Someone took up a station beside me, and I caught a gun barrel from the corner of my eye. It boomed, and a deader was blown over, most of its head a wreck of brain, blood and skull.
“Nice one,” I said. Exhaled and shot another one through the neck. I had learned early on that a head shot was a sure kill, but getting one in the neck, severing the spinal column, caused it to go down.
“Thanks,” a woman’s voice said next to me.
I shot at one, but he moved too fast, and the bullet went wide. I meant to readjust, but she was quicker and shot the deader between the eyes. I looked over at the ace and saw that she was short and had a massive hunting rifle in her hands.
“Nice piece.” I muttered. “Standard issue?”
“Not even close. And a little too strong for this kind of hunting, but I make it work.” She ejected a shell by sliding back a hammer on the side of the rifle, raised it again, sighted and shot another deader.
“Mike,” I said and shot a pair of rounds at a deader that looked no older than eighteen. She jerked to the side like she was executing some weird dance move. The second blast put her down. I wanted to weep.
“Lexy,” she said and jacked another shell into the chamber.
I didn’t think to ask how she’d gotten a hunting rifle into the stadium.
Chip and Jeremy tried to make a run for it, but I didn’t think they had much of a chance. The bigger guy was half limping, dragging part of a deader by one leg while Jeremy clung to his neck with one arm. The other hung at his side by tendons. From all appearances, it was not the kind of wound that could be fixed.
He had been bitten.
It was the most inexplicable element of the entire epidemic. From what I had observed, the blood of the deaders wasn’t a contributing factor to the spread of the disease. It was only spread by a bite. Nelson had filled me in on a few details but not enough to get an accurate picture. The nature of the disease did seem to be based on the rabies virus, but it had been used to treat someone for a brain tumor. I didn’t understand the mechanics, but hoped I would someday. I was going to write the exposé of the century if I ever got out of this hellhole.
The Army had finished setting up their emplacements and swung massive machine guns into place. I knew how this was going to end, but there was nothing I could do.
Chip and Jeremy, probably seeing the hell that was about to rain on them, moved faster, but it was little use. One of the deaders hooked a hand around the big guy and got hold of something.
Chip screamed as his shirt was ripped off. Skin came with it in huge chunks. I jerked the gun toward them and almost bowled into the girl next to me.
“Careful! You can’t help them anyway; it’s too late,” she yelled at me.
She was right, but I couldn’t help it. I aimed at the deader that was ripping at the bigger guy, but the angle was all wrong. I was just as likely to hit him as hit the deader in the head. I managed to catch it in the leg, and that almost took the creature to the ground.
Jeremy was pulled away by a pair of deaders. They tore into him with howls that made my blood run cold. I shot both of them, a burst of fire that practically ripped one in half.
Chip was down on one knee but trying to regain his feet.
I ran toward the emplacement before they could open fire. I knew how this would go down. If they couldn’t control the dead, they would shoot anything and anyone in the way.
Chip dragged his guts behind him. The ground was covered in blood, and his hands and knees slipped and slid as he tried to get to the checkpoint.
One of the deaders scrabbled at Chip’s exposed entrails and ripped them free. It ate—no, feasted—like it was a four-course meal. The big man pulled himself along the ground, propelled by sheer willpower.
Another deader latched on to the trailing meal and sank its teeth in.
Chip howled just as loud as the dead, but he fought onward.
His friend Jeremy lay in a puddle of blood and viscera, his form broken and shattered. With the exception of a few twitches, he didn’t move. Was he turning already, or was he simply in his final death throes? Perhaps, much to my revulsion, the creatures had fastened on to tendons as they fed and now made his arms move like some crazy puppet master.
I shot as I ran, but missed by a wide margin. I paused, aimed, exhaled and put a bullet in the shoulder of one of the deaders feasting on Chip.
A shot exploded behind me, and the one closest to Chip was thrown back. His head became a puff. Another shot and the one I had hit in the shoulder was also blown to the side.
