by M. Van
A third man laughed when he stepped by my side. My gun skidded across the asphalt when he kicked it out of reach. Where the hell had he come from? Then I remembered the house and its open door. I saw the glimpse of a plastic gun, a Taser. I clenched my fists, awaiting another burst, but instead felt the electrodes removed from my leg.
My body jerked and twitched. I couldn’t make it stop. I tried to focus on my breathing when something yanked me to my knees by my collar. Cold metal caressed my skin. I shuddered when the tip of a blade dug into the flesh of my throat.
“Stop,” Ash called out, but they didn’t seem impressed. For a second, I could see the fear in her eyes. Because of the pain, the dread hadn’t taken hold of me yet. My heart sank when fear started to run me over like a truck while warm blood ran down my neck.
“Load them up,” the grease pit said as he opened the tailgate of the yellow truck.
| 19
Even though I couldn’t see him, I could feel the man’s strength behind me as he yanked me up by my collar to drag me toward Ash. The cut on my neck stung as I placed my hand on it to stem the bleeding. It didn’t feel that bad, but blood flowed freely over my hands. My knees scraped along the asphalt until he dropped me, relieved me of my weapons belt, and made his way to the back of the truck.
The stocky guy showed some nasty-looking black teeth as he smiled. He kneeled down next to Ash, announcing his intentions with an animalistic sneer before his hand reached between her legs. Bile burned my throat.
“Yeah,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “nice, and tight.” I shuddered, but Ash didn’t even flinch. She looked up at him with a death ray stare.
“I won’t even feel a thing,” she said. “Not that I would have otherwise. A skeeve like you probably has a dick the size of a shrimp.”
The stocky guy cocked his head at the sound of laughter from his friends, and then he narrowed his eyes at Ash. Without warning, he swung his arm. Her head snapped sideways as the back of his hand caught her face. She tipped over with her wheelchair and hit the ground with a groan. One of the men whooped, but my eyes locked on Ash. She didn’t move.
“You rat bastard,” I yelled, trying to get to my feet “Taking down a little kid in a wheelchair, you fucking coward!” I screamed at him at the top of my lungs. It was the only thing I could think of. He glared at me like I was a crazy person. Even his friends had fallen silent. Then he raised his shotgun. My eyes crossed, staring at the barrel.
“Won’t be a little kid for long,” he snarled. I felt sick to my stomach. I glanced at Ash, partly to see whether she was all right and partly to see whether she was going to counter on the little kid part. The street around me was quiet, too quiet. Where was a zombie when you needed one?
“I … am … not … a … little … kid,” Ash said in a loud voice, emphasizing every word. I bit down on my lip to repress a faint smile. She had caught on to what I was trying to do—unfortunately, without immediate result. Ash propped herself up. One leg dangled from her chair as she looked around, dazed. Her hand lifted to probe her jaw and wipe at a speck of blood that trickled down her mouth. The smile I had been repressing turned into a grimace, and I crawled to her.
“Not another inch,” the stocky guy said. The smugness on his ugly face fueled the anger inside me when he gestured for his two friends.
“I’ll take the kid,” he said. “You can have that one.” I swallowed hard when I saw the third guy. Similar to the other two, he had the ultimate appearance of every bad guy in every backroad, outhouse movie I’d ever watched, down to a checkerboard flannel shirt, greasy hair, and rank beard.
With clenched teeth, I stole a glance at Ash. Her frail body lifted on thin arms as she maneuvered to her butt. Her glassy eyes showed a glimpse of fear, but they hardened when they met mine. I balled my fists. Dying was one thing, but some Wrong Turn hillbillies violating me or hurting Ash, I would not allow.
The first moans left me with little hope. They sounded too far off. With their mushed-up brains, I doubted the zombies would find us. The stocky guy kept his shotgun pointed at me until his two buddies stepped in. They grabbed me by the arms. I shuddered at the foul odor of their sweat-drenched bodies. A distant moan made Ash look up, and I nodded.
The idea would be preposterous to anyone in his or her right mind, but we weren’t like everyone else. The stocky guy must have thought it insane as well. He looked stunned when Ash started to scream.
