Vengeance in the Badlands
Page 13
Now it was time to finish the job.
The bloody trail veered off to the right, through another aisle, deeper into the latticework layout of the warehouse shelves.
Dave followed it.
He came to the end of the aisle. It opened, and he caught sight of a defunct set of silver metal elevator doors standing thirty yards away.
A single bloody handprint had been stamped on the surface.
Dave slowed.
Sitting on the floor, off to the right of the elevator doors, a blood-soaked Calvin Summerville sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall.
Dave adjusted his grip on the pistol as he stepped out to face the man who’d taken everything away from him.
Chapter Forty-Five
Calvin sat against the wall; a pistol clutched in each hand. His face had gone pale as if all the color had been washed away. A pained expression covered his face as he looked up and met Dave’s eyes.
“I gotta hand it to you, Porter,” Calvin said, grimacing. Beads of cold sweat formed on his brow. “You got me good.”
“You killed Audrey,” Dave said, his voice flat.
“She would have killed me, and you know it. I have a right to self-preservation.”
Dave glared at him. “You don’t have any rights.”
Calvin cocked his head to the side, grimacing again as he did. “When are you going to admit that you’re just like me?”
“I’m not like you.”
Calvin grinned, revealing bloody teeth. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Dave raised the pistol, pointing it at Calvin.
“Don’t I get any last words?”
“You’ve done enough talking.”
“You’re a piece of work, Porter,” Calvin said, shaking his head.
“As if you have room to talk.”
“I just keep helping you, and this is how you repay me?”
“Shut up,” Dave said.
Calvin shut up.
Dave touched his finger to the trigger as he sighted the barrel on Calvin’s chest. This was it, the moment he’d been dreaming about for months on end now. He had Calvin dead to rights. The man who’d once been so imposing, who’d commanded a small militia group hell-bent on forming a new world order, now sat broken and beaten before him.
Dave adjusted his grip on the pistol.
Then the sound of claws tapping on concrete echoed from behind him.
“Look out!” Calvin yelled. He raised one of the pistols, pointed it toward Dave, and pulled the trigger.
Dave pivoted in just enough time to see one of the creatures charging at him. Calvin’s shot hit the thing in the chest, sending it straight to the floor. It rolled twice before coming to rest in a bloody heap, leaking blood onto the dirty floor.
“You’re welcome,” Calvin said, groaning. “Chalk that up to the list of favors I’ve done for you.”
Dave looked at the dead creature on the floor before turning back to Calvin. “Why did you do that?”
Calvin took a deep, painful breath. “Because all I ever wanted to do was help you become what you are.”
In the distance, a shriek pierced the air around them, echoing off the walls of the large room. A few more creatures cried out in response. The sound made Dave’s skin crawl.
“Just get it over with already,” Calvin said. He tossed both pistols toward Dave. They struck the floor and skidded to a stop a few feet away. “Finish the job and then get yourself out of here. You’ve earned it.”
Dave raised the Eagle, pointing it at Calvin.
But he hesitated.
“Go on,” Calvin said. “Get it over with.”
Dave’s finger teased the trigger, but he didn’t pull.
“Come on, Porter. Don’t puss out on me now.”
More creatures screamed from hidden nooks and crannies within the confines of the warehouse. Dave could tell they were closer now; the echoes had become louder. He glanced at the door beside the elevator. On it, a plaque read STAIRS.
“Don’t do it, Porter,” Calvin said. “Don’t leave me here to get eaten by those monsters.”
Dave glanced at Calvin before returning his gaze to the stairs.
“You owe me this,” Calvin insisted.
Dave’s lips formed a thin line as he glared at Calvin. “I don’t owe you shit.”
Calvin chuckled, wincing from the pain in his gut as bloody spittle flew from his lips. “I should’ve known that’s what you’d do.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it’s something I’d do.”
“I’m not like you,” Dave said.
“You keep telling yourself that,” Calvin said. “If you don’t have the balls to finish the job then toss me one of my guns back so that I can do it.”
Dave looked down at the pistol but left it where it lay. “Get it yourself.”
“I would if I could, and you fucking know that.”
Dave’s mind raced as a dozen images came to him all at once. Annette’s face. His unborn child. The bloody spot left behind in the truck bed after Calvin murdered her. Audrey, her dead eyes staring at the ceiling. Gia’s corpse, sitting in the Jeep. Johnny as he disappeared back into the building where he would die.
And the people, the children, Calvin had murdered and used as human signposts.
So many good people died because of this man before him.
A bullet was too easy.
Dave picked up Calvin’s pistols.
“That’s it,” Calvin said. “Now send one of those puppies my way.”
Dave tucked one of the pistols into his back pocket and the other in his waistband before starting toward the stairs.
“Porter!” Calvin yelled. He coughed up fresh blood as he held up a hand in weak protest.
Dave kept walking.
“Porter!” Calvin yelled. “Porter!”
