She was mostly sure she didn't want him shot.
Well, maybe just a little.
6
“Get up. Run!”
The resolve was there, but doubt, too. Where could she run that would have help? Though she was willing to scream bloody murder while up in the building, now she wondered if it was right to go to the camp and rile everyone up in the middle of the night. She needed somewhere that had soldiers, ready to help. She only knew one place where she was absolutely sure she could find such people.
After a few deep breaths to steady her nerves, she deliberately got up and began to jog directly away from the building. Her desire was to avoid getting too close to the windows so as not to cause zombies to jump out to grab her, but once she was far enough away, she realized she'd done something just as dangerous. She was now visible to every zombie looking out the windows on all three floors.
The tinkle of glass urged her to run faster.
Are they free?
She ran.
Her goal was the outer defense wall. It had to be close, as she’d heard shooting from that direction from time to time since she’d been on campus, but she hadn’t the time or will to go check it out.
Until I need it in the middle of the night!
The Whitaker building was out of sight now, and she rounded the corner of another building when she fell hard to the concrete walkway.
She’d tripped over something, and had skinned up the pads of her palms. But that was the furthest from her mind when she saw two men standing in the darkness nearby.
“Help! Zombies! In the Whitaker research building.”
It felt great to unload the important information, but when she got to her feet she got a better look at the two men. In the darkness, it was hard to make out details, but they each wore some kind of face mask—of a skeleton head. They wore black boots, black pants, and black shirts. Somewhere in the shadows, she sensed the metallic aura of battle rifles.
Instead of running to help, the two men strolled to her. By the time she’d found her feet, she was in a new kind of danger.
“Well, well. Lookie here. She made it out. That’s a first.” The voice came from the taller man.
“Yep. That’s new. What do you think our orders are, now?”
The tall man laughed maliciously. “Have fun?”
Victoria took a step back and tripped—again—on the obstruction on the ground. This time, she got a better look at it.
At him.
One of the security guards had been placed in the shrubs, but his legs stuck out onto the path.
“What...what do you guys want? I need help in the building. The zombies are going to flood the park.”
“Missy, don’t ya think we know that?” short guy laughed as he stood above her. The white skull face stared down at her.
“You guys let them all out. But why?”
Short guy roughly pulled her to her feet. His strength frightened her. He let go, but tall guy was almost next to her. Both men quietly chuckled, like they were in on a joke she didn’t know. She stood with her hands on her hips, hoping it conveyed some kind of defiance. And...
“This is the point where we reveal our grand plan, right T?” the short one said.
“You know it, C. We’re going to spill the beans and then she goes off and reports back to Hayes.”
The tall guy looked at the short guy, like he’d said something off-script, but turned back to Victoria in a moment.
“Or, this is the point where we use the dead of night to have some fun with our date.”
The short man was now directly to her side. The tall guy stood to her front. Her options were nearly gone.
She leaned to begin running, but short guy grabbed her arms from behind and guffawed. “Not gonna happen, girly girl. We didn’t wake up today, you know.”
The tall guy, standing in front of her, growled. He moved so he was inches away from her. “Our orders were to terminate you and your boyfriend inside that freak show. The zombies were supposed to do it for us, nice and neat, but I’m going to enjoy interrogating you.”
Short guy held her upper arms, as if pointing her to the tall guy. When her hands were on her hips, she’d gotten her hand on the screwdriver handle. She’d stuck it down her jeans, but put it through one of her belt loops, so it was convenient to grab.
The man behind let go of one arm and rubbed one of her spaghetti straps off her shoulder while he whispered in her ear. “I’ll interrogate you from back here—”
She didn’t wait for the punchline. The screwdriver came out, and she held it like she would hold a sword by the hilt. Then, with the lower half of her arm, she swung it like a metal pike—aiming for the voice and face of the man hovering near her shoulder. She knew she landed the blow when he let her go. He took the screwdriver out of her hands.
“Ahhhhh!” short guy screamed. Like her a moment before, he tripped over the feet on the ground. His voice was loud and angry, but he was definitely on the ground below her.
She ran in the confusion. With a burst of speed, she dodged tall guy and ran back the way she’d come, putting the corner of the new building between herself and the NIS assassins.
Run, girl, run!
She sprinted along the short end of the building, then turned left to run along the back edge of the same building. She hoped the men were behind her, though she also wondered if she’d gotten the guy good enough that he wouldn’t follow her at all. Put a screwdriver into the face of a zombie, and they’re done for. It should work the same for a living human.
A couple of gunshots rattled the night, from ahead. Her only hope was finding the wall.
Although…
“What if they just kill the guards?” she said to herself as she paced her run.
There were a lot of variables in play. How many were there? Why were they here? Would they follow her into population?
On the last point, she was fairly certain they would. If short guy survived her screwdriver strike, he’d be hungry for revenge. Hayes said they were built that way. The only consolation was that even if they caught her, she’d at least drawn first blood from them. Whatever they were going to do to her tonight, they were never going to let her go.
