Desolation Boulevard

by Mark Gordon

  Chapter 55

  Brock Gets Angry

  Sally rushed out of the bank vault and into the flabby chest of Brock, who pushed her savagely to the ground, where she found herself laying alongside the unconscious body of Dylan, who was sporting a large, ugly lump on his forehead.

  “You bastard!” she screamed. “What have you done to him?”

  “Shut the fuck up!” barked Brock, as he grabbed Bonnie by the arm and dragged her from the dark vault and into the harshly lit room. She shielded her eyes from the glare, but said nothing as she was forced down onto the floor beside Sally and the still comatose Dylan.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Brock demanded, anger etched into every pore of his skin.

  “Never seen him before,” answered Bonnie, prompting her captor to step forward and slap her hard across the top of her head.

  “Oh really? It looks as if your little girlfriend there knows him, so stop lying or I’ll have to give you a lesson on how to tell the truth.”

  He picked up the baseball bat that was lying beside Dylan and tried again. “Now. Think carefully bitch. Who is this prick who just broke into my place?”

  Bonnie looked at the twisted face of the obviously deranged kidnapper, and realised that she had nothing to gain by lying. His state of mind was clearly unbalanced, and it was plain to her, as she stared up at him from the cold concrete floor, that the only way out of this predicament would involve violence against him at some point. Bonnie thought about Gabby, stranded in Millfield, alone without her, and realised that she was more than ready to deliver whatever was necessary to get out of this mess, and get back on the road to her daughter. When she asked herself whether she was capable of killing this man, the answer came to her immediately and without doubt. Yes!

  “Answer me!” Brock screamed. “Who is he?”

  Sally looked at the older woman, waiting. Bonnie spoke. “His name is Dylan. He’s travelling with us. We’re trying to get to Millfield.”

  “Okay then. That’s better,” said Brock, as some of the anger left his face. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Next question. Why are you going there? What’s so important in that shitty little town? You looking for somebody? If you are, you’re wasting your time. They’re all zombies now. Or dead.”

  Sally squeezed Bonnie’s hand, hoping that her friend would make no mention of Gabby to this monster.

  “I know that,” said Bonnie, as she returned Sally’s squeeze. “But it’s my home town, I have to get back there, no matter what. I had a husband there. I miss him,” she lied.

  “How sweet,” he sneered. “Well, you’re not going to find him, so don’t even bother. You have a new man in your life now. Me. So hurry up and help me get your friend there into the vault,” he said, motioning towards Dylan.

  “No, please!” beseeched Sally. “He’s not well, he needs looking after!”

  “That’s why you’re going to be in there with him, sweetheart. Now hurry up before I change my mind and introduce you to my pets!”

  Sally and Bonnie took one of Dylan’s arms each, and dragged him as carefully as they could into the vault. Dylan made quiet, groaning sounds, suggesting that he might be regaining consciousness. Sally prayed there was no permanent brain damage, as she sat on the floor of the vault and cradled his head in her lap, stroking it gently. She shot a vicious look at Brock, who had grabbed Bonnie by the upper arm and was leading her out of the vault. As the door slammed shut on Sally once more, she reached over and grabbed one the flashlights and flicked it on before complete darkness descended. Sally cried as Dylan moaned softly in her arms.

  Outside the vault, Brock dragged Bonnie across the room and pushed her clumsily onto the single bed that had once been Montana’s.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, as he picked up his shotgun and collapsed onto his own bed across the room without taking his eyes from her. “It’s going to be a long, hard night, if you know what I mean.”

  As Bonnie stared at Brock, she evaluated the strengths of her opponent. Physically, he was much stronger than she was. He looked as if he weighed twice as much, and was at least a head taller. Any attempt to overpower him, unarmed, would be suicidal. He could snap her neck like a twig if he wanted to. No, if she was going to get out of this predicament and save her friends, she would need to use cunning and surprise. Across the room he munched his way through a large packet of chips. No problem, she thought.

  “So, do you have a name?” she asked, in a friendly, but confident voice. “I’m Bonnie, by the way.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” he mumbled, as crumbs flew from his mouth.

  Nice, she thought to herself, as she watched him continue to stuff his fat face, unaffected by her attempt to be civilised. A more creative approach was going to be required to break down his defenses, she realised, if she wanted to escape and get back to Gabby. Societal norms were out the window now, and the fat fuck across the room knew that as well as she did. They were living in a lawless world, and if survivors wanted to reinvent themselves as hedonistic, sadistic psychopaths, then there was nothing to stop them, other than their own conscience. Bonnie took a deep breath, and tried a different approach.

