“Pull yourself up,” Sadie yelled back. She could do nothing for the woman except hold on for as long as she could. Lindsey tried with all her might to get away, however the zombies were limitless in number and too many of them had a grip of her lower body either with their hands or with their teeth and she was slowly pulled out of the truck.
And with her went Sadie.
“Let go!” Sadie cried. “You’re going to kill me, too!” Lindsey’s terror was too great and her mind too far gone for her to realize that she was dooming Sadie. This left Sadie without a choice. She could see that Lindsey was already bitten in a number of places. Sadie wasn’t going to drop what she had in her hands—her only weapon and the precious baby—to try to pull an infected woman into the truck.
“Help me,” Lindsey begged. Her eyes were pleading and desperate. She was so pitiful that it was physically painful for Sadie when she pointed the Glock and shot Lindsey in her pleading face.
That second seemed to extend and elongate as if emotional pain could affect time. It drew out cruelly so that Sadie could savor every horrible detail of it. Lindsey’s fear-stricken face contorted one muscle at a time, until she had switched out fear for utter shock. Slowly her head went back—likely it snapped back, however for Sadie it was glacial in its speed and the blood that sprayed in the air lingered like a sun-shower on a July day.
Sadie got to see it all: the grey porridge of brain that slapped against the lower edge of the door. The ‘O’ of puzzlement Lindsey’s mouth made, the hands that came up out of the mass of undead, engulfing her, the lustful teeth rearing up and then chomping down, biting through the thin cotton of her clothing.
Lindsey lost her grip on Sadie’s foot, and she was carried out into the sea of zombies. She was like a sinking ship. In that slow-motion view of Sadie’s, the girl was slowly engulfed, slipping beneath the grey waves until she was gone.
From behind Sadie, Joslyn accused: “What did you just do?”
Sadie couldn’t answer. Guilt had her by the throat. A million excuses ran through her mind: Lindsey had been bitten! She was going to die anyway! She shouldn’t have been trying to pull Sadie down with her! None of that mattered. Once again, Sadie had killed without a second’s hesitation. Once again, she had put her needs ahead of any consideration…not that she had taken even a moment to consider anything at all. She had taken an innocent life to save her own.
The thought fed the black cloud in her mind. It churned, an evil tempest, brooding, reeking, foul, however there was no time for Sadie to breathe in that self-hate. The truck was still canted and bucking and her pathetic, greedy life was still in danger. The cloud would wait. It was patient. If Sadie lived it would be there, waiting.
Somewhere in those endless seconds, she blinked and time snapped back into place. It was with surprise that she felt herself still sliding toward the grey horde. With one hand around the baby and the other holding the Glock, she had to rely on her feet. She braced her left foot on the dash and the right—the one that still felt Lindsey’s ghostly fingers on them—on the door frame. She was splayed and open and, beneath her exposed undercarriage, was the horde, surging and moaning in hunger, clawing over each other to get at her.
Time seemed to speed up more and more quickly as hands took the door and pulled it back and others grabbed the frame and mouths with broken teeth breathed their horrid breath up at her.
“Drive!” yelled Sadie and then fired the Glock. Her hand thrummed at the violence of the weapon. A beastly thing with dangling lips and only a single ear fell away with what was left of its brain adding to the mess on the door.
Michael had been attempting to drive them out, but had only succeeded in spinning his wheels as he tried to force his way into the teeth of a veritable grey wave. So many of the undead surged toward the truck that the mound became a hill and their shredded bodies acted almost like a treadmill. The tires went round and round and the beasts were turned to grey, creamed corn mush that shot out the back.
Still, it was an all-wheel drive vehicle and, gradually, the truck conquered the hill of bodies, only to sink down into the trough where it bogged down in exactly the same spot as Grey’s truck had, only now the bog of shredded skin, and ruptured intestines and the foul soup of black blood was deeper. To make matters worse, Michael also had to contend with the drag of the fifty or so zombies clinging to the sides of the truck.
