he whispered in my ear as he slipped a plastic zip tie around my wrists and cinched it tight.
“Sykes, what are you doing!” the first mook called to him. “You’ve had your fun, now cap her already. The old man wants her dead—”
“I don’t give a shit what he wants,” Sykes barked back. “We don’t work for him, remember? I don’t trust that half-dead fuck or his infected lapdog. And if Miss Hot Shit wild card here means something to him, well maybe there’s value in that… maybe something we can keep back for ourselves in case this shit goes sideways.”
The organ music suddenly stuttered and stopped completely. The silence that followed made my chest ache.
Sykes walked around in front of me and admired his handiwork.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck a superhero, but I guess you’ll do.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Yessir, I really did expect better…” Then he hit me again, just for kicks.
And that was just one too many.
It all came bubbling up at once—losing Gabriel, losing my friends, Griff’s betrayal, Aimee’s sacrifice… And now I was going to go out on my knees in front of this douchebag. My blood started to boil. I wouldn’t have been surprised if steam started pouring from my ears.
No. I wouldn’t waste the sacrifice Aimee was giving me, or the memory of her daughter.
I began to strain against the zip tie, shaking with rage as the plastic bit into my wrists and cut off the circulation. But I wouldn’t let that stop me, not even when my vision darkened and my heartbeats started pounding in my ears.
Fuck it.
It’s just plastic.
“Aw, isn’t that cute,” the raspy voice chuckled. “Save your strength, bitch. Those are industrial ties, they’re rated for—”
Pop.
My arms were suddenly free and I lunged blindly, swinging for the last place I’d seen him clearly, putting everything I had into the blow. I took him by surprise and the punch landed flush, just above his sternum. Hell, it might’ve gone all the way through him if his flak vest hadn’t taken the brunt of the impact. But there was still enough left to knock him off his feet.
He hit the ground in a heap and slid a few more feet after that. As tempted as I was to savor the sight of him lying in the dirt, groaning and gasping for breath, I didn’t dare give him a chance to recover.
So I went after him, still riding the adrenaline rush as I lifted him off the ground like a rag doll, and flung him at the nearest tree. Sykes hit about six feet up the trunk with a crunch, hanging there for a brief moment before tumbling to the ground.
“Hope that makes up for your disappointment,” I snarled.
I turned back toward Asshole Number Two. He stood there slack-jawed at w
hat he’d just seen. Our eyes met and I smiled. Whatever he saw in my eyes was enough to snap him out of his stupor and he fumbled for the firearm that was hanging on a sling at his side.
As I lunged for him, JT suddenly came to life, shoving backward into the guy and grappling with him as best he could. Then he did a little jump, bringing his legs up and through his own bound arms so they were no longer secured behind him. His feet continued up and over into a perfect somersault, and somehow he planted a heel in his captor’s face along the way, the old manic grin back on his face.
It was an impressive bit of Gymkata. Kurt Thomas would’ve been proud.
Striding forward, I caught the stunned mercenary by the throat.
“No bluffs this time,” I told him through clenched teeth and blood, my rage still burning nice and hot. “You give me answers, or I crush your windpipe. Understood?”
The man gave a weak nod.
“Who is this ‘old man’ who wants me dead?” I asked. He kept silent. “Who are you working for!” Nothing. I tightened my grip for emphasis. “I won’t ask again. Got it?”
“Get down!”
JT suddenly hit me with a body block, bowling me over a split-second before a barrage of incoming rounds arrived, like a swarm of angry bees erupting right where I’d been standing. They hit the creep I’d been interrogating instead.
JT and I didn’t stick around to see if he survived. We scrambled for cover, beating a hasty retreat, zigzagging through the trees with JT leading the way.
“Two more,” he called back as more rounds zipped over our heads. “They fanned out just before you showed up.”
Well, hell, I thought. Nathan or Gabriel would have known better than to assume there were only two of them. Rookie move, Parker.
The gunfire tapered off, but JT and I kept moving, using the vegetation for cover, pausing only to check for pursuers before starting off again, still zigzagging.
Serpentine, serpentine!
I giggled quietly and inappropriately, wishing my dad was there doing his Peter Falk impression.
“That was a pretty awesome stunt you pulled back there,” JT said, slowing down a little so I could keep pace with him. “I didn’t know you were that strong.”
“Neither did I,” I admitted. “Fucker made me mad.”
“Hulk smash,” JT grinned, then took off at a sprint again as more “bees” buzzed past us. He pulled ahead into another thick tangle, vanishing from sight.
“Damn it,” I panted. “Wait up! We need to stay together!”
I picked up my pace and plowed through the trees after him. I emerged into daylight again almost immediately, momentarily blinded by the sun just long enough to trip on a stray root and start to fall face forward, hair coming out of its braid and into my eyes.
Strong arms caught me and kept me from doing a face plant, holding onto me as I regained my balance and tightening as I tried to push away. I cocked back a fist, ready to kick more ass.
“Whoa there, baby sister,” said a reedy voice I didn’t recognize, with a hint of a southern accent. “What’s your hurry, darlin’? We’re all friends here.”
That brought me up short just before I let fly. I got my first good look at the man who was holding me. Older, early sixties maybe, with a wind-burned face and limp silver hair down to his shoulders, he reminded me of Sam Elliott in Road House. He wore a heavy flannel shirt under a leather vest, the latter adorned with several patches. They were a little too close to my face for me to focus on them.