Her stomach swooned at the thought. The NIS men were there to kill her.
“We see you little girl. Run, run, run, but you can’t hide.”
“And you’re going to wish you hadn’t knifed my associate. He’s pretty pissed,” tall guy said with a hearty laugh. He sounded very close.
There was nothing for her to do, except run for her life.
Chapter 8: Victoria's Secret
Running was one thing Victoria knew she could keep up for a long time, even in the Apocalypse. Her good jogging shoes were comfortable, her pacing felt good, and because outrunning bullets was ridiculous, she continuously made swerves and turns to keep trees, statues, gates, and buildings between herself and her pursuit. She headed for the wall.
“You can’t get away, hot stuff,” a sing-songing man called to her.
To her surprise, a gaggle of students stood in front of one of the dorm buildings. Part of her was desperate to mix in with them and disappear, but she couldn’t trust that the men behind her weren’t watching. If they saw her go in, the presence of some students wouldn’t stop them. They might even kill them all, just because…
None of them had weapons. They stood in the low light of a few lanterns with dreary eyes and colorful pajamas.
She passed them without comment. Only select buildings had electrical power, and none of the courtesy lights on the walkways were functional. If she wasn’t seen, the men might assume she’d gone into the dorm…
She called back once she was past them. “Get back in your dorm, you idiots!”
She rounded a corner of an administration building and felt her stomach muscles clench at the sight of safety. Ahead were the large fires kept up by the men and women on the barricade surrounding the park, the university, and the hos
pitals. There had to be dozens of people. Surely it was enough to fight off two men, one of whom was wounded?
Most stood on car roofs and rested their weapons on large shipping containers, facing outward.
“Help!” she croaked. Her throat was hoarse.
The butterflies skittered across her tummy. She wasn’t safe, yet.
She picked up her pace. She ran across a large grassy space sitting on a gentle hill—once a pleasant place for students to study in the shade—and onto the street behind the barricade. Now that she could see how it was constructed, she judged she had aimed for the best possible place.
The line of containers and other debris was on the near side of the intersection, giving clear fields of fire out into the night. Someone had designed fifty-five gallon drums so they could be placed on top of the containers and burn brightly, toward the street beyond.
Altogether, it made her feel the people knew what they were doing.
Victoria clapped her hands, hoping to get their attention.
She heard snaps behind her. It reminded her of someone banging two pieces of wood together.
Ahead, a defender stood stiffly, then dropped to the ground.
Then another.
“Help!” she shouted, this time with more force. “You're being shot at!”
It took entirely too long for the people to get it. Another couple people fell, including a woman who she judged to be the closest to her on the wall.
“They’re behind me!” her voice broke at the word me.
She jumped behind a parked car off to the side of the barricade. She had reached her goal but brought trouble with her. The people had been ambushed from behind and were now hidden among the cars of the blockade, just like her.
She heard the zing of bullets on the frame of the vehicle.
“We told you, little girl, you couldn’t get away. The people of this cowbell town can’t help you.” She knew the voice was Tall Guy.
“I owe you one eye, you little bitch. I’m gonna collect from you.”
As emphasis, several more shots pinged off the car she was using as cover.
They know exactly where I am.
Across the street, next to the wall, she saw shapes moving inside an old time gas station building. Several ran out the back door, which she could see from her perspective, but a large hedge blocked it from most everywhere else.
“I’m over here,” she said with a tremble of fear in her voice. If her voice carried, they should hear her, even though she wasn’t yelling. “Help!” she said a little louder.
“Shut your mouth,” a female voice called from a different direction on the barricade.
“There are two men, dressed in black, shooting at you,” she said as loud as she could without screaming. “And they released zombies inside the Whitaker building,” she added with relief. If she died, she’d at least warned them.
She prayed in the flickering light of multiple fires.
Though the situation was dire, she asked herself the type of question Liam often presented to her.
“Can I pray for those two men to die?”
It didn’t feel right, but as much as she wanted to fight the truth of things, she had to admit there was going to be a lot more killing—and death—the longer the Zombie Apocalypse continued. And, if tonight were any indication of the state of the world, it would go on for a long time. Accepting that, prayers for the killing of evil people would become the norm, not the exception.
She tried it on for size.
“God, please help us kill those men,” she whispered in prayer.
That feels completely wrong.
It was true, she wished them dead, but asking God to go around killing people...well, it just didn’t seem appropriate.
She tried to build in nuance. “God, please help us eliminate the threats to your good people.”
“Arg. That can’t be right.”
Secretly, she knew she was distracting herself from the situation she was in. From time to time, a bullet spanked her car. Like they were taunting her. But they also shot at others.
A new noise peaked her interest. A low hum and whirring sound. From above.
She looked for the source, and saw a dark shape up in the sky, barely visible above the blockade. The little black helicopter hung in the air, appearing frozen.