Johnny Lee
At the fence, the action was heating up. Gramps tried to pick up the bar but gave up. His wife was beside him, as was Bait. The women had taken a liking to curb stomping, it seemed, as they did their best to bash the dead guy’s head in. When their shoes didn’t do the trick, Grandma helped the girl lift the improvised club and bring it down with a splat that LeBeau felt all the way out at the end of the parking lot.
They had more trouble than he did, but Johnny had a whole lot of training at killing mother fuckers. That and his need to smash the ever-living hell out of something went a long way toward giving his arms life.
The girl backed away as the creature came free. Now why in the hell were they only interested in fresh blood? Wasn’t there a small lake of the stuff pouring onto the ground right next to him?
“Better swing hard enough to make yo momma proud!” he called out the window. He hit the bottle of vodka again and wished it were gin.
The girl missed. Of course she missed. She didn’t have the balls to do what a man had to do. Plus, she was just tiny. Not much meat on those bones, although, truth be told, Johnny Lee wouldn’t mind getting a look at that meat. Hadn’t seen anything that pretty in a few days. He liked to chase the girls when they gave him the look. Liked to yell and scare them until they took off on heels that clipped like tiny horses as they ran.
He massaged his dick while he watched her pick up the bar and swing again. Her skirt rode right on up, and if it kept going, he was pretty sure he would soon know if she wore any britches. The old man snatched the club before she could try again. He took aim and swung, this time smashing the thing to the ground.
The girl stared at the body, then at the old man. She gasped and flung herself into the man’s arms.
“Bet you wouldn’t mind grandfathering her a lil’ bit.” LeBeau chuckled and tossed back another shot.
A pair of deaders ran past the fence, then a few more. The others retreated toward the back of the parking lot and found a car to hide behind. Johnny stretched his feet across the seat as he got ready for the show. If those fuckers got in, he planned to close the door and drink every drop from the bottle. Then he would just fall asleep and maybe sweat his ass to death in the heat. The car would be like a sauna. He glanced at the back seat and contemplated ripping the cushions out so he could crawl into the trunk. It would at least be cooler than the front. That would work. Ride out this day in the cool shade of a trunk.
He reached under the back seat and felt around, but there was nothing to grab hold of. His hands slipped out, and he felt around the top. He gave a tentative tug, then another, but it didn’t budge. He had a knife folded away in his pocket, but it would take forever to cut all that shit out. If he had his old KA-BAR, he could go at the cushion like it was a fresh steak and tear it apart in minutes.
Another group ran past. Where was the fire?
He got out and came to unsteady feet. He climbed onto the roof of the car and gazed after the running deaders. He was making a hell of a target, but he didn’t really care. It was just a matter of time anyway. Those things might not be the smartest, but they were damned persistent.
“Get down, you fool!” Gramps hissed from his hiding spot behind a crisp red pickup. Thing had wheels as tall as Johnny’s legs. A female form adorned the grill. About the only thing missing from the monstrosity was a pair of bull’s horns. Probably had a pair of fake balls hanging off the end.<
br />
“White people …” He shook his head.
A fresh pair attacked the fence. One was quite tall and had hair almost to his ass. He looked like death, looked worse than it, to be sure. The pair of them were coved in blood and muck. Up to this point, Johnny hadn’t seen any deaders attacking each other, but he guessed it was just a matter of time before all the fresh meat was gone and they had to turn on each other.
“Damn, people. We gotta go bash in some more heads. Who’s got point?” He roared the last.
Bait rose to her full height, all five feet of her. At some point, she had shed her heels in favor of fighting barefoot. Made sense until she ripped her foot on something; then it would be up to Johnny to tend to her. Oh yeah, he was up for that challenge.
Grandpa came up as well, even though Grandma was holding his arm, pulling him back. She whispered near his ear, but he did his best to shake her off.
