The Infected (Book 5): Battleground

by Zuko, Joseph

  Chapter 15

  Ryder bashed a skull with the bat. A geyser of blood shot from the caved in melon. A sadistic grin wormed its way along the man’s lips. He appeared to enjoy the mayhem.

  Panicked voices echoed from inside the bus.

  Their fear fueled him.

  Screams shouted. “Go! Go! GO!”

  Ryder was surrounded. Bloody hands clawed his direction. He took a few steps back and reset his stance.

  The blades attached to the bat sliced through the air and carved an eight-inch gash in an infected elderly woman’s face. The razor-sharp steel rearranged its features as the impact from the wooden bat sent its body crashing to the asphalt.

  The bus lurched forward. The engine revved. It gained momentum as it pulled onto the street.

  Ryder leveled the bat, gripped it with both hands and held it parallel to the ground. He charged forward like a fullback and put a massive hole in the zombie’s defensive line as he barreled across the gas station’s lot. The infected gave chase as he scurried after the bus.

  He swung the bat and cursed, “I will find you, bitch!”

  The blades bounced off the metal emergency door.

  The redheaded woman appeared in the rear window of the bus. She presented him with an epic middle finger as the rig pulled farther away.

  She mouthed, “Fuck off.”

  Ryder screamed, “I’ll fuck you inside out, whore!”

  She raised a second middle finger and stuck out her tongue.

  “That’s it! You’re dead!” Ryder sprinted harder. He kept the pace for thirty-seconds, but that was the max of his stamina. His body ran out of steam and he coasted to a jog.

  The bus crested a peak in the highway. A moment later it disappeared behind the other side of the hill.

  Ryder rested in the center of the road, bent at the waist, he clutched his knees and heaved in large amounts of oxygen.

  “Fuckin’ assholes.” He spat a glob of saliva onto the pavement. Ryder straightened his back and spun around. The scrambling infected were right behind him.

  Seven wobbling corpses snapped their pink teeth at him.

  He readied the bat, “My lucky number.”

  Ryder clobbered one after another. The big guy backpedaled a couple of steps, then swung a devastating blow.

  Rinse and repeat.

  Until only one bastard was still in hot pursuit.

  Clumsy feet zigzagged the faded yellow line that dotted the highway. Quarter-sized divots pocked the forehead of this last infected. Someone must have tried, unsuccessfully, to kill it with a hammer. It had a lazy eye and one nostril was split open all the way to its eyebrow.

  Ryder rolled his eyes at this piece of work.

  The pudgy prick was dressed like a normal, everyday jackoff. It wore a ragged set of black slacks, a white button-up shirt with vertical navy stripes, a sad attempt to make its thick torso appear slimmer. A sparse beard covered its weak chin.

  Ryder put it on its back with a single hit. He straddled the zombie’s limp body, raised the bat and took out every ounce of his frustration on its shattered skull.

  He mumbled a mashup of curse words that punctuated every swing.

  He poured pure rage onto its lifeless carcass.

  He gave the bastard a world-class beatdown.

  When he was tired of swinging the bat, he switched to a heel stomp. His boot crashed into its floppy ear. When there was nothing satisfying left to break on its head he moved to the dead man’s crotch. Ryder kicked its legs spread-eagle. Squared his shoulders and teed off on its dick and balls like he was standing on the first hole at the Augusta National Golf Club. A chunk of its reproductive organ went flying into the adjacent ditch.

  He could have kept working the stiff over, but he couldn’t waste any more time, if he wanted to catch the bus full of idiots.

  Ryder’s mug was bright red. He grunted like a caveman and stormed toward his Firebird.

  As he approached the vehicle he was met with another atrocity.

  The pretty thing shackled to the hood of the muscle car, was lying perfectly still.

  He went nuclear.

  Ryder hurled the bat to the ground. He swung his fists at an imaginary opponent and pretended to choke it to death. He stomped his feet like a toddler and slapped at his forehead.