Her voice was rough, but it still cut through my bones. My own defenses kicked into overdrive. I screamed, kicked, and set my teeth into one of the guy’s arms. I fought to keep from gagging in revulsion at the taste of his salty, sour skin. My teeth dug in like I was one of the zombies until I tasted blood. When he released his hold, I used my free arm to swing at the grease pit. I clocked him in the face. He groaned in agony when his shattered nose forced blood down his shirt. I guess those kickboxing lessons counted for something. The stocky guy, too fat and too slow to react, drew his attention from Ash. He aimed his shotgun at me. I shoved one of the hillbillies in the chest and dove to the side when the shotgun went off.
“Fuck!” I groaned when something sharp hit my leg. Hissing at the pain, I crawled over a low, brick garden wall. Ignoring my leg, I patted down my cargo pants in search of the small-caliber backup weapon the men had missed in their search.
“Mags, you okay?” Ash called out.
“Ash, get your butt out of there, or I swear to God I will shoot you myself.”
From behind the wall, I saw Ash crawl on her arms toward the yellow pickup. I raised my small caliber P-22 over the wall and fired two shots to draw their attention. The stocky guy cursed as he hid behind the yellow truck. Ash had reached the undercarriage, but her legs stuck out.
“Get her,” the stocky guy snarled at his friends, hiding behind the yellow monster. The grease pit grabbed Ash’s legs. I fired another two shots in his direction, cursing myself when I missed. The stocky guy swung around the back of the truck to aim his shotgun. I ducked behind the low wall. From the corner of my eye, I saw that kid still standing in the door opening.
“Get inside,” I yelled. I waved at him to move when a battered woman appeared at the door. Her clothes looked shredded, but she didn’t have the zombie features. Our eyes met for a bare second, but the hollowness in them told me enough. The kid whimpered when she pulled him inside as the loud blast from the shotgun rang out into the clear, blue sky.
I heard the click, click of the reloading of the chamber. With determination, I raised myself over the wall to fire three rounds. Glass exploded into pieces when I hit the taillight of the yellow truck.
“You, get the fuck out of there, or I will shoot—” the stocky guy said, but he stopped midsentence.
A low moan blessedly reached my ears. I peeked over the wall, astounded at the sudden appearance of at least a dozen zombies. Their mouths gaped while their noses rose to the sky to sniff the air. Their milky white eyes gleamed in the sunlight. Except for the lacerations that accompanied their blood-drenched clothes, they looked so normal. I almost wished that they did look like the decrepit zombies from the movies. At least then, I would have the sense of killing a monster. It might be the reason Ash and I only went out at night. The darkness deprived them of their remaining humanity.
In desperate need of a meal, shuffling bodies flooded the road. How had they gotten here so fast? In my peripheral vision, I saw a dark figure duck behind a car. It moved too fluidly to be a zombie. I watched it disappear behind a fence when a gunshot echoed, and screams filled the neighborhood.
From my hiding place, I saw that the stocky guy was trying to enter his truck while swinging the shotgun back and forth. Why the idiot wouldn’t fire it, I didn’t know. I crawled over the wall, only to see the checkerboard shirt brought down. Three zombies covered him, one of which started to gnaw at his leg. Two decided to go for the face first. His screams did nothing to me as the teeth tore at the flesh on his bones. My thoughts went to the woman in
the door opening. I glanced at the house, relieved to see the door closed.
The grease pit was halfway underneath the truck—in an effort to grab Ash or to hide, I didn’t know—when two zombies fell on him. A hiss ripped through the air near my ear. I froze. My head shifted to see a smart-looking, barefooted zombie in a three-piece suit. I couldn’t tell whether its blackened feet were the result of being dirty or being half-dead. Bones stuck out from where the flesh of his toes had once been.
My heart shifted into overdrive, but I kept still. With one of the hinges broken, this zombie’s jaw didn’t make the usual snapping sound. It kept falling down as he whipped up his head to shut it. It reminded me of one of those silly bobbleheads that some people had mounted on the dashes of their cars. After a scent check, the zombie moved on.
Screams erupted from underneath the truck. I recognized Ash’s voice but couldn’t tell whether the scream was from frustration or pain.