The deaders were persistent indeed. The taller one seemed to be the smarter and hoisted his undead partner up to the top of the fence. Then he leaped up, and his friend helped haul him up. They both swung over and then slid down the other side, the side where the living were.
“Ah shit. Guess we gotta do the deed. Them boys seem smarter than the others,” Johnny Lee muttered as he dragged his ass out of the car. He went to Gramps and took the pipe away. At first, the old man held on to it while he huffed and puffed, but on the second tug, he let go, and Johnny almost fell back.
“I can do it,” the old man said between gasps.
“Right. Just sit yer ass down and enjoy the show.” Johnny took the pipe and turned away.
Johnny strode past the Mariners fan and lifted the pipe high.
“Yahhhh!” he yelled.
“Yahhhh the fuck back!” the taller guy yelled.
Kate
She broke into daylight. The sun was familiar, but nothing else was. The city, her city, was a nightmare of running people. A few cars poked along the streets but soon gave up. She saw at least two with occupants that refused to leave the safety of their vehicles. One was a tiny compact with four people in it. Mom, Dad and a pair of toddlers. It was surrounded by deaders. Daddy and crew had nowhere to go, so they simply sat in the scorching heat and watched their doom pound at the windows. Someone had slammed into one side of his car and pushed it over the curb and halfway up onto the sidewalk. The larger car was swarmed with deaders. She couldn’t make out much of the blood-covered man who was pulled out. His arm waved limply, but it was probably just a deader tugging at a sleeve and not a call for help. She wouldn’t be offering her services anyway. Not today. Not any day, as a matter of fact.
She stayed in the shade of the doorway and scanned the area. Deaders everywhere she looked. They didn’t move in pairs or packs, although she had seen that behavior a few times. These were all about the hunt. Some had people on the ground. Some fought tooth and nail against men and women who wanted to live. But they weren’t strong enough to overcome the deaders. How did you fight back against an unrelenting force? You didn’t; you struck first and hoped for the best.
She wanted to make a run for it. Even in her weakened condition, she was sure she could do it. She should just move on, hide where she had to and fight when it was required. It was only a few blocks. Just a few blocks … There he was!
What had he been waiting for? Not her, if he had half a brain. His silhouette haunted the alleyway as he looked both ways, body cocked like a gun. The mannerisms looked familiar, but it was from a memory that did not belong to the her of the present, but to the her who thought she was a badass. But she was just a few shades shy of that particular moniker. A few liters of blood as well.
The figure timed something and then sprinted across the street.
She set her feet, crouched down and took her sword in hand. It came out of the sheath at her back with a near-silent whisk.
Then she was on the hunt.
The first deader that noticed her was neck deep in blood and skin. It had a kid down on the ground and was tearing at the little guy’s throat like it was a turkey dinner. Eyes trained on her. One dull, the other blood red. The dull one was surrounded by a pussy red substance. When she swept past him, she lashed out and opened his throat.
The rapist moved to a new doorway and almost made a run for it. Something came at him but was stopped in mid-attack by another deader. They tussled, but it was more of an accidental meeting than anything else. They parted like blood-splattered friends and went about the business of chasing the living. Baldy would have made a nice deader. She would be happy to see him screaming as his body was ripped apart. Provided he got to see her smiling face one last time. Maybe that was the answer? Just grab him and toss him to the creatures on the street. Not exactly as elegant as lopping his cock off and feeding it to him, but she had to admit it had a certain flair.
He was on the move again, and she was on the hunt. Deaders had nothing on her sense of direction. They ambled, shambled and ran after anything that moved. She was a cold and calculating hunter, and she was not satisfied with just any target. She wanted him.
His life was a moot point; she was going to take it if she died in the attempt. Let every one of the dead bastards come at her. She would carve a path through them just as easy as walking.
He caught sight of her, and his eyes went wide. She moved toward him with death in her heart.
