by Lukens, Mark
CHAPTER 21
Luke
Heaven, West Virginia
Luke ran from the wrecked pickup he had taken from the farmhouse, it was now smashed into a dump truck parked in the front yard of someone’s house, both vehicles forming an impromptu barricade in front of the home and providing a little cover for him.
The Humvee roared up the street and the Dark Angels inside were still firing bullets at him. Their Humvee had screeched to a halt. Luke drew his gun from the shoulder holster inside of his hoodie as he ran for the side of the house, trying to get around to the back of it as more gunfire erupted from the street. The wreck he’d just had reminded him of when he had slammed his own car into a work van the night of the collapse when Jacob had tried to make him drive to Vincent’s house.
Luke got to the corner of the house and turned around, looking at the street. His wrecked pickup and the dump truck still provided a bit of cover, but not enough. The Humvee, definitely a military vehicle and not someone’s personal vehicle, was parked in the road. He couldn’t see the Dark Angels, but he knew they would be coming. They were probably being cautious right now. But they weren’t the only ones out there; Luke heard the roar of another heavy-duty truck coming down the street. There were more Dark Angels coming.
More gunshots—automatic rifles. None of the bullets struck the house or anywhere near Luke; he figured these were some kind of warning shots, or gunfire to intimidate him into running into their trap.
Luke ran into the back yard, and then across it, sticking as close to the house as he could. There was no fence behind the house except for a decorative one at the far end of the yard in front of a line of trees, like the painted picket fence was trying to hold the trees back. He didn’t stop; he ran to the next back yard. It was cluttered with junk: a small rusty gardening shed, wheelbarrows, tools, old bicycles, what looked like a go-cart chassis, building supplies, a roll of chicken-wire fencing. He ducked down behind a heap of rusted metal bicycles and go-carts, waiting for the Dark Angels to come from the other side of the house and down one of the side yards between the houses.
He could hear them coming now, and then he saw them—two soldiers in the side yard, about to enter the back yard.
Luke aimed his gun at them. Spit. A bullet from his silenced gun tore into the face of the first Dark Angel who had come around the corner. The Dark Angel took one more step, stumbling, and then fell down onto the grass, rolling over onto his back, the M-16 flying out of his hands. The other Dark Angel, realizing what had happened to his partner, tried to turn and run back down the side yard, but Luke dropped him with a bullet in the back of his head before he even turned all the way around.
There wasn’t much time—there would be more of them coming. He rushed over to the two dead men, stuffing his gun down into the shoulder holster inside his hoodie. He picked up the M-16 the first Dark Angel had dropped and then he searched that man’s jacket pockets for extra ammo. He only found one extra magazine. He pulled off his backpack and stuffed the magazine down inside and then slipped his backpack back on again. The dead man stared up at the sky with lifeless, glassy eyes full of shock, a neat hole tunneled into his forehead, right through the bloody, scabby DA symbol carved into his flesh.
Moments later Luke was in the next back yard. This one was just as cluttered as the last one, but this one wasn’t littered with junk; it was decorated with shrubs, flowerbeds, little garden patches, and junk converted into fountains and art pieces (junk procured from right next door, no doubt). He ran through the maze of aisles through the plants and flowers to a line of shrubs at the other end of the yard. He crashed through the shrubs and popped out onto a strip of grass near a large wooden awning where three city vehicles were parked: two pickups and a van with the city seal on their doors.
The fire station was off to his left, a big brick building that could probably only house two fire engines. A small paved road led from the main street around the back of the fire station to another side street where the City Hall building sat on that corner lot. A three-story water tower rose up from the back yard of the City Hall building.
Gunfire erupted from somewhere, but Luke was still pretty sure the fire bursts were for intimidation only—they hadn’t spotted him yet. He wanted to get past these two buildings, deciding to run down the side road. There were probably some houses down that road he could get lost among, and then he would double back and pick these bastards off one by one.