  Ryder screamed at the heavens. “You fuckin’ asshole, son-of-a-bitch, pieces of shit! You killed her.” He paced. “I finally find a girl that likes me for me and they kill her.” He kicked one of the many corpses on the ground. “The woman was perfect. Not once did she run her mouth or talk down to me.” He went to the naked woman’s side. Cupped his hand around her ample breast and gave it a squeeze. “And she was always in the mood.” He turned her head and inspected the slit in her temple.

  A white-hot anger festered to the surface. “I’m gonna feed their tits to a meat grinder. I’m gonna shave their dick heads off with a cheese grater. I’m gonna fuck everyone on that bus straight up their puckered assholes.”

  Ryder moved for the rear of the car, squatted and reached under the quarter panel. Something made a metallic click. He rose and produced a spare key. Ryder went for the door, only to find the broken tip of his original key jammed in the lock.

  His meaty paw pummeled the door. “Damn it!” He jogged to the trunk, opened it, ducked his head into the storage space and dug around until he found what he was after.

  A set of rusty needle-nose pliers.

  He held the old tool crotch height and pretended to snip at something. “I’m gonna use these plyers to rip every red hair off that cunt’s pussy.”

  He stepped next to the door and worked the tip of the tool into the lock. “When I’m done with that bitch, she’s gonna beg for me to slice her throat.”

  In a mocking high-pitched tone, he mimicked the girl. “Please Ryder, I can’t take any more pain. Set me on fire. Put a stake through my heart. Chop off my head. Do whatever you want, but kill me. Kill me, now!”

  Ryder pinched the key and gently tugged at the jagged metal. Slowly it worked from the side of the Pontiac.

  “When I’m done treating her like a toilet and she’s starved to death, I’ll let the little bitch turn.”

  He yanked the broken tip of the key from the lock and tossed it. Ryder wasted no time, he picked the bat from the ground, opened the car’s door and climbed in.

  A twist of his wrist and the mighty V8 roared.

  “Then on the hood she goes. Until she’s a rotted skeleton.” He forced the transmission into reverse, punched the gas, cranked the wheel and spun the car one-eighty. Ten seconds later he was doing sixty miles an hour and heading down the same stretch of highway the bus had left on.

  Chapter 16

  The black highway spooled at a rapid pace from under the back of the bus. The yellow stripes splitting the road in two pulsated like a strobe light as the big rig straddled both lanes. At the edge of Sara’s peripheral, evergreens zipped by in a blur. The countryside was beautiful, but its majesty didn’t help calm her troubled mind. She remained perched in the final row. Her gaze fixated out the window. Fear kept her glued to the seat.

  If somehow, he did manage to track them, would the piece of shit make good on his promise and ‘fuck her inside out!’? Terror cultivated deep in the pit of her stomach.

  A war raged inside.

  Perhaps, I should have put a bullet through his thick skull when I had the chance.

  If he hurts someone else does the fault land at my feet?

  She wrung her hands together.

  Does Jim’s promise not to kill still apply?

  The lunatic, Brother Paul, sent his people to come get us.

  Her hands quivered.

  They killed Frank and Devon.

  And Cliff and his whole family.

  All dead because of the church.

  Do I have to keep a promise when they broke theirs?

  I said we shouldn’t kill him.

  What’s wrong with me?

  The
weight of the harness strapped around her torso pulled Sara’s attention to the two nine-millimeter pistols hanging under her arms.

  The guns were a reminder of the horrors she already survived.

  The fights she had won, and the people lost along the way. Sara knew, for a fact, she wasn’t the same person she was yesterday morning. She extracted a pistol, popped out the mag, unsnapped a spare from the harness and slid it into the butt of the gun.

  Click-clack. The Beretta was ready for action.

  The asshole should be afraid of me. She told herself.

  A presence at her side tugged Sara’s attention from the winding highway. The smell of crisp hops filled her nostrils and caused her stomach to growl.

  “Ice cold beverage, ma’am?” Troy held two bottles and offered her one as he took a seat in the adjacent row.

  She put away the gun and accepted the bottle. Sara took a long swig and returned to her watch. She wasn’t normally a beer drinker, but damn this was a tasty beverage. Her tummy was completely empty, one high powered beer, would get her totally wasted.