Michael hit the gas for all he was worth and, just as Grey’s truck had done, Michael’s truck slewed to the right. As a good ‘ole boy from Alabama, he had never driven in snow or even ice and when the truck began to skid, he didn’t turn into it as he should have done and thus he continued to slide until his rear wheel went into the gutter and the truck’s momentum ceased. Out of ideas, he gunned the Cummins 240 horsepower engine until it screamed as if in pain. A shudder racked the truck. It shimmied and shook as if it was coming apart. Confused, Michael stared down at the dash, perhaps thinking that the dials would tell him what he was doing wrong. When an explanation didn’t present itself, he decided to put the truck in reverse. Before he could do so, his door was pulled open and he was confronted with the same horror Sadie was dealing with. The zombies were mounded as high as the doors.
Sadie cleared her door with two quick shots and then leaned dangerously out over the reaching hands of the zombies to shut it—all the while clutching Eve to her breast. The door was shut for barely a second before she saw the handle turn. Shoving the gun under her leg, she reached out and grabbed the handle. There was a shot behind her. It was a tinny sound and she guessed that Joslyn had used the .25.
There were more gunshots cracking the air outside. As Sadie strained one-handed to hold the door closed she had a perfect view of the side mirror. In it, she could see the last truck reversing down the road, heading toward the large warehouse. Veronica was in the passenger seat, blasting back the beasts with a shotgun. She looked desperate and afraid, but all Sadie could think was that they were abandoning her as well. Just as Neil had.
But did it matter whether or not they left? The side mirror also showed her that the zombies were piled so high they were at the height of the tailgate and were climbing up into the bed. There was a fierce battle going on back there to keep them at bay, while upfront, both doors were being assaulted. Sadie glanced back at Michael. He should’ve been doing something about getting the truck freed but he was red in the face, straining to keep his door from being pulled open.
The only person who seemed to be doing nothing was Joslyn. She sat between Michael and Sadie completely useless. “Take... the...baby,” Sadie gasped.
At first Joslyn appeared shocked and slightly appalled at the idea of handling Eve, but when Sadie added: “Now, you stupid cow!” she put down her little gun and took the infant, holding her like a man might.
“We’re fucked,” Joslyn said.
It appeared so, Sadie thought, as she witnessed the first of the zombies climb onto the hood of the five-ton. It didn’t hesitate. It threw itself at the windshield, thumping the glass with it fists and snarling like a rabid dog. A second zombie joined it a few moments later and the glass shook under their blows.
Sadie’s hands began to ache with the strain of pulling on the door handle for so long. She wouldn’t be able to last. If only Neil and Grey and Jilly were here, she thought. Neil wasn’t the smartest, or the toughest, or even the bravest, but he always came through, somehow. And Grey would’ve been able to fight off the zombies and drive the truck at the same time. And Jillybean would’ve been able to figure out a way to lock doors that had no locks and she would’ve been able to fulcrum the truck right off the pile of undead.
Sadie couldn’t do anything of those things. All she had was her guts and her quickness.
Her hand tired and the door handle slipped out of her sweaty grip. The door flung wide. Dozens of clawed and diseased hands reached for her, but she was too fast. Sadie grabbed up her Glock in a blur and fired five-six-seven times. She could’ve fired a hundred t
imes and it wouldn’t have made all that much difference, but seven was enough to clear the door. Before the beasts could recover, she leaned out over them and pulled the door inward.
An arm was in the way, keeping the door from closing. Sadie kicked at it, however more hands and fingers reached up under the edge and began to pry the door back open again. “Son of a bitch!” she hissed and then let the door open a little more and fired through the crack. Four bullets were enough to clear the door. Those were four bullets that she desperately needed. The Glock had started with a load of fifteen; she had four shots left and another fourteen in a spare clip in her back pocket—that was it. Nineteen rounds. It wasn’t nearly enough.
Fearing she wouldn’t have time later, she dug out the full spare and switched out clips. She had just slapped the spare clip in place when there was a renewed scrabbling of claws on the door and she saw the handle begin to turn once more. She grabbed it with both hands.
Now, a crack appeared on the corner of the windshield. The beasts there were pounding with hate-driven strength. Gradually the crack started questing upwards.