He was around the back of the fire station and City Hall building in a flash, and about to turn right down the side road. But he stopped in his tracks when he saw two Dark Angels coming up the road towards him, cutting off his route that way. They stopped, frozen for a second like they’d just spotted a dangerous animal, and then they raised their M-16s up, aiming them at him.
Luke fired at them before they even had a chance to shoot. He kept his finger on the M-16’s trigger, not even aiming as he raced across the small road to the line of businesses. He was behind the long building, trying to use small dumpsters as cover, but he was still exposed to the two Dark Angels who had taken cover in the trees, already shooting back at him.
He tried back doors as he ran along the back of the building, pulling on the doorknobs of the sturdy, metal doors. Another burst of gunfire sounded. Bullets pinged off the dumpsters and hit the back of the building, peppering it, bits of concrete block and brick spraying off.
The fourth door was unlocked. Luke pulled it open and slipped inside. He closed the door and locked it. It was pitch black inside the building. He pulled his pen light out of his front pants pocket, turning it on and shining it around.
He was in some kind of restaurant kitchen. There was a wall in front of him with two electrical panel boxes set in it and some safety posters. To the left, the hall led to a storeroom, and the hall led to a kitchen to the right. The place was a mess. Metal shelves were pulled over in the storeroom, cans and boxes of food, paper supplies, and liquids all over the tiled floor. But at least the place was quiet; it didn’t sound like anyone was in here now.
The back door was secure for now, but the front of this building would have windows and probably a glass door. It would only be a matter of seconds before the Dark Angels realized which business he was inside of and stormed the front of it, blocking him in here, trapping him inside. They would get through the back door, eventually.
The storeroom was probably a dead end, so he went to the right, hurrying down the long, galley-style kitchen. There were grills and large stovetops along one wall, and prep tables on the other side. A door led to what must be a walk-in cooler and freezer. At the front of the galley kitchen, it opened up to an area with heating tables and a counter with a cash register, the seating area beyond it.
The floor was littered with cooking utensils, pots, pans, broken dishes, and smears of food and liquids. The place had been ransacked a while ago, Luke guessed. Most likely rippers looking for food. Or maybe the townspeople had stormed the place right after the collapse when they realized that everything had shut down and they didn’t have much food or water left.
Because this restaurant was squeezed in between two other businesses, there were no windows along the long side walls, but a row of windows made up the front wall with the glass door right in the middle of it, like Luke had suspected. The windows were regular windows that opened and not plate-glass windows, giving the dining area a country-cozy look.
He ran through the dining area, moving around tipped-over tables and chairs, hurrying towards the front, watching the doors and windows, expecting the Dark Angels to come crashing through at any moment.
But he had beaten them to the front. He got to the window and ripped his backpack off, crouching down in front of a window near the door. He lifted up the window just a little, letting in the cold air. He moved a nearby table over in front of the window to give him a little protection. But he had to be careful, the table wasn’t exactly bulletproof.
He grabbed the M-16 and shoved the
barrel out through the window. There were no cars or trucks parked in front of the restaurant so Luke had a clear line of sight across the street where two military vehicles were parked in front of that line of businesses, both of them painted just like the Humvee, beige and camouflage. One of the vehicles was a tank-like thing that Luke couldn’t name, and the other was some kind of box truck with a canvas top on the back, like a truck used to transport supplies or men. And then there was the Humvee he’d seen a few minutes earlier; it pulled up in front of the tank vehicle, parking nose-to-nose with it, only inches away. The man inside got out on that side. Luke thought about firing, but he waited. The Dark Angels were in those buildings behind that line of trucks.
Luke still made himself wait. There was no gunfire now, and he hadn’t seen any movement besides the man escaping the Humvee and darting inside the brick building. He still had his finger on the trigger, crouching right below the window, waiting. And then he caught a flash of movement at the top of the two-story building right behind the trucks. Two men dressed in black were lying down on the flat roof, situating themselves up there with rifles.