  Maybe a buzz is exactly what I need. She thought to herself as she took another long pull from the bottle. The hops had a bite to them. Its flavor seemed to attack her tongue.

  “You hungry? I could put a meal together if you’d like?” asked Troy as he sipped his beer.

  “I’ll get it, later.”

  “Are you looking for something out there?” Troy motioned toward the road.

  It dawned on Sara, she was almost hoping Ryder’s Firebird would appear, so she could blast him with an assault rifle.

  One less creep to worry about.

  Troy continued. “I wouldn’t fret about that guy.”

  “You didn’t knee him in the balls.”

  “True,” Troy nodded.

  Sara narrowed her gaze. “And he didn’t threaten to rape you.”

  “Valid point.” Troy crossed his arms and contemplated. “But consider this, Leon’s taken four different turns by now and there’s no way that jerk could be lucky enough to pick our exact route. I promise darling, you have nothing to worr-”

  Troy’s sentence was cut short by the blast of a distant horn.

  “Goddamn it!” Sara chugged the last of her beer, tossed the empty out the window and leapt from her seat.

  Troy craned his neck in time to find the black Firebird fully emerge from around the bend in the road. “I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch.”

  The car traveled like a bullet on a collision course straight for their bumper. The roar of the engine grew louder. Ryder would be on them in a matter of seconds.

  Sara reappeared with her rifle.

  The black blur materialized in Leon’s mirror. He squinted at the object until it came into focus. “Guys? Ryder is hot on our tail. What should I do?”

  “Stay in the center of the road so he can’t pass us.” Karen closed her half empty bag of chips and grabbed her pistol.

  Sara called to the others. “I’ve got him.” She angled the rifle out the window.

  Jim pulled himself, a little too quickly, into the aisle. He appeared woozy and clutched the next chair for support. “Sara?”

  The car was fifty-yards away and closing the gap. Ryder laid on the horn. She centered her sights on the bird’s hood. The dead woman’s blonde hair whipped wildly in the wind as the car drew near.

  Her finger tugged at the trigger, but before she could fire a round, a gentle hand dropped onto her shoulder and gave it a tug.

  “Don’t.” Jim said softly.

  Sara spun in her seat. She burned with rage. “Why the fuck not?”

  His head tilted to the side and he glanced at his children. “Because you’re stronger than this and I don’t want you to murder the guy in front of my kids. We have his gun. He can’t force us off the road. Not in that little car. If he follows us to our next stop then we’ll deal with him there. He can’t hurt us.”

  Jim eyed the Firebird as it moved in position directly behind the bus. The driver was going berserk. He read the maniac’s lips. Ryder spit a flurry of curse words and flipped him off. He cranked his window open, popped his head out and produced a pistol.

  Jim’s expression went slack.

  Thank God Troy was paying attention. He yanked Jim and Sara to the seat as a bullet punched a hole in the window and ripped through the ceiling.

  The gunshot freaked Leon and he jerked the wheel and ducked. The tires screeched as they changed direction. The bus pulled within inches of the ditch.

  The Firebird cruised alongside the bus. Ryder popped two more rounds into the rig.

  Screams filled the cabin.

  People hit the deck.

  Karen jumped onto her children.

  Leon course corrected, but turned too far. The backend slid sideways. He pumped the brakes, shifted gears and accelerated. The bus straightened.

  Ryder put the pedal to the floor and pulled in front of the bus. He aimed backwards and tried to put a round into the engine, but it pinged off the cowcatcher.

  Leon dropped behind the dash. Driving blind, he stepped on the gas.

  The bus collided with the Firebird’s bumper.

  Ryder raised the gun and put a bullet through the windshield.

  Leon swerved. The sound of metal on metal was horrendous as the bus tore the bumper from the muscle car. Ryder veered right, tapped the brakes and let the bus come parallel with his ride.

  Leon peeked over the dash. Another round punctured the wall and grazed the driver’s seat. A chunk of foam flew from the chair.

  “Christ-Almighty!” Leon screamed and floored it.