I could, however, see the patches on the other men a few feet away, all leaning on large Harley Davidsons. One of them, a bear of a man with a long goatee, was standing with his arm around JT’s shoulders like they were old friends. The slightly panicked look on JT’s face and the fact his feet were dangling off the ground said otherwise.
There were seven of them in total, each wearing a leather vest that matched my new pal’s. They were dressed in jeans and heavy boots, with bandanas and sunglasses. I rapidly considered my next move, deciding I’d try and reason with them before resorting to more violence, although I fully expected that to be the outcome.
Before I could utter a word, however, two more commandos in black burst out of the trees behind us. They looked as stunned as I’d been to see the bikers, briefly letting the barrels of their submachine guns lower before raising them again.
“Welcome to the party, boys,” one of the bikers said calmly. “But you may have to go for more beer. I don’t think we brought enough for everyone.”
“Give us the girl,” said one of the commandos in a no-nonsense tone. “That’s all we want. There doesn’t have to be any trouble.”
“Oh, I think there does,” Silver Hair sighed. He reached up and turned my face from side to side, examining my bruises and busted lips. “Looks like you already had your chance. Sloppy work.” He shook his head. “Nah, I think we’ll handle it from here. You just run along, okay?”
The two exchanged knowing looks.
“You gonna back that up, pappy?” one of them said, making a little gesture with his weapon.
The old man seemed unconcerned.
“Oh, I don’t know. I imagine we’ll come up with something. What do you think, Bird?”
“Sounds about right,” came a response from behind the commandos as two more bikers stepped out of the trees, each with a hand tucked inside his vest as if reaching for something.
Wait, more of them?
No, those two looked familiar. I glanced around and found two of the Harleys unattended. I don’t know what was more impressive—that they’d moved so fast, or that they’d done it completely unnoticed, like ninja bikers.
Surrounded now, the commandos started to fidget and I wasn’t sure what they might do next. I hoped it didn’t include spraying all of us in a hail of bullets.
“Gentlemen.”
One of the other bikers spoke up, his voice soft yet commanding. Clean-shaven except for a little chin fuzz, he wore a watchcap with a flaming skull insignia on the front. And though he wasn’t as large as some of the others, something about him said “leader.” He just sat there, leaning on his bike with his arms folded across his chest, waiting until he knew he had the mooks’ attention before continuing.
“Do the math,” he said simply. “Walk away.” The two bikers behind them punctuated their leader’s words with the ominous sound of something metallic being ratcheted.
The commandos exchanged nervous looks again.
“You win,” one of them said. “Keep the bitch. Take turns for all I care.” He looked directly at me and gave an ugly grin. “At least we would’ve done you quick.” He mimed putting a bullet in his head.
With that lovely sentiment, the two cautiously backed away into the trees and out of sight. A few beats later one of the bikers—Bird, I think—disappeared after them.
Well, that was interesting.
I exchanged a quick look with JT and saw the same mixture of admiration and confusion. Were these enemies or allies?
Hell, I was more than impressed. I was nervous. But I hid my anxiety behind a tough façade. I leaned in to the older biker.
“You gonna let me go,” I whispered, “or do I have to make you?”
Silver Hair cackled at that. He held out his arms to release me, and bowed graciously in doing so.
“As you wish.”
I gave a crooked grin. “Thank you, Farm Boy.”
That got a laugh from the other bikers, as well as JT. He looked up at his captor.
“How about letting me touch terra firma again, boss?”
The hulk obligingly set JT down, giving him a pat on the head as he did so.
Now what?
We sized one another up for a moment or two and then Bird re-emerged from the trees.
“They’re leaving, all right,” he reported. “Didn’t even stop for their wounded.” He looked at me with admiration and added, “She really did a number on two of ’em.” Then he went back to his bike.
“So what now?” I asked. Because, well, I really wanted to know. Was this the point where things got all rapey?
The leader swung a leg over his bike and put his sunglasses on.
“I guess we get moving.” He glanced back at me. “Cabrillo Point, right?”
Whoa. Talk about a kick in the figurative nuts.
“Who are you people?”
The leader grinned. “Just passing through, y’know? We were down at the border, visiting friends when the shit went down. We’re working our way back home to Tacoma. Then we get a call about a damsel in distress…” He took out his smartphone, keyed in something and held it out to show a picture of me in my zombie fighting gear.
“How… who…” I stopped, totally flummoxed.
“Looks like you’ve got a guardian angel.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “Someone who knew who we are, and where we were.”
“You’re military?”
“Ex, most of us. But we stay connected. You never know when there’ll be a need.” He grinned again. “Sometimes you get the army, and sometimes you get the reserves.”
I gave a crooked grin. “And sometimes you get a motorcycle gang?”
“Club,” one of the other men corrected. He was older, like Silver Hair, but bigger. “Not a gang. We’re a club.”
JT raised an eyebrow. “And the difference is?”
“We follow the rules,” the leader said. “Most of the time. None of that Sons of Anarchy bullshit. No meth, no coke.”
“Unless it’s diet,” another one cackled.
“No guns?” I asked.
“Oh, we carry,” the leader said. “Legally. But Cali doesn’t recognize out-of-state permits, and none of us are stationed here.”
“So you totally bluffed those assholes into backing down?” I looked over at the two bikers who’d snuck around behind them. They grinned at me and one pulled out what looked like a pistol. He cocked the hammer, making that ominous sound again, and flame shot out from the muzzle.
