by Platt, Sean
Boricio had no weapon, and all of them were armed. And she had no idea what his plan might be. Short of a miracle, Boricio was seconds from dead, and the three of them were minutes behind, if lucky.
“First thing I’m gonna do is cut your tongue out,” the leader said, finally speaking.
Boricio hollered. “Woo-hoo! Now that’s what I’m talking about. That’s exactly the sort of initiative I’m looking for with new recruits. Now,” he shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I do understand why you wouldn’t want to surrender your leadership role, and I also get how your ‘boys on the side’ there might not realize how it’s in their best interest to join me, so I propose a little battle between us.”
The leader raised his eyebrows. Mary might not have seen it all the way from the second floor if it wasn’t right above the obvious scrunch in his nose.
“You three cowboys can keep your guns all aimed on me, while He-Man and I punch shit out. If I win, all four of you become proud members of Team Boricio.” He smiled over at the leader. “You can be the General, or maybe we’ll make up a title if you’d prefer, like Cobra Commander or Optimus Prime or some shit. If I lose, then I’ll join your team, Team Taco, or whatever the fuck it’s called. You can pick my team name, though I rather like Boricio. Destro would be cool. I also like my last name, Wolfe, like the thing that can rip your throat out while growling, but with an E.”
Boricio paused and Mary was certain the next thing she’d hear was his final cry as the leader’s sword separated his neck and throat. There was nothing but one bird answering another until Boricio spoke again about 20 seconds later.
“I imagine you’re probably thinking that your little foursome is a perfect set, ready for all four corners of the blanket; I can promise Boricio is an asset to any picnic. In this particular instance, I can promise you some nicely gift wrapped, sweet pink meat. And by gift wrap I mean panties, in case it’s been so long that you didn’t know what I meant by the meat. Now I know I said it was just me and Rosy, but I was lying. I’ve actually got two peaches in my garden, one that’s nice and soft and another that’s not quite ripe. Not my taste, but I’ll let your tongue be the judge.”
Mary felt a sudden flush of fresh hate race through her body. Luca put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “He’s just going fast enough to keep them from thinking.”
The four bikers all started laughing. The leader dropped his sword to the ground, then took a step toward Boricio and swung. Boricio dodged what Mary thought seemed like a surprisingly slow throw, then took a step back and said, “I suggest we move over yonder so we have ample room to brawl.”
Boricio nodded at the gunpowder trio, said, “You guys can keep your guns pointed on me,” then turned to the leader and pointed over toward a spot by the garden about 50 feet away. “We’ll take this over there.
The leader nodded, then headed toward the clearing. Boricio followed, then turned back, and for one half a second, when nobody else was looking, turned his eyes to Mary’s window and winked.
Mary didn’t believe she could read Boricio’s mind, but her usual knowing was spoke in Boricio’s voice.
It’s just like shooting bottles from the fucking fence. Even your sweet little lamb can do it. But not Rip Van Creepy. The kick’ll be too much. The two of you will do fine.
Paola knew what they were about to do before Mary said a word. “I’m ready, Mom,” she said.
“You make your momma wait this long before you fuck her?” Boricio said, dancing from side to side around the leader.
The leader roared, then charged at Boricio, landing an easy blow to the side of his head that Mary was positive he could have avoided. Boricio moved like a cat even when he was going slow.
The leader tackled Boricio and they tumbled to the ground in a ballet of fists as they rolled across the grass.
“Ready?” Mary said. Paola nodded as Luca crawled toward the corner. Mary stood, opened the windows. There were no screens to get out of the way — just nice open space to fire.
Distracted by the brawl, the three bikers never saw the shots coming as Mary and Paola fired at them.
All three painted the ground in crimson before managing to fire a single shot. Boricio started to cackle, taking control of the scuffle by climbing on top of the leader’s body and launching both of his fists repeatedly into the man’s pasty face.
Boricio climbed from the leader’s crumpled body, then turned his face to the window. “Woo-hoo!!!” he screamed. “Too bad every fire department in creation is on permanent retirement, because Team Boricio is on fucking fire!”
He looked down at the leader’s face, then pointed and laughed, turning back to the window. “Looks like Boricio’s Famous Sloppy Spaghetti!”
The leader started squirming on the ground. To Mary’s horror, she found herself hoping Boricio would do exactly what he did a moment later.
Boricio walked over to the leader’s sword, picked it up from the concrete while wearing a giant smile, then walked back to the body and thrust the blade deep into the leader’s chest.
“100,000 sperm in your daddy’s shot, and you were the fastest?” Boricio howled as a fountain of blood erupted from the leader’s twitching body.
Boricio turned back to the house and took a bow for his audience.
* * * *
CHAPTER 9 — Other Ed Keenan
Ed raced along the dirt road leading to the north side of the island. The moment Sullivan said the infected had been seen in the north end, Ed knew where he had to go — the old monastery tucked inside the woods. He doubted the infected would have gone there — not on their own, anyway — but Williams would have. It was the oldest structure on the island and a historic destination back when the island was public.