Behind Dave, the frighteningly familiar sound of razor-sharp talons on concrete echoed, followed by a deep growling.
Dave cast one last look at Calvin before he hit the panic bar on the door leading to the stairwell, disappearing inside.
“Porter!” Calvin’s screamed before the door closed, muting his protests.
Dave fled down the stairs, two-by-two, as Calvin’s muffled screams penetrated through the heavy door, echoing off the walls.
Chapter Forty-Six
The creature descended the steps toward the basement of the warehouse, following the smell of blood. Fresh blood smelled different from old blood, and the fresher blood meant that wounded prey was nearby. Although it couldn’t articulate this fact into words, the creature knew it instinctually. And it knew how to follow that trail of blood, the aroma of the freshly spilled stuff like a brightly lit arrow pointing the way.
Two more members of its pack slinked down the stairs. They’d all partaken in a few kills thus far, filling their bellies with as much fresh meat as they could. But strong muscles and fast metabolism required a lot of food, and because they’d been denied the nutrition they so desperately needed after birth they were all the hungrier for it.
The creature grunted as its brothers brought up the rear. The pair returned a similar grunt, speaking in their archaic language.
Down in the darkness of the basement, there was no light to hurt their eyes. Everything could be seen, every nook and cranny. Everything had a smell, and everything smelled just a little different. Down here, the next generation of apex predator was in its element. In the darkness, they were the unquestioned kings of their jungle.
The creature in the lead moved smoothly and quietly through the hallway, the scent of fresh blood hanging like sweet candy. It sniffed, tasting the air as it navigated from one end of the dark basement to the other.
And there it saw its next meal, lying on the floor.
It growled a special kind of grumble to let its brothers know they needed to be careful. Sometimes the prey fought back.
But this one didn’t fight back. It didn’t even move.
The prey made no sound.
Time to eat.
The creature approached the fallen form, rolling the body onto its back so that it could get to the sweet, fleshy organs from the front. It learned quickly that the belly was the most natural route to the fresh nutrients inside.
Unbeknownst to the creature, whose primitive brain understood nothing of weapons outside of the natural talons that tipped its fingers and toes, a round object rolled out of the dead man’s hand and across the floor.
As it went, a seemingly innocuous metal handle fell away as the grenade continued to move toward the giant white tanks mounted to the concrete floor.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Before the virus ended civilization, it had been decided that all commercial buildings needed signs indicating where the exit was, should an emergency occur. These signs were so ubiquitous that they nearly became invisible to the people who filled these buildings daily—until a crisis reared its head.
These signs, placed inside of this now-defunct building by men long since dead and gone, now held the key to saving Dave Porter’s life.
As Dave descended the steps toward the lower floors, the Desert Eagle still clutched in his hand, he noticed an exit sign placed above the door. He paused for a moment, hand on the doorknob.
A scream erupted from somewhere behind the door, followed by the sound of gunfire.
He took a deep breath and opened the door.
More open warehouse greeted him, the ambient light filtered to a dull yellow by aging glass window panes. A half-dozen pops from a semi-automatic rifle caught his attention, followed by a glimpse of movement.
Another burst of shots rang out, the concrete wall behind Dave’s head exploding into bits of chalky rock. Dave ducked instinctively, crouching behind a pallet stacked with a large valve the size of a washing machine for cover.
Dave peeked above the valve. It took a moment for him to realize it, but the gunfire wasn’t meant for him. Instead, the shooters were aiming at a dozen or so of the white creatures who happened to be standing between Dave and the surviving members of Gideon’s defunct gang.
Dave slipped back behind his cover to think. This wasn’t good. He struggled to regroup his thoughts as he tried to figure his way out of this mess. By all appearances, it seemed that between the armed men and the nightmarish monsters, there was no way in hell he was getting out of this building alive.
He wasn’t about to give up that easily.
Dave glanced around the room. There he located another exit sign. The sign led toward a heavy steel door with a thick pane of wire-reinforced glass set within, pale evening sunlight filtering through.
And then it dawned on him; Gideon’s men were trying to make it to that exit, but the white monsters stood in their way.
He almost laughed at his good luck as he leaped out from behind the massive valve and headed toward freedom. When he did, another shrill cry echoed throughout the room, followed by the sound of talons on concrete.
He knew immediately that he’d been spotted.
The creature crossed the distance quickly, screaming to alert the others as it pursued its prey.
Dave stopped and turned, firing off a round from the Desert Eagle. A thunderous report sounded as the pistol nearly jumped out of Dave’s hands. The bullet penetrated the approaching creature’s chest, ripping a massive hole on its way out, sending the thing crashing to the floor.
By now more of the creatures had joined in, pursuing Dave as their next meal. Dave ran, the snarling, growling, and screaming from behind him accentuated by gunfire from Gideon’s men. The door was thirty yards away now, but the distance seemed like miles.
Dave pushed harder, the muscles in his legs burning as he sprinted faster than he ever had before.
A thought occurred to him as he neared the door.