In the bed, there were screams of terror and gunshots that sounded with a constant rhythm. Joslyn made a whining noise in her throat. “Someone do something,” she said. The only one who could do anything beyond what it took for personal survival was Michael.
Keeping one hand on his door handle, he reached over and, with much grinding of gears, he struggled the long-handled stick into reverse. He then fed it gas and the machine shuddered and shook as the wheels spun. The truck pressed against the hundreds of straining bodies and it didn’t move more than three feet. He then ground the transmission into first gear and the truck bounced back to where it had been. He revved the engine, but after a few useless seconds of this, he let off the gas and once again grabbed the door handle with his other hand. He had done everything he could within his limited ability.
The hood was covered in the undead now. Michael’s door started to open and he was forced to use all his strength to keep it closed. The gunfire from the bed reached a fevered pitch; they had no door to hold the beasts back. Sadie began thinking about the end. Should she pray? Would it matter if she did? The black cloud in her mind, the one that whispered ‘murderer,’ suggested that it wouldn’t. The black cloud knew how many people she had killed. It knew how many she had murdered. It knew she deserved the death that was coming.
“But I still have nineteen bullets,” she said, gripping the gun. There were seventeen for ‘them,’ one for Eve and one for herself. She decided that Joslyn and Michael would have to fend for themselves. They had guns and they were adults. Sadie took a breath and released the door handle, letting in the great stink of the zombies. She felt amazingly calm.
“What are you doing?” Joslyn asked, her eyes were huge in fear.
Before Sadie answered, she fired three times to clear the door. “My hands are too tired and too slippery with sweat. I can’t hold the door and...” Sadie paused to fire again, enjoying the hot gunpowder smell that wafted from out of the barrel of the gun. “And we’re stuck. I’m going to end it right. You two should consider doing the same.” She shot once more. From this range she couldn’t miss. “Eleven,” she said, keeping track. Another shot: “Ten.”
Joslyn gaped for a second and then as understanding struck her, she beat on Michael’s arm and cried out: “Drive or do something.” He tried, however the truck only rocked and shuddered and roared. It was hopelessly stuck, three quarters of it buried in the undulating mound of the dead. It started pitching side to side under the power of the zombie horde.
“Seven…six…five…” Sadie counted down. A sense of relief, of letting go, swept her. It was a pleasant feeling, but a sad one. She felt unfinished. She felt as though there were a thousand things she had left undone or unsaid and a thousand places she hadn’t been, and a thousand sights she hadn’t seen.
When Sadie’s gun ran dry, she paused to switch out the clips. Now there were only two rounds for the undead, one for Eve and one last to send her to hell. “I hope you’re ready,” she said to Michael. She didn’t care for or about Joslyn but she knew Michael to be a nice man.
He licked his lips and then jerked as the cracks in the windshield began to star. The panel of glass was beginning to bow inwards. He nodded. Their time was done.
Sadie turned back to the door, stuck her arm out so that the barrel of the Glock was an inch from the hungry mouth of a zombie. With part of a blouse hanging from its putrid body, Sadie saw it had been a human woman at one time. Perhaps it used to have a family and a job and a nice house. Maybe it once had a life worth living. Sadie shot it and felt a moment of jealousy.
“Three left,” she said. There were four or five zombies in the lower part of the doorway. She kicked the closest one in the face and then turned to Joslyn. “Let me have Eve.” Even though it was obvious what Sadie was about to do, Joslyn didn’t hesitate. She gave up the baby and then pointed her little .25 in Sadie’s direction. “Don’t be stupid,” Sadie said. “I’m not going to waste a bullet on you. You’re safe from me, but not from them.”
The Goth girl turned back to the door with the gun pointed out at the sea of zombies that were swamping the truck. Sadie then forgot about Joslyn, her mind was on the now heavy gun and the little bundle in her arms. “Make it quick,” she said to herself. “One for them, one for Eve, one for me. Make it quick.” She had to be quick; three zombies had fought to the top of the heap and were in the lower part of the doorway struggling to climb up into the cab.
She had to be quick, but she hesitated—Eve had reached out and took hold of her black t-shirt. That little, soft hand with its tiny fingers had such a grip. It clung with the desperation of life. Still with the ear protection clamped on her round head, she was pouting and afraid. She saw the monsters coming for her and held desperately to the girl who had called her sister for the last seven months.
