Madness Rules - 04
Page 7
When he got to within a few feet, the woman puffed up like she was about to proclaim her innocence. By the time Tanner realized that she had something in her hand, it was too late. The blade licked against his side, cutting through his shirt and opening a small gash along his side. Thankfully, the knife slid off his ribs, never penetrating deeper than the skin.
Tanner instinctively struck out, hitting her in the face with his left fist. The blow was more of a reactionary pop than a full-powered punch, but it caught her squarely in the eye, and she went down hard.
Samantha walked up next to him and touched the unconscious woman with her foot. When she didn’t move, Samantha turned to Tanner and shook her head.
“What?” he said. “She started it.”
Samantha stood watch over the unconscious woman like she was guarding a prisoner of war. They had dragged Nipples into the parts room, but she had yet to stir.
“Are you sure you didn’t kill her?”
“Is her chest moving?” he asked, taking a second look through the boxes of parts for anything that might be useful.
“I’m not really sure,” she said. “It’s so big it’s hard to tell.”
Tanner laughed. “Trust me, she’s alive.”
“What are we going to do with her?”
“Aha,” he said, holding up a thick roll of duct tape.
“What’s that for?”
“Taping her up.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because they’ll be coming back for her.”
“What makes you think that?”
Tanner walked over, rolled the woman onto her belly, and secured her hands and feet.
“Because,” he said, “women like this don’t get left behind. Not for long, anyway.”
The look on Samantha’s face told him that she didn’t understand.
“Trust me,” he said. “They’ll be back.”
She shrugged. “Even if that’s true, shouldn’t we get out of here? We don’t need another fight.”
“We’re not leaving until they bring back our supplies.”
“They might come with a whole army.”
“Nah. These guys are thieves, not fighters.”
The woman moaned and rolled onto her side. She blinked a few times before her eyes finally remained open.
“Where am I?”
“You’re our prisoner,” Samantha said in a tone that was very matter of fact.
She struggled to free her hands.
“Untie me!”
Samantha said nothing.
Nipples looked up at her and squinted.
“Listen, girl. You better help me get free. Right now! I mean it.”
Samantha looked over at Tanner.
“She’s not very nice, is she?”
“Nope.”
“You have no right to keep me here!”
“Hush,” he said, leaning down and helping her to sit up. “You’re lucky I didn’t snap your neck after slicing me the way you did.” He rubbed his fingers across the small cut, which was already starting to scab over.
“You came at me with a gun. What was I supposed to do?”
“Don’t play the injured party, darlin’. It won’t win you any points with me. Truth is I like you better for having taken a shot at me.” He grinned. “Shows you got a little spirit in you.”
“Come on,” she said, her voice softening, “this is silly. You’re fine. It was barely a scratch. Let me go, and we’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because your friends took our packs. You’re staying with us until they bring them back.”
“They weren’t my—”
“Save it,” he said, holding up a hand. “On the other hand, go ahead. Who knows? You could be an incredible liar. Give it a try. We’re game, right, Sam?”
She nodded. “Sure. I love a good story.”
Nipples sighed. “Fine. You caught me, and I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry or not. I just want my beer back.”
Samantha spun around. “Your what?”
“My gear. I said I want my gear back.”
She squinted at him but said nothing.
“So that’s it? You’re just going to keep me here tied up like a hog?”
“Looks that way.”
“And there’s nothing I can say that will convince you to let me go?”
“Nope. I’m very hard to convince of anything.” He nodded toward Samantha. “Ask her. She’ll tell you.”
“Oh, that’s very true,” she said. “He’s like a giant boulder.”
Tanner cut his eyes at her.
“A boulder?”
She shrugged. “They’re immovable, right?”
“Anyway,” he said, turning back to Nipples, “you sit tight. You’ll be all right once we get our stuff back.”
She stared off for a moment as she worked something out in her mind.
“Send the girl out so we can talk in private, grownup to grownup.”
“Sam can hear anything you have to say.”
Nipples shook her head. “If you want your stuff back, do as I say.”
Tanner was about to argue the point when Samantha spoke up.
“I’ll go out and check on the cats you scared away. It’ll be dark soon, and they shouldn’t be out on their own.”
He shrugged. “Okay, but be careful. If you see anything you don’t like, skedaddle back here or fire off a shot.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, turning to leave.