Luke got up from the window and hurried over to the glass door, checking to make sure it was locked. It wasn’t like a lock on a glass door was going to prevent the Dark Angels from getting in, but at least they couldn’t just open the door. He grabbed one of the smaller tables and dragged it over in front of the door, pushing it right up against the glass. He knew the tables and chairs wouldn’t stop bullets, but they might block their view into the restaurant.
A bullet pierced the glass at the top of the door, creating a neat little hole there. The bullet whizzed right past Luke, and he ducked reflexively, then he hurried back to the window he had opened. He crouched down again with the M-16. He probably didn’t have a lot of ammo left because he had shot a burst of bullets at the two Dark Angels when he had crossed the street to these businesses. He had the extra magazine, and he needed to conserve the ammo he had, but he shot a burst of fire at the vehicles, the bullets pinging off the armored sides.
The two men on top of the roof returned fire, shooting at the window.
Luke ducked down out of the way, trying to make himself as small as possible. He realized now that he probably wasn’t going to make it out of this restaurant. It was going to be a waiting game, but eventually some of the Dark Angels would get in through the back door, and then they would get in through the front. He would eventually be trapped in here. He didn’t really care that he was going to die; he just wanted to take out as many Dark Angels as he could before they got him.
“Come on,” Luke muttered to himself as he crawled back over to the window. He shot another burst of gunfire at the roof. “Come on in and let’s see how many of you I get.”
The men on the rooftop shot three more times, busting out one of the restaurant windows, the bullets slamming into the wall at the back of the dining area. They seemed to be shooting randomly, maybe not even aiming, just hoping to get lucky. Maybe they were as bad at shooting as the guys who had killed Wilma.
The Dark Angels stopped shooting.
Luke didn’t return fire this time.
Everything was quiet for five minutes and then Luke heard the crackle of a megaphone from somewhere behind the line of military vehicles across the street.
“You can’t win,” a man’s voice yelled from the megaphone behind the vehicles. “Just come out with your hands up, and we won’t shoot you.”
Yeah, right.
“Surrender peacefully and you will live.”
Luke kept the M-16 aimed at the tank and the Humvee, but he didn’t see anyone over there. Maybe the man was in one of the doorways of the buildings.
The man on the megaphone was silent for a few minutes, like he was waiting for Luke to surrender.
Luke looked behind him at the scattered tables and chairs throughout the dining area of the restaurant. Going out the back door probably wasn’t going to be an option. There would be Dark Angels stationed back there by now, maybe more than two of them, waiting for him to poke his head out the door so they could put a bullet in it. And it was definitely too risky going out the front right now.
“We’ve got you surrounded now,” Megaphone Man said, his voice echoing in the silent town. “Your only chance is to surrender peacefully.”
Luke didn’t yell back. He didn’t fire his weapon. He just waited down below the window.
“We know you killed two of our brothers,” Megaphone Man said. “We know you have one of our weapons. There doesn’t have to be any more killings. Nobody else has to die today.”
“Except you,” Luke whispered. “All of you.”
Megaphone Man was quiet again for a few minutes. The town was silent, everyone waiting. And in that silence Luke heard the distant calls of rippers, a lot of them, somewhere in the woods outside of this town.
The megaphone crackled as the button was pushed. Megaphone Man spoke: “We’ve got a surprise coming for you.”
Luke still didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to be baited into revealing his position.
“The surprise is on its way,” Megaphone Man said. “It will be here very soon. I can’t wait until you see it.
CHAPTER 22
Ray
Ray and Josh ran back to the SUV as the rippers exploded out of the dense woods and brush on both sides of the road.
“Mike!” Ray yelled. “Get back inside!”
Ray raced to the SUV. His pistol was in his hand, but he didn’t bother trying to shoot at the rippers; there were too many of them and it would only slow him down.
Rocks rained down on them. Ray felt a rock hit his back, knocking the breath out of him for just a second. Another rock pelted his thigh. Another one bounced off his shoulder. A few smaller rocks hit him in the head.