The gun shook and Sadie was never further from pulling the trigger than just then. However a slime-covered hand fell on her leg, the long, broken nails making a whisker sound on her black jeans. “One for them,” Sadie said and killed the undead beast. “One for Eve.” She pointed the still smoking barrel Eve’s way. Suddenly, the world drew away and became so silent that Sadie could hear the hissing of the gun barrel as it cooled and she could hear Eve’s breath coming in and out of her pert little nose, and she could hear the springs working in the Glock as she drew back the trigger.
The trigger went back as far as it could, releasing the coiled spring and sending the firing pin flashing forward.
In that split second, another foul hand took hold of her jeans at the cuff just above her right Converse and pulled, jerking Sadie around just as the gun barked and flashed and Eve flinched, as her head whipped back. Instantaneously, the impact of taking yet another innocent life struck Sadie like a sledge between the eyes. Regret over shooting the gun stabbed her in the heart and she silently begged for the bullet to come back, to undo the damage it had done.
There was no undoing the act. There was now only her own death to accomplish and that was happening quickly. Even then, she was being pulled around and then down toward the mob of undead and all she could think about was the terrible thing she had done. Hands tore at her and teeth gnawed on the tough hide of her black jeans.
Slowly, almost casually, Sadie brought the gun to her temple. The muzzle burned her flesh, marking her with a small, red circle. She squirreled her right eye shut from the pain and from the imminent blast of the gun, and started to pull the trigger one last time—but then a new sound came to her, breaking through the cacophony of the moans and guns blasting.
Meep! Meep! Meep!
It was the sound of a horn. Captain Grey’s truck was returning! It was plowing through the wash of undead and as she watched, Captain Grey climbed out to stand on the fender as Neil took the wheel. Grey’s M4 carbine was aimed straight at her and for a heartbeat she was sure he was going to shoot her. He would be wi
thin his rights considering what she had done. In fact, the idea of rescue suddenly made her sick. What would they say about Eve? What would they do when they found out that Sadie had killed the baby? It would be better for everyone if he killed her right then.
His gun flashed a number of times and the hands holding her fell away. She was half in and half out of the truck and she could have, if she wanted to, climb back in, only she didn’t want to. Guilt held her back. With tears streaming down her face Sadie put the gun back to her temple.
She brought the baby up one last time to kiss her goodbye...and nearly dropped her. Eve was crying, howling like a banshee. Her earmuffs sat cockeyed on her head and there was a wicked dent on the metal band that held the muffs in place. Sadie’s bullet had missed!
Sudden feeling swept over the numbness that had gripped her and she could see and hear and breathe again. She was still alive and everything was still good. She fought and clawed back into the truck as Grey fired all around her. Then, miraculously, she was inside again, live and whole, as was Eve.
Grinning, she shut the door. When she turned, she saw Joslyn staring at her in disbelief. Michael hadn’t seen anything. He was too busy fighting with all his strength to keep his door from being yanked out of his hands. He weakened a second later and the door was pulled halfway open. Desperately he tried to get his M16 from the floorboard before he could be pulled out of the truck by the zombies.
Sadie saw he’d be too slow by half. She leaned across Joslyn and fired over Michael’s back, killing a single zombie who fell back into the crowd. There were others but she was out of ammo. Still with the screaming baby clutched to her side she tossed the Glock on the seat and grabbed the .25 from Joslyn’s useless hands.
“Hey!” Joslyn cried.
“Lean back or I’ll shoot you,” Sadie said. Her voice was deadly cold. Joslyn flattened herself and Sadie shot across her breasts, clearing the door long enough for Michael to shut it again. There wasn’t time to celebrate this minor victory. Captain Grey was yelling and pointing at them but they couldn’t hear what he was saying. “Try the truck again,” Sadie suggested as she attempted to calm the baby down. Putting the earmuffs back in place helped and corking her mouth with a pacifier reduced her cry to a chest-hitching sniffle.
The Undead World (Book 6): The Apocalypse Exile (War of The Undead) Page 5