And for the first time, Tanner realized that she probably would be fine. Samantha was more capable of dealing with trouble than most people he knew, both in and out of prison. When he heard her begin to call for the cats outside, he turned back and squatted down next to the woman.
“Okay, darlin’, let’s hear it.”
She smiled. “Untie me first.”
“Not a chance.”
“What am I going to do to a big man like you?”
“Oh, I’m sure you could do plenty to a man,” he said, grinning.
“Exactly,” she said, winking her good eye.
“Ah,” he said, “so that’s it. A little honey to make things better?”
She ran her tongue around her lips.
“Would that really be so bad?”
Nipples was an attractive, albeit deceitful, young woman. It didn’t hurt that she could survive a shipwreck by simply rolling onto her back. He recognized that taking a deal like the one she was offering was terribly immoral. Then again, he thought, morality was often overrated during an apocalypse.
“I have been known to crave a little honey from time to time,” he said, sliding her around and removing the tape.
Nipples pulled her hands free and began rubbing her wrists. When they had finally returned to their normal color, she reached up, gently cupped his face, and kissed him on the lips. It was a long passionate kiss that probed every corner of his mouth.
“Come on, big fellow,” she said, pulling his body onto hers. “Let’s see if we can make this right.”
CHAPTER
6
Executive Order 16662
Temporary Revocation of the War Powers Resolution
By virtue of the authority vested in me by the Congressional Body, and as the appointed President of the United States, the following is hereby ordered:
Section 1. Revocation of War Powers Resolution. (a) The War Powers Resolution of 1973 shall hereby be revoked. (b) The revocation is designed to help safeguard the nation from enemies, both foreign and domestic, and to ensure the nation’s survival following the outbreak of the Superpox-99 virus.
Section 2. Transfer of Powers. (a) The President shall hereby have the authority to conduct military operations, both within the United States as well as beyond its borders, without
the consent of the Congressional Body. (b) The President shall have no limitations on the scope or duration of such military actions. (c) The Congressional Body shall work with the President in an advisory role to ensure that the interests of the nation are properly considered.
Section 3. Expiration Term. (a) This revocation of the War Powers Resolution shall expire 180 days from the date of issue. (b) Any future extensions of the revocation shall require unanimous consensus of the President, Vice President, Secretary of Defense, and Secretary of Homeland Security.
Executive Order 16663
Issuance of New National Currency
By virtue of the authority vested in me by the Congressional Body, and as the appointed President of the United States, the following is hereby ordered:
Section 1. Complete Devaluation of the United States Dollar. (a) The United States dollar shall no longer be the official currency of the United States, and as such, it shall no longer be guaranteed by the U.S. government. (b) All dollars, both in and out of circulation, shall hereby be devalued and considered to be without financial worth.
Section 2. Establishment of a New National Currency. (a) The United States shall adopt the international gold-backed credit as its new currency. (b) The gold-backed credit shall be guaranteed with national gold reserves. (c) Such reserves shall be subject to inspection and verification by international currency monitors. (d) The currency shall remain fixed in value such that one thousand credits shall equal one ounce of 24-carat gold. (e) Gold-backed credits shall be redeemable for their equivalent in gold and will proudly display the words, “Payable to Bearer on Demand.” (f) The new currency shall be produced solely by the United States Mint and other approved international treasuries.
CHAPTER
7
As soon as Mason stepped out of the junkyard, he knew he was in trouble. It was so bad that he paused for a moment, hoping that his eyes were playing tricks on him.
They weren’t.
Directly across the street, dozens of infected men and women flooded out of the mobile home sales center. Having used the model homes as temporary refuge, they were willing to risk exposing themselves to the last few minutes of daylight to investigate his brazen intrusion.
It was still a good three hundred yards to the CVS lot where his truck was parked, and he had no illusions about his ability to outrun such a large group. One trip or stumble, one violent encounter along the way, anything that slowed him down, and he would be overrun by the bloodthirsty maniacs.
He spun to look behind him, wondering whether it might be better to fight from the salvage yard. The problem was Bowie. The dog wouldn’t be able to climb the mounds of metal debris, leaving him at the mercy of the monsters. That meant, despite what seemed like insurmountable odds, they had to try for the truck.