It was the only other place on the island not monitored by Guardsmen. Most newcomers wouldn’t even think to look there, let alone know it existed, which gave Williams the perfect reason to go.
He had gone rogue. The question was — why? Had he been infected, or did Williams now feel differently about their research? He knew Williams and Will had gone head to head a few times during the past few years, most notably following what happened last summer. Whatever the case, the doctor was the most likely suspect in the escape of the infected. Ed prayed he hadn’t gone after Will Bishop.
If Will was dead then everyone else on the island was doomed. Though Will had been getting increasingly more unstable since October, he was the only one on the island who was able to understand — and predict — some of the things that were happening.
Ed cut the lights before he parked the truck, deciding to go the rest of the way on foot. He grabbed an AR-15 from the back of the truck, along with five clips, which he slid into his tactical vest. He then made sure the sphere was safely tucked in his pocket before setting off into the woods, using the light clipped onto the rifle to guide him.
He was about 40 yards from the old brick two-story structure — overgrown with trails of vegetation creeping up and along its moss-covered walls, but otherwise still standing after more than a century spent mostly abandoned. The wooden front door had been replaced a few years earlier as part of a restoration project.
It was now open.
Ed slowly approached, his gun and light aimed at the threshold. He was about 20 feet from the doorway when he spotted movement to his right. He almost jumped, nearly squeezing the trigger as he raised his rifle. Somehow, he managed to remain steady and keep himself from sending a bullet into what turned out to be only a white cloth strip either stuck to — or tied — to a branch.
Surrender?
Ed glanced at the open door again, searching for a sign of either Williams or Will Bishop.
Seeing nothing, Ed stepped through the doorway and into the darkness, ears perked, careful to move silently.
Moonlight spilled in from the open windows and into the main room, painting four large squares dimly across the floor’s center. Dust floated along moats of light, suspended i
n space and barely moving. Everything else was dark.
Ed swung the rifle’s light around the room. It had been awhile since he’d been to the monastery, but the layout was easy enough to remember. One main chamber, leading to a pair of doors and a stairway on the left. Both doors were open.
Ed made his way through the room, stepping over debris along the ancient stone floor. Apparently, renovations had only extended to the building’s outside.
He stayed on the room’s far right, sweeping his light over doors as he passed. He looked out the two large windows on the rear wall and saw the moon peering through the forest about 50 yards away.
Ed stepped toward the second of the two rooms with its door half ajar, where any of the people he was searching for could easily be hiding. As he approached, his boot cracked something on the ground — a pane of dusty glass, crunching with an echo across the old building with its high ceilings.
He paused, waiting to see if the sound would draw someone from hiding, but was greeted with nothing but silence.
Ed pushed the door the rest of the way open, wondering if someone had set the glass there as an alarm. Given the layer of dust on the glass, and lack of clean spots outside of his boot print, it seemed unlikely.
He opened the door to a sudden voice.
“Don’t shoot.”
Ed’s light found Will, sitting perfectly still in the darkness on an old wooden chair as if he were waiting to see a doctor.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” Ed said, moving his light from Will’s face to the floor.
“Waiting,” he said, his voice eerily calm as if he were talking in his sleep and responding to someone Ed couldn’t see.
Ed brought the light up again, just enough to see Will’s dark, open, and oversized pupils.
“Waiting for who?” Ed asked, thinking he probably shouldn’t bother. The old man had been growing progressively worse since the previous fall. Some said he was senile, but Ed didn’t think that was it. Well, not completely, anyway. He was more likely mourning all that he had lost, and what had happened on October 15.
“For Luca and Boricio. They’re coming back.”
Ed closed his eyes, feeling a cool blade of sadness cut through him. He didn’t have the heart to correct Will. “Come on sir; it’s not safe here,” he said. “There’s been a breach. Two of the infected have escaped and Dr. Williams is nowhere to be found.”
Something snapped Will from his daze. He cocked his head and looked at Ed quizzically. “Escaped? How?”
“We believe Dr. Williams had something to do with it, though we’re not sure why.”
“Oh my.” Will said. “That’s not good. Not good at all.”
“How long have you been here, Mr. Bishop? Have you seen anyone else?”
“All day. Waiting,” Will said, starting to get that glassy look in his eyes again.
“Did you see anybody else?”
“No,” Will said, meeting Ed’s eyes. “Nobody else.”
“Come on, let me bring you back to the Facility so I can get back out and find them.”
Will rattled his head as if trying to shake himself from a fugue, then stood. His bones creaked and Ed wondered how long the man had been sitting in the chair.
“Did Dr. Williams tell you to meet him here?”
“No,” Will said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious why you came out here of all places.”
“The dreams told me to come here tonight. What time is it?”
“Oh-two hundred,” Ed said, glancing at his watch.
“Oh, they’re gonna be here soon!”
“What?”
“Yes, they’re coming at 2:15.”
Ed stared at Will, staring absentmindedly back, smiling like the senile man many thought he’d become. It was obvious to Ed that Will was confused. Even if he had dreamed of 2:15, it wasn’t psychic phenomena. Yes, the man was gifted, but this was more likely a blend of dream and memory, twisting itself into rambling prophecy.