What if it was locked?
Easy answer.
He’d be a dead man.
Dave ran. Twenty yards. Ten yards.
Dave met the door, striking the panic bar with his hip.
It hesitated.
Then it gave way.
Dave fell through the door, landing hard on a set of concrete steps. He rolled down them, one by one, his ribs and back taking the brunt of the impact. He tumbled down a half-dozen steps before coming to a hard stop on gritty asphalt.
Hands, arms, and knees bleeding, Dave got to his feet and ran into the waning evening light. Behind him, he heard the door open.
He glanced back to see two creatures emerge through the door. They covered their eyes, hesitating.
It was too bright for them. He knew he had a chance if he kept going.
Dave turned and continued running, pumping as much energy into his legs as he could. He put a dozen yards between himself and the building, then two dozen.
Another glance back revealed more creatures amassing at the doorway. Frustrated, they screamed as they descended the steps, wandering aimlessly as they tried to keep up the chase without eyelids to block out the infernal sun.
Dave ran, putting more distance between himself and the warehouse of horrors. A stitch like a steak knife formed in his side. Dave doubled over, but he forced himself to run through it.
Then the world exploded.
The next thing Dave knew he was flying.
After that, darkness.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dave awoke to the sound of birds chirping. He opened his eyes to bright sunlight that pierced like an icepick. His head pounded. Dried, crusted blood clung to his bruised hands and arms.
As consciousness returned, so did Dave’s awareness of his surroundings and the events that had occurred. He sat up quickly, looking around for more creatures, more men with guns.
Instead, he found himself behind a large garbage truck that surely hadn’t been there before.
Dave got to his feet, his body singing in agony. Everything hurt. The Desert Eagle was nowhere to be seen, nor were the pistols he’d taken from Calvin.
Working through the pain, Dave stepped out from behind the garbage truck.
The sight nearly took his breath away.
Where the warehouse had been, only a gaping crater remained. A small portion of the end closest to Dave remained partially intact; the wall cracked and leaning precariously. Black smoke belched from the ruins as random fires still burned from within. Twisted metal lay scattered around the parking lot, the surface burned and blackened.
Dave looked around at the devastation. How he’d survived, he wasn’t sure. The blast had lifted him into the air and deposited him behind the garbage truck. He’d landed hard, but nothing appeared to be broken.
Weird how things sometimes turned out.
The sunlight piercing his eyes was morning light. He’d been knocked out cold all night, and by the grace of God or good fortune, nothing had come to eat him during the evening.
He looked over the ruins of the warehouse. Nothing inside could have survived that blast.
Then the heaviness of it all came crashing down, overwhelming him. He collapsed to the charred asphalt and sat, eyes closed as he waited for it to pass.
He stayed this way for a very long time.
* * *
He found the Desert Eagle, but he couldn’t locate Calvin’s pistols. So be it; he didn’t want them anyway. The Eagle was nicked and scratched but beyond that none the worse for wear. It was a damn fine gun. He considered himself lucky to have it.
With the pistol retrieved, he had nothing else left. Anything he and Johnny had brought with them had been obliterated in the blast, including anything Gideon had collected over his time of rape and pillage.
There was nothing here left for him.
As he stood in front of the smoldering remains, Dave’s thoughts went to Audrey. He’d grown to respect her over their sh
ort time together. He might have even begun to like her. But like nearly everyone Dave had ever gotten close to, she’d met a violent and bloody end.
He thought of Calvin, torn to shreds by those monstrous new-breed carriers.
That should have made him feel better than it did.
He took a deep breath and looked around. He hadn’t expected to survive this, but now here he was; battered, bruised, bloody, and still breathing.
Alive for what?
What was left?
What the hell was he to do with the rest of his miserable life now?
Dave didn’t know the answer to that question.
But he knew one last thing he still needed to do.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The walking hurt. It hurt so much more than he’d expected it to. The pain worsened with each passing mile, becoming excruciating, but Dave powered through it anyway.
Along the way, he downed a half-dozen ibuprofen tablets he discovered in a looted and decaying convenience store. They helped, but only so much. His face hurt. He wondered if he might have landed on it after the blast picked him up and tossed him across the parking lot like a rag doll. He was glad he didn’t have a mirror to see.
He wondered what would have caused the warehouse to explode. A bomb? Maybe Gideon had snagged a MOAB from an army base somewhere. It wasn’t inconceivable that Gideon could have gotten his hands on some high-grade ordinance.
In the end, it didn’t matter.
Gideon’s legacy was gone forever now.
And so was Calvin’s new world order.
He pushed these thoughts from his mind as he placed one foot in front of the other, making his way slowly across the ruined countryside.
He had a much simpler goal ahead of him.
* * *
The trip took many hours, how many Dave couldn’t tell. The sun burned hot and angry overhead, watching him from on high as the sweat beaded on his forehead. Later it began to dip down toward the horizon, signaling that the day was pressing on with or without him.