“Ash,” I called out. A jab of pain when I tried to walk reminded me of the shotgun pellets in my leg. Two zombies joined by Jawless had thrown themselves on top of the hillbilly as I limped to them.
“Ash,” I called out again when I didn’t get an answer.
“He’s got my leg!” This could have meant the screams had been in frustration. I yanked the jawless zombie by his suit jacket. He moved easily. I pulled the trigger twice at close range. With two additional holes in his skull, his body fell slack. Some type of bodybuilder pushed me off balance. The tank top he wore matched the iron-pumping appearance, but his muscles looked like deflated balloons. I landed painfully on my butt and felt the asphalt dig into the palms of my hands. I raised the P-22 and fired one shot before it clicked empty.
The bullet must have bounced around in the bodybuilder’s eye socket, because his eye was gone, but he remained standing. There were too many bodies, and I wouldn’t get them off the hillbilly without making myself a target. Even if something in our makeup didn’t suit the zombie’s taste buds, agitation didn’t fit in the mix. It reminded me of the zombie charging us in the hospital kitchen.
“I need a weapon,” I called to Ash.
“Yeah, yeah, take your time. They’re only chewing on my leg here.” Even though I usually had an appreciation for Ash’s retorts, I wasn’t feeling it today. I found my machete on the bed of the pickup where the checkerboard shirt had left it, and started to swing.
Bodybuilding Zombie went down with a split skull. I kicked another to the side. Its head hung limp, and I could see the bones and muscles that kept the head attached to its shoulders. I swung my machete. The head popped off, followed by wet thumps on the asphalt. Another thwack ended the last zombie, and as I pulled it aside, I saw the remaining hillbilly. I yanked at his shirt. His eyes had already started to fog over. Then I saw Ash’s leg sticking out from underneath the truck, and I gasped.
Hillbilly’s body twitched. I shoved the machete into his eye socket to finish off the new zombie and then pulled him to the side. A chill went up my spine at the sight of the shredded skin on the leg that peeked out from underneath the yellow truck. I glanced around me where only zombies remained and drew in a breath.
“Ash,” I said, trying to keep a steady voice, “you with me?”
“Where else would I be?” she said with a sneer, although her voice was tight.
“Listen,” I said, tentatively, as my already blood drenched hands wrapped around the gaping gash to stem the bleeding. I knew because of all the bullshit we’d pulled on each other that this would be a hard sell. “I’m going to pull you out, but do me a favor, okay?”
“Get me out of here, Mags.” I leaned my head on the cold metal door of the car and sucked in a breath.
“Close your eyes,” I said.
“What, why?”
“Please do as I ask, for once.” I couldn’t contain the urgency in my voice. Her leg looked chewed down to the bone. I didn’t know whether she knew, but I had no idea of what seeing an injury this severe would do to the mind when it couldn’t feel the pain.
She sighed, and grunted, “All right, now get me out.” I pulled her out and sighed in relief when she had done as I asked.
“Can I open them now?” she asked.
“Give me a sec.”
I removed my jacket, yanked my T-shirt over my head, and tied off her leg. The zombie crowd started to grow around us, reminding me it was time to leave. The sun had disappeared behind a cloud, and the brisk air made me shiver.
“Put your arms around me,” I said after I had slipped my jacket back on. I guided her hands to my shoulders. Without a word, she put her arms around my neck and held on tight. She had kept her eyes closed, and I was afraid of what I would find behind those eyelids. I scooped her off the ground and stood up with a groan. She clamped her arms tightly and buried her face in my shoulder. Tears that weren’t my own rolled down my collarbone and mixed with the blood from the cut on my neck. The tough kid from five seconds ago had released her facade and seemed to be coming down off an adrenaline rush.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered near my ear as her whole body shook. “I’m so sorry.”
“Later,” I said. I wasn’t ready to forgive her yet, but couldn’t bear to see her in such despair.
My leg stung as I walked, but it wasn’t that bad. I grabbed my weapons belt out of the bed of the truck. Cautiously, I navigated a path through the zombies that were feeding on the men and we made it to the sidewalk.
The door to the redbrick house remained closed. There weren’t any signs of life. I just hoped that they were okay and the zombies wouldn’t pick up their smell. With even limps, I moved against the upcoming horde of zombies. The prospect of fresh meat had them in a frenzy. Fortunately, they ignored us. I figured the smell of fresh blood had overridden our presence.