  “Hey, what are you planning to do with me?” she asked, more forcefully than her previous question.

  He stopped eating and stared at her. “I don’t know yet, but I’m going to enjoy it, that’s for sure.”

  “Are you really?” Bonnie retorted, sounding much braver than she actually felt. “Why are you sitting there eating chips then? Are it just me you're scared of, or is it all women? Can’t get it up, maybe?”

  Brock clambered up off his bed, leaving the shotgun behind, as he stormed across the room. “You fucking slut! You’re all the same!” he spat, before slapping her hard across the face.

  It was the chance Bonnie had been hoping for. As her head rocked back from the impact of Brock’s blow, she kicked with her right foot as hard as she could, collecting him fully in the groin.

  “Ow! You bitch!” he roared, as he fell to his knees, clutching his throbbing balls.

  Without hesitation, Bonnie jumped onto the bed, quickly skirting around her disabled opponent, as she raced for the nearest weapon - the baseball bat she’d seen lying on the floor beside Dylan earlier. She picked it up as Brock was getting to his feet, with murder in his eyes. He charged at her like a wounded elephant as she swung the bat with all her strength. She heard a cracking sound as the bat connected with his ribcage, and felt the jolt from the impact travel right up into her shoulders. Brock lurched forward angrily and slammed his whole body into Bonnie’s, sending them both sprawling towards the concrete floor. Before Bonnie hit the floor, however, she realised that if this behemoth of a man fell on top of her, she might be severely injured, or even killed, and Gabby would be orphaned. Frantically, she twisted her body, desperate to get out from under the falling hulk, and, as they both hit the hard floor, she realised that her attacker was moaning in pain beside her, and that she had been spared from being crushed.

  Bonnie leaped to her feet, and was surprised to find that she still had a tight grasp on the baseball bat. She looked down at the man who had kidnapped her - the man who would keep her from her daughter – as he clutched his ribs in pain, scared now by Bonnie’s fury and the attacking stance she had adopted with the bat.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he stammered as he sat up, grimacing in pain. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. Honestly. I was going to let you all go. I was only joking. I’m hurt too. I think you broke my ribs,” he moaned pathetically.

  Bonnie stared coldly at this pitiful specimen, as he blubbered like a baby, and considered what the consequences may have been for Gabby if this fiend had gotten away with his failed attempt at abduction. Then she pondered the fate of future survivors, who might be unfortunate enough to cross paths with this crazy, violent misfit. Finally, she thought about Dylan, who was lying on the floor of the bank vault with Sally, suffering from a head injury that may have ki
lled him. She thought of all these things in just a fraction of a second, and then, as Brock made one final plea for forgiveness, she raised the baseball bat above her head and swung it down as hard as she could onto the top of his skull, spearing tiny fragments of bone into the soft pink tissue of his brain. Brock was no longer a threat.

  Bonnie threw the bat onto the floor and ran to the vault, trying not to vomit. She didn’t think Brock had set the combination, but she knew that if he had, her fit of anger was likely to cost Sally and Dylan their lives. She grasped the big metal wheel on the centre of the vault door, took a deep breath and rotated it. The wheel turned freely and she could hear a solid metallic scraping sound as the large metal bar slid from its housing. After a few more turns, the wheel stopped with a loud clunk, and Bonnie knew that she was almost there. If the fat kidnapper had not set the combination lock, it should now just be a simple matter of pulling the door open. She braced herself, said a silent prayer, and hauled as hard as she could. For a moment she panicked, as the door remained closed, but she had simply underestimated the weight of the door. She tried again, this time with more force, and when it swung open, tears of relief streamed down her face.

  Bonnie stepped into the vault, and was surprised to see Dylan and Sally sitting together, with their backs against the wall holding hands. She smiled and went to her friends, embracing them as she sobbed onto Dylan’s shoulder.

  “What took you so long?” he whispered weakly.

  Not too far away, in the cage behind the used car yard, two creatures, which were once human, stopped feeding and stared into the darkness, towards the bank. The drying blood on their faces glistened in the moonlight as they peered into the distance. They sensed that something had changed. They had detected the presence of a new danger out there in the night. One of them made a sound that may have been a growl and they returned to their feeding.