The blade hung low, close to the ground as she stalked him. She kept to the side of the building as he reached for his piece. He had a massive revolver, and before she could close on him, he had it raised and pointed at her face. If it found her, she wasn’t going anywhere but straight to hell.
She ducked and rolled forward as the gun boomed. One of her martial arts teachers had once told her when that facing a person with a gun, she should have only one reaction. Run. The teacher claimed that a moving target was very hard to hit, no matter how movies and television made it look. Even standing still, aiming down the barrel of a gun, some people couldn’t hit a paper target at twenty feet.
She was at least that far. She thought the odds were worth it.
She came up as the air parted over her diving head. She could only reason that the gun required some kind of cocking action and that was why he didn’t get a second shot, one that would have parted her brains from her head.
She was still too far away to drive the blade into him, but she had a tremendous amount of forward motion and used her inertia, along with a straight leg, to drive her foot into his groin. She missed the money shot, striking him close to his pelvis, but it was a brutal blow. She didn’t stop to rest on her laurels, because he still had the gun.
He fell back with a grunt and went down in a tangle. From that point, it was a minor effort to drive the sword through the calf of one leg. He howled like a demon.
“Asshole!” she screamed. Once more, she kicked between the legs, and once more, she missed, striking his inner thigh instead. That would leave a honey of a mark. Not that he would be able to appreciate it if she had her way.
He lifted the gun again, so she did the only thing she could think of and fell on him.
He stank of the rot in the city. He reeked of oil and sweat. He smelled of her, and that was the worst. She kneed at his gut, raising and lowing her leg in an attempt to hurt him in any way she could. Rage overrode her training. She should have been cold, methodical and precise in her strikes, but she wasn’t. She flailed, bit, scratched and punched every exposed inch. He jerked under the blows, but pulled himself together and bucked her off.
She went to the right, riding his momentum, catching his arm against the ground. With her full weight on his shoulder, she was able to keep the gun away, but he now had a free hand, and it came up at her face. She got an arm up to block the blow, but it still grazed her neck. He pulled back to piston into her again, so she rammed her forehead into his nose.
“Remember me?” she screamed as the cartilage shattered under her. Blood flew, but she didn’t let go, didn’t let her
self get distracted.
She had a hand free and drove it into his face, aiming for his eyes. It formed a claw as she ripped at his vision. He howled under her, so she used the distraction to roll over, grasp his gun hand, lift it and smash it to the ground. The revolver flew free and slid across the sidewalk.
She smiled at her victory as he clutched at his face.
She slid her hand along the ground until she grasped the hilt of her sword. Lifting it, she set it against his throat. That got his full attention.
“Don’t move,” she said, though the words were unnecessary.
She straddled his chest as she held the blade and tried to ignore the howls of the dead around her. She had seconds, if that, but it would be enough.
She leaned over as if to kiss him but instead extended her leg and drove it as hard as she could between his knees. He howled again as his balls were crushed.
She grinned. Even though every inch of her hurt, she reveled in his pain.
Then she took her blade, drove it into his lower abdomen and ripped it down. She might not have separated his cock from his body, but she was close enough.
The deaders took notice of the scuffle and stalked toward them.
She kept the blade at her side as she ran toward the stadium.
Behind her, his screams almost drowned out the howls of the dead.
The trip back was no fucking picnic. From the moment she left the building, she felt like a moving target. There were deaders everywhere, and they all seemed to be zeroing in on her. But she was not about to give up and roll over for one of those things to sample. She wasn’t a side of beef.
It was only a few blocks, but it seemed like ten miles. She tried to remain calm and move from doorway to doorway, but she couldn’t lose them. They seemed to sniff her out. It was probably the blood that covered her, most of which wasn’t even hers. She still felt the rapist’s stains on her hands; the way it gave her fingers a sticky feel on the hilt of her sword was almost reassuring. She would never get the thing cleaned now, and she contemplated just leaving it.
Among the Dead Book 2 (Among the Living) Page 20