When we reached the fence along the waterside, Ash’s grip loosened. I called out her name several times. Desperation radiated through my voice when she didn’t answer. Her head bobbed and fell slack when I shook her limp form.
“Oh no, you little brat, you will not get your way.” I forced my legs into a jog, my boots pounding the asphalt to the rhythm of my heart until I reached the corner of our street. This must have been how it felt to run a marathon. At the sound of footsteps, my head swung around midrun. I stopped to assess my surroundings, as the weird feeling of someone watching me settled in my stomach. Ignoring this familiar, unsettling sensation, I moved on.
I cornered our street and stopped at the sight of William in his football body armor. I gaped at him in his oversized uniform, my chest heaving. My arms and legs burned from the exertion. He looked us over and then jogged to me.
“She’s hurt.”
He gasped, a concerned frown on his face when he lifted the shirt I had wrapped around Ash’s leg. “She’s been bitten.” His tone went cold, and he took a step back. I tried to read his face, but his helmet wouldn’t let me. When he reached for the gun holstered at his waist, I backed away.
“We have to save her soul,” he said, blocking my path. “I’ll take her.”
“Get the fuck away from me.” He didn’t know what I knew. Mars had told me that my condition might save me yet. I could only hope it would do the same for Ash and even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t abandon her.
“She will turn and kill,” he said when I reached the steps to our front door, “and then you’ll both be soulless creatures. Let me take her.”
I wasn’t in a mood to listen to him, although I knew he was only trying to help. There was a kid in my arms, and she would die if I didn’t help her. If Ash turned, I’d take care of her. Until then, I’d do anything to help.
“That’s none of your concern.” I climbed the stairs, the stinging in my leg a mere discomfort.
“Mags, think about what you’re doing,” he said, but he didn’t try to follow. “Let me take her. I could take care of it for you.”
“Fuck you,” I shouted, opened the door, and without another glance, slammed it shut.
&nb
sp; | 20
his prize in all the confusion. He had known the minute he’d seen the yellow truck enter the area that the occupants would present a predicament. It was a good thing he had been consistent in quick thinking.
Eliciting the attention of unwholesome subjects was not the problem. A little inventive thinking proved to be enough to guide them. A laceration on the wrist sufficed, and they followed him like the Pied Piper.
Once the unwholesome caught a whiff of fresh meat that came in the form of three happy meals, it had been easy enough to take his leave. Although he hadn’t been able to determine if his actions had remained unseen, the unraveling events had brightened his mood.
The kid was infected. The penetration of teeth on that leg had been severe, but there were no signs of the usual aftereffects. Eyes fogging over would have been the obvious diagnosis, but that dumb broad had told the kid to close them. Why would she risk that? She should know better.
The thought made him wonder if his new research subject had figured it out. Did she know what she carried inside her body? Of course she knew, but did she know how it reacted with Mortem? He made a mental note to ask her when he had the opportunity.
For now, he was content with concealing himself in his usual hiding place, although soon he would need to return to the lab. Concern over containing the outbreak grew, and he could sense the shift in power. He knew that he walked a thin line, and suspicions around his actions had grown, but he also knew they needed him. The government had already reenlisted his expertise, and it wouldn’t be long before his project gained a green light. He knew his patience would pay off soon as he observed a bulk of a man walk toward him.
| 21
Blood drained down the sink as I scrubbed my hands. Thank God, Ash had been unconscious during my clumsy attempts to clean the wound and stop the bleeding. She would need stitches, but I had no idea how to do that. All I could do was wrap it up tight. I walked over to the couch to check the bandage. Blood had started to seep through the cloth, and my heart sank. I felt helpless, my knees buckled, and I covered my face with my hands. My posture made me think of prayer, but that wasn’t me. I hadn’t prayed since I was a kid. I refused to surrender to the hope it was supposed to bring. My mom used to pray when they had rushed me into the emergency room for the nth time. She’d sit by my bed, holding my hand, praying to an absent divine entity that would never reply. I couldn’t see the point of it. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I wouldn’t allow myself to cry. It wasn’t time to cry, not yet.