  Sara raced to the front and took position behind the door. She opened fire, sprayed the trunk fender and blew out the rear window.

  Ryder smashed his brakes and let the bus pass him. As the rear tires of the big rig came into view he put a round through one. The black rubber exploded. The tread unwound from the wheel and completely disintegrated. He aimed for the inner tire.

  Leon swerved right. The back of the bus struck the front quarter panel and most of the Firebird’s hood.

  Rubber screamed across the asphalt.

  Ryder’s front tire bent sideways.

  The barrel of Sara’s rifle poked from the bus. Rounds punched the corpse on the hood. She obliterated its skull with a direct hit. Black matter splattered across the glass. The windshield spiderwebbed, completely blinding the mad man.

  He wildly fired six shots. Glass shattered. Holes punched.

  His front tire blew apart. The bare wheel sparked.

  The Firebird spun as the bus righted its trajectory.

  The black muscle car rotated three-sixty.

  At fifty miles an hour it launched backwards into the ditch.

  The vehicle rolled twice. The arms and legs of the dead woman ripped from its torso.

  The half-body went flying and landed in the fence. It got twisted and wrapped in the wire.

  What do you call a woman with no arms and no legs hung on a fence?

  Barb.

  The Firebird came to a stop on his roof. Smoke coughed from the engine block.

  The bus kept its pace and left the wreck in the dust.

  “Stop!” Sara called to Leon.

  Leon scrunched his face and asked, “What? Why?”

  Sara left her seat and marched to the front. “I need to make sure he’s dead.”

  Troy followed her. “He did a seven-twenty-barrel roll off the highway. Ain’t no way he survived.”

  “Like there was no way he could track us?” She threw Troy’s words in his face. “Please, stop. We’ve got to make sure.” Sara pleaded to everyone.

  No one was on her side.

  “You guys are assholes.” Sara tossed her rifle to the nearby seat.

  Karen forced her broken body to stand. “I’ve got no love for that human garbage back there, but I want out of this bus as soon as possible. Don’t you?” She reached for Sara’s shoulder.

  Sara dodged the touch and stepped aw
ay.

  Jim worked his way toward the front and joined his wife. “Even if he’s still alive. He has no vehicle and no idea where we’re heading. Again, if somehow, he finds us, we will take care of him. I promise you.”

  Sara pressed her lips together, her brows dropped as she laser focused and pointed at Jim. “You didn’t kill Eric when you had the chance. Now Frank’s dead.”

  Jim lowered his voice to de-escalate the situation. “You’re right, I made a bad call, but I still intend on keeping my promi-”

  Sara cut him off and yelled. “We promised that yesterday!” Water formed in her eyes. “Today is a brand-new bag of shit! The rules have changed. Ryder understood this. There is no law. No order. There is no black or white, it’s all black. Fuck!”

  “Bad word.” Valerie chirped.

  “Sorry kid.” Sara rubbed her temples and caught a tear before it fell.

  Karen folded her arms, “Say he’s alive. Say he’s injured and begs us for help. What then? Are you still gonna pull the trigger? Believe me, you don’t want his blood on your hands.”

  “Maybe I do. It would be one less thing to worry about. That’s for fu-” Sara spied the little ones. She had their full attention and opted out of the curse word. “…sure.” Defeated, she plopped into a seat, reached for the duffle bag full of ammo and her rifle. She worked at the magazine and fed rounds into it.

  The rest of the group took their seats.

  Desiree gave Leon directions home.

  Shawna continued to clean the gunk from her face and shirt.

  Jim carefully snuggled Karen. Their busted bodies made it a challenge to really get in there and cuddle like pros.

  No one said a word, but they were all thinking it.

  Maybe she is right.

  Sara filled an empty mag. Her mind drifted.

  Ryder slowly choking to death on his own blood, as a jagged hunk of metal protrudes from his neck. He’s trapped in his car, scared and alone. Zero chance he’ll hurt anyone, again.

  Hell yeah!

  The image Sara created morphed.

  Surrounded by darkness. Sara’s the one, trapped and alone. Ryder’s greasy hands clutch her throat. He smiles with glee and squeezes the life from her.