I shouldn’t pray for those men to die. I should pray for their threat to be eliminated.
She could pretend, for a moment, that the goal was to capture them and get them to convert to goodness, but it seemed unlikely. They weren’t soldiers fighting for a lost cause. They were zealots. There could be no negotiation with zealots.
“God, though our side may not be righteous, please give us the strength to dispatch true evil. Please help the good guys.”
It wasn’t perfect, but it felt right.
Would God even deign to get involved in an obscure gun battle on some dark street corner in the middle of the Zombie plague? Probably not. But it made her feel better and gave her strength.
And why is that helicopter coming down?
2
The turbulence of the tar-black drone swept over the nearby fires, tilting them heavily too and fro. Something about it made it seem ominous. As it descended into the firelight, she saw an apparatus on the undercarriage.
When it was about ten feet above her, the long tube swung her way.
“Okie dokie. A gun,” she whispered, not wanting to believe it.
Though she’d just calmed her nerves through prayer, the jittery feeling of nervousness came back at the sight of the drone’s weaponry. It wasn’t being operated by the people on the roadblock.
“Duh, girl.”
She rolled over, then tried to get underneath the car. Her eyes were on that gun the whole time.
The problem was the car. It was a sports car, and sat low to the ground. If she had unlimited time, she might be able to shimmy herself into the tight space, but on this night, under these conditions…
Her legs went under, but the rest of her hung out the back end. She looked like a mechanic trying to get underneath. Or a mechanic that had a car drop on top of her.
She scooted sideways, hoping to go toward the side. It occurred to her that would put her in view of the two shooters.
Die by drone, or by ass—jerks.
She sighed. “I just can’t win.”
“God, forgive me my trespasses...”
She closed her eyes.
Gunshots started nearby. The drone fired its gun, too—very loud because it was so close. She panicked, pulled out her legs, and stood to run. If she were going to die, she wouldn’t do it lying down.
The men over at the gas station fired their rifles at the drone. It fired back.
Shots dinged off the vehicle, and she crouched back down where she’d been. There was so much going on, she didn’t know what she should do.
Run.
Stay.
Hide.
Surrender.
“Ha!”
She wondered who would accept her surrender?
A lull in the gunfire gave her inspiration. It wasn’t suicide, exactly, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.
She jumped up on the back of the sports car, then leapt for the drone. She’d judged it perfectly. She caught hold of the running gear, and the extra weight caused the drone to tilt dangerously. Her momentum carried it so it fell behind her. She stayed with it as long as she could, but let go before it impacted in the turn lane.
The rotor blades jangled loudly for a fraction of a second as they struck, then the whole drone skipped to its other side—her side—where it also banged angrily on the street. It was too much for the fragile thing. The blades sheered off, and the motor sputtered sadly to a stop.
She kicked it, so the gun faced away from the blockade.
More shots echoed in the night from behind her. This time, the reports were loud and burly, not the relatively silent snaps of the assassins. Maybe they’d given up with their
weak guns and were now using heavier ones.
She crouched behind the drone, which was now between her and the shooters out in the darkness. It caused her to wonder if the drone was solid enough to protect her from bullets.
It has to be.
“God, thank you for letting me help out.”
She had time to wonder if it was God that gave her the idea to take out the drone? Or was it her, all along? Did it matter? She couldn't decide.
The shooting sounds came from multiple directions now. Either there were more assassins or the blockade people were engaging Tall and Short guys.
“This isn’t over!” Short Guy shouted.
His voice was drowned out by a swarm of gunshots.
Silence followed.
She got close to the drone and was no longer able to move. Her fear was that Short Guy was approaching her—ready to make good on his promise. If she lay perfectly still, maybe he would miss her. Much like she kept still to keep the zombies from being attracted to her.
They’re both extreme evil. Maybe what works for one, works for the other…
Her thoughts turned inward while she waited. Though there had to be living people nearby, no one made a peep. Her imagination ran wild, and pictured a horde of infected coming over the blockade, now that no one was manning it. That would be the ultimate insult to her intentions. She wanted to find these people so they could prevent zombies from getting out of the research building, and here she was making sure zombies broke into the rest of the camp.
It was a full ten minutes before a gravelly man’s voice called out.
“All clear, people. The shooter is dead.”
Only one?
Around her, other defenders popped up from their hiding places. She let herself be the last to stand up. There was no confusion about her role. A man walked right up to her.
“You better have a damned good reason for getting my friends killed.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
3
In minutes, she explained what she could. There were deadly assassins roaming the darkness, they’d released zombies inside Whitaker, and it was imperative someone get over there and terminate an entire building of them.
They were understandably hesitant. Their numbers were halved on the blockade by just two of the NIS guys—it turned out Short Guy was still out there—and going into the darkness to find more wasn't a high priority for them.
Since the Sirens: Zombie's 2nd Bite Edition: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Books 4-6 Page 69