He got to the SUV and ducked inside as more rocks pelted the side of the vehicle, smashing out windows, denting the metal. One rock hit the windshield and cracked it.
Ray was in the driver’s seat as Josh got into the passenger seat. Ray shifted into drive. It didn’t matter if he went forward or backwards, the rippers were coming at them from every direction now. The little girl was at the front of the truck before the other rippers, snarling and snapping her teeth as she tried to climb up onto the hood of the truck. Ray gunned the gas, running her down. He needed to start driving, he needed to gain some speed before they were surrounded by rippers and bogged down. The SUV’s engine roared as he stomped his foot down on the gas pedal.
Just need to get enough speed going and we can get out of here.
The rippers were already at the shattered windows. It was like the rocks had been the first wave of the attack, used to smash out the windows so they could get inside. And now they were surrounding the SUV for the second wave of their attack.
They’re getting smarter. That’s what Josh had told them. That’s what his friend Isaac in the attic had said. That’s what had been written in Isaac’s notebook—the Book of Isaac.
Ray kept going forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard. But he wasn’t going fast enough yet. He had mowed down the little girl and two more rippers who got in the way, but most of them were at the sides of the truck now, reaching in through the broken windows, stabbing into the vehicle with sticks and knives. Hands grabbed. Sticks and knives poked.
Mike and Emma were huddled together in the middle of the back seat, as far away from the windows as they could get. One of the rippers jabbed a sharp stick in through the window at Mike, but Mike grabbed the stick, wrenching it out of the ripper’s hands. He screamed as he jabbed at the ripper with the stick, poking at him with an insane rage. “Get the hell out of here!” Mike screamed at the rippers, knocking a knife out of a filthy hand with a swing of the stick.
Josh leaned towards Ray as he drove, but a knife slashed his arm. A woman’s hand reached in, her other hand trying to hold on to the door, her hand cupped over jagged glass, blood pouring out from underneath her fingers. The woman h
owled in rage and pain, her gray hair wild, her eyes crazy.
Josh fumbled with his shotgun and had it in his hands. He pulled the trigger and practically tore the woman’s head off with the blast of buckshot. But there were more rippers waiting to take her place, running alongside the truck as it gained speed, trying to hold on, beating at the truck with their sticks and clubs. At least ten of them were at the back of the truck, trying to hold on, two of them trying to get in through the shattered back window. Rocks still pelted the truck. Another one hit the windshield, cracking it more, but Ray could still see enough to keep driving.
Ray kept his foot jammed down on the gas pedal, his right hand on the steering wheel as he used his left to fight off the last ripper on that side, the ripper trying to hang on to the vehicle as it gained speed.
More rippers were knocked out of the way, but at least the SUV hadn’t gotten bogged down yet. They had driven over a few of the rippers, the truck rocking from side to side as it ran up and over the bodies, but at least they were still moving forward. It sounded like they were dragging something for a few seconds; maybe one of the sticks had gotten jammed up in the rear tires before snapping.
Finally the truck was up to thirty miles an hour. There were still two male rippers clinging to the back of truck, but Ray swerved from side to side quickly. For just a moment he was afraid he’d taken the swerve too quickly and too sharply, afraid they were going to tip over. But the truck remained upright, and the swerving jarred the two rippers loose.
The last of the rippers moved off of the road as Ray roared towards them, like they knew it was a lost cause now, like they weren’t willing to sacrifice any more of themselves. A few more rocks and sticks hit the back of the SUV, but they didn’t do that much more damage.
They had made it through the gauntlet of rippers, but they hadn’t made it unscathed. Ray could feel the SUV wobbling. He could hear the plopping sound of one of the flattened tires. They were going to need to change the tire or get another vehicle—and the only place to get another vehicle was in the next town three miles down the road, the town he had wanted to avoid, the small town of Heaven.