The smile on Will’s face said it all: the fragile old man needed his dream to come true. And it would break his heart when it didn’t. What could Ed do, though? No way would he get the old man to go with him until he saw that his dream was just a dream and nothing more.
“I can’t wait to see them,” Will said, turning from Ed and returning to his chair.
Ed was going to resist, but decided it wasn’t worth it. What was five more minutes? “At least let’s wait out there,” Ed said as he picked up Will’s chair and brought it out into the main room.
“Thank you,” Will said, sitting down and folding his hands on his lap like he was waiting on a train rather than an impossibility.
Ed shook his head, “Have you gone upstairs at all?”
“No,” Will shook his head, his eyes on the floor where the squares of light illuminated the concrete.
“Wait right here, okay? I’m gonna check up there.”
“Don’t go,” Will said, his voice almost sad. “You’ll miss them.”
“Just call me if . . . er, when they show up. Okay?”
“Okay,” Will said, smiling.
Ed shook his head and left Will to wait for nothing. His flashlight probed the darkness of the stairway as he ascended the concrete steps. He didn’t want to leave Will alone for long, so he didn’t bother with stealth. He quickly bounded the steps and checked out the second floor — a tiny bathroom and seven bedrooms with small beds. Without anyone in them, the vacant rooms with their crumbling beds made Ed think of a haunted orphanage. And he felt like the eyes of the dead were on him.
Once Ed was certain no one was on the second floor, he raced back downstairs and saw Will sitting in the same position he’d left him, and wearing the same stupid grin.
Ed glanced at his watch. 2:17 a.m. with no sign of anyone. The building was silent as a crypt and he felt a chill in the air. Ed wanted to get out of the creepy building and on the road.
“I don’t think they’re coming,” Ed said, showing Will the watch. It’s 2:17.”
Will looked at the watch and the hope in his eyes died like the smile on his face. The shift in mood was immediate; sudden enough to surprise Ed.
Will stood, his face void of emotion. “Let’s go.”
Will stepped past Ed. As Ed was about to turn and follow Ed, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. He looked up and saw someone outside walk past the window — a man in what looked like a black uniform — though he was past the window before Ed could be certain.
“Oh!” Ed shouted, surprised, his heart racing.
“What is it?” Will asked, looking around.
Ed ran to the window, rifle ready, but saw no one outside.
“What is it?” Will repeated, immediately beside him.
“I think I saw someone out there,” Ed said, then turned back to the open door on the far side of the room. “Quick. Let’s go.”
The door slammed shut when they were three feet away.
Will jumped back and Ed raised his rifle. A shadow tore across the floor, racing from the window behind him. Ed spun around, and this time saw the man in black standing in the window, his back turned to them. It looked like a Guardsman in uniform. He was without a helmet or mask, which confused Ed, like the man’s thick and unkempt mop of dark hair.
What the hell?
Ed approached the window for a closer look. Just as he was five feet away, the Guardsman turned and revealed a face without any mouth, eyes, nose, or anything. His face was smooth and pale as if someone erased his features, with something, or some things, moving beneath the flesh, pushing at the skin like bones trying to find their way to right.
Ed raised the rifle.
Behind him, the door flew open and Will let out a startled yell.
Ed turned back to the front door and saw Dr. Williams standing there, completely nude, his saggy skin caked in dirt, mud, or something else. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes were as wide and demented as his hair was wild and crazy.
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On either side of Dr. Williams were two of the infected — now fully devolved, barely resembling the humans they once were — a woman and child found recently in the city.
“Give us the vials,” Williams said, his voice sounding not like one person, but several, almost like he were speaking while gargling.
“There are no more vials,” Will said, his voice surprisingly strong and defiant.
“Lie!” Williams said, pointing an accusatory finger at Will. “I know what you did! I know what you did! You have them!”
The window crashed behind them, reminding Ed of the man without a face who’d been behind them.
It was too late to do anything. Ed spun to fire, but the man raised an arm and swung it hard, knocking Ed to the ground. His rifle fell and the thing leaped on top of his body before Ed could calculate a response.
The thing gripped Ed’s neck tight, choking him and shoving his head back hard into the dusty ground. Ed struggled to pull the man-thing’s hands away, mesmerized by its face, shifting beneath the skin until it started to tear along the center like a bloody seam, followed by the sickening wet sound of ripping.
From that seam, flowed something dark and fibrous, as blood and black goo gushed from the wound and spilled down onto Ed’s chin.
He cringed, turning away and clenching his mouth closed so as not to ingest the putrid smelling shit. It started to spatter Ed’s cheek as he struggled and twisted, swinging his legs enough to try and kick the creature from his body.
The liquid began to dribble up and toward Ed’s eye.
If it gets in me, I’m infected.
Ed clenched his eyes shut as the thing’s grip grew stronger around his neck, choking breath from his body as pain shot through him. Ed felt like his was seconds from being ripped from his body.
A gunshot thundered in the otherwise empty room, followed by a high-pitched whine, as the body on top of him froze and a fresh batch of hot liquid spilled onto his chest and face.