Mason broke into a dead run, heading south on Highway 19E. Bowie ran beside him, barking like they were playing a game. It took the mob a few seconds to spot them, but when they did, they screamed with violent fury and gave chase. Twenty or more men and women ran stiff legged and slightly bent at the waist, grunting and groaning as if the exertion pained them. Even more worrisome than the ones chasing him were the half a dozen who poured out from the abandoned church directly ahead.
Mason slowed only slightly, swinging the M4 up to this shoulder and firing a series of short three-round bursts. Even with many of the bullets hitting true, only four of the six fell. Before he could drop the remaining two, Bowie raced ahead and cut into his line of fire.
A grossly obese woman tackled Bowie to the ground. That was a mistake that she lived only a brief time to regret. Mason took careful aim and dropped the final man with another burst. Their path ahead was now clear.
As they sprinted past the fallen group, one of the injured men reached up and grabbed Mason’s ankle. He fell, tumbling to the ground, and rolled onto his side as he prepared to bring the rifle back into play. Before he could get off another shot, Bowie had already ripped into the man. Mason scrambled to his feet and glanced back to see the infected mob closing in from behind them.
“Leave him!” he shouted, turning and running.
For a split second, Mason thought Bowie and he might actually make it back to his truck. But as he saw a fresh stream of the infected spilling out from the adjacent CVS, he realized there was no going back. He scanned the street for a place from which he and Bowie could fight. There simply wasn’t one. Every building was a haven for the darkness-loving monsters.
Hopeless or not, he wasn’t going down without a fight. Mason stopped, planted his feet, and prepared to make his last stand. Bowie moved close to him and bared his teeth at the oncoming crowd. Mason couldn’t have felt more proud. Death was coming for them, but they stood firm, willing to meet it side by side.
That’s when he saw it—a possible way out. Not more than fifty yards away sat a huge white garbage truck parked in front of the Blue Ridge Trash Disposal Center.
“To the truck!” he yelled, lowering his rifle and racing toward it.
Bowie ran ahead and circled the garbage truck. By the time Mason caught up, the dog was already fighting two men. He had one pinned on the ground, but the second man yanked at his neck from behind. Mason ran up, put the muzzle of his M4 against the base of the man’s skull, and pulled the trigger. There was a puff of blood as the man pitched forward into the dirt.
Mason hurried over to the massive truck, climbed the metal step, and pulled on the handle. The door swung open but, before he could climb in, strong hands grabbed him from behind. He fell back onto the ground, his M4 clattering off the bumper and falling beneath the truck. Mason rolled onto his back, drew his Supergrade, and shot his attacker in the throat. The man thrashed violently, running around as if on fire before finally collapsing by the rear of the truck.
Scores of the infected were now closing in from every direction.
He shouted for Bowie to get into the truck, and the dog immediately obeyed, launching himself from the ground up into the cab with a single giant leap. Mason scrambled to his feet and half-crawled, half-climbed in after him. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it.
He realized that his and Bowie’s lives were dependent on a single event—something that had occurred weeks earlier. Either the operator had left the keys in the truck, or he hadn’t. If the keys were there, they might live. If the keys were missing, he and Bowie would surely die in the next few seconds. He leaned down and felt next to the steering column. Not only were the keys in the ignition, but dangling from the key ring was a lucky rabbit’s foot.
Mason held his breath and turned the keys. The truck’s 466 cubic-inch diesel engine came to life with a throaty roar, finally settling to a metallic rumble that caused Bowie’s lower jaw to shake up and down like he was suffering from tremors. There were three pedals on the floor, which Mason assumed were the clutch, brake, and gas. The gear shift poked up from the floorboard, the letters and markings on the black knob worn away with years of use. There was also a handle with a sticker above it that read PTO, as well as a panel of various payload buttons.
Figuring that the controls were identical to a standard transmission, he pressed the clutch and shoved the gearshift up and to the left. The first of the infected were already arriving, and they struggled against one another to get to his door. Mason eased off the clutch, and the heavy truck rolled forward. Several of the infected stepped directly in front of him and held out their hands as if thinking they could possibly stop a thirty-five-thousand pound rolling steel box. The results were easy enough to predict: screams, blood, and the crunching of bones.
Mason dropped the transmission into second gear and steered out onto the four-lane divided highway. Even in second, he was barely managing ten miles an hour, and the infected continued to hurl themselves at the truck in a desperate attempt to stop him.
A scraggly looking woman jumped onto the front bumper and began beating against the windshield with her disfigured hands.