Nation Undead (Book 1): Neighbors

by Ford, Paul Z.

  Nothing happened on their short trek. They stood at the bottom of the six-foot concrete slope in the shadow of the drain. Kahn and Kimble leaned into the heavy welded metal that served as a grate, blocking entry into the building’s water drain. Ash looked carefully before scrambling up the steep, smooth surface and placing himself quietly in front of the fence. He pulled the small cutters out of his cargo pocket and leaned his rifle against the fence.

  TWANG!

  They each jumped at the loud noise the cutters made as it cut through the thin metal. Kimble and Kahn each raised their rifles, as if firing from the low ground of the ditch would help in case they were discovered. The flaw in their plan was apparent, but at this point Kahn felt they had to continue. If they were detected, escaping along the ditch back to the woods would be suicide.

  He caught Ash’s panicked gaze and gave him the “hurry up” gesture. The hair on his neck stood up as Ash continued to rapidly cut the fence in a long line so they could enter. Kimble was the obvious problem with his size requiring the hole to be quite large. Ash worked on it from bottom to top.

  TWANG! TWANG! TWANG!

  Each cut cried out into the abandoned darkness. No one came. After a few minutes of cutting Ash replaced the tool in his cargo pocket and pulled the opening aside, stepping in and pulling his rifle behind him. Kahn stepped out and scrambled up the hill. Then he reached back and helped the struggling Kimble make it onto the small grass space in front of the fence. Kahn slipped into the fence and then did the same to help Kimble through the tight gap. He found Ash kneeling behind the first car in the lot, carbine at the ready, and the two men joined him.

  “Now what?” Ash hissed. “I can’t see the car.”

  “We have to search down this way,” Kahn whispered. He led the way, crouching and moving along the rear of the parked cars. There were about twelve down this row, and they could see another line of vehicles across the lot. When they reached the end, they still hadn’t found the right car. The light of dawn was approaching and all three men felt they were exposed in the open lot.

  “There!” Ash pointed to the other side of the lot. Kahn followed his finger and saw the little SUV with the Boomstick logo on the hood. It was parked in the middle, facing the inside of the lot, with a straight path to the front gate. They all smiled.

  “Okay, we go straight across one by one. Stay low and fast. Hide behind that black truck on the end. I’ll go last and open the gate as I run by so we can drive right out. Ready?” Kahn whispered the hasty plan to the group. Kimble nodded and shifted his large frame into position. He looked around the corner of the car briefly. Seeing nothing, he went. Kahn could hear the slight movement of his equipment and clothing as he got farther across the dark lot. He disappeared into the shadows of the target truck. Kahn grabbed Ash’s shoulder and smiled. Then he tapped him lightly and nodded. Ash returned the smile and then mirrored Kimble’s trail, also disappearing into the dark recess of the vehicle.

  Kahn took a nervous breath. He peered out. No change in the situation besides the waning darkness. They were a matter of seconds from their goal. He went without further hesitation to perform his task. He slung his rifle over his shoulder so both hands would be free. Then he quickly moved halfway between his hiding place and his companions and approached the gate. There was no lock, as Kimble told them on the drive. The way the Neighbors rigged it up, it only opened from the inside by lifting one latch and then moving a locking lever out of the way. Kahn fumbled with the mechanism, but then got it out of the way. He was able to lift both of the locking pins up into their open position, freeing the large double gate from the concrete. He left it in place, planning to use the SUV to push it open momentarily.

  A loud noise startled Kahn and he spun on the balls of his feet to face the building. Another loud noise banged as a large floodlight flashed into existence, then another, as he covered his eyes. The entry doors of the factory opened and his eyes slowly adjusted to several backlit figures walking his direction. He could see several were armed with rifles, while his own was still strapped to his back. He was exposed and trapped in the open air.

  “Well, what do we have here?” boomed the unmistakable voice of Llewelyn Wither.

  Chapter 22

  Trapped

  Hal Kahn kneeled on the concrete of the parking lot, disarmed of both his senses and his weaponry. He stared at the ground, now lit by the crowning light of dawn, and waited quietly as his captors spoke with their leader. It hadn’t taken the Neighbors much effort to disarm the three frightened invaders and line them up, on their knees, on the pavement facing the building. Kahn looked to his left at Ash and Kimble, trying to think of a way the three men could get out of this. Ash bowed his head and stared at the hard ground. Kimble had his head up but carried a blank expression. Kahn thought he might be watching their captors. Plotting. But it was just as likely he was frightened for himself and his new Assyrian friends.

  Llewelyn spoke in hushed tones with two of the young men who had assaulted Kahn in the Wal-Mart parking lot. He looked eerily calm as he discussed what Kahn assumed would be their execution. As easily as he ordered the men to kill Kahn the morning before, in public, in front of a crowd, today on their turf was likely to be brutal.

  He looked up at their captors. Two men stood to either side of the lineup. They held military-style assault rifles loosely at the ready. Several more stood between them and the building, watching and waiting for the word of their leader. Llewelyn was about 20 feet away, he had come no closer and spoken no more to them since their discovery fifteen or so minutes ago. He brushed his wispy, reddish-gray hair to the side with one hand as he spoke with a wide grin to his two subordinates. As they spoke, a man rushed out of the building with a leather pistol belt and brought it to Llewelyn. He seemed to thank the man, his voice was just out of reach of Kahn and the others, and swung the belt around his body. It held a large semi-automatic pistol and several spare magazines in streamlined holders around his waist. The other two men each had pistols in the backs of their pants, tucked in above billowy button-up shirts. As Kahn watched, Llewelyn looked intently in their direction and then pointed to Ash, in the middle. They came together in a parallel line to their prisoners and approached.

  “Llewelyn,” Kimble said softly, in a gentle voice. Almost pleading. “Llewelyn, where’s Griffin? Did something happen to him yesterday?” Kahn flinched at Kimble’s probing question to this dangerous man.

  A flash of anger darkened Llewelyn’s face for a moment before he regained composure. “Well, Mr. Kimble. I must admit I am surprised to see you here with these two.” He waggled a finger toward the other bowing men in front of him. “You don’t belong with them. I thought you were a good Neighbor. But that doesn’t answer your question, does it? What was your question again?” He held his hand up to his ear, mocking the seriousness of the query. With his other hand he reached down, deliberately in view, and unsnapped the holster of his pistol.

  “No disrespect intended, sir. I was just concerned was all.”

  “What was your question, boy?” Llewelyn’s expression turned serious. He drew out the pistol from its space at his hip. Kahn could see it was a large gun, .50 caliber desert eagle type, impractical outside of anything but incredibly close range.

  “Sir, Mr. Wither, please,” Kimble pleaded. Ash and Kahn watched silently.

  “Don’t beg me, son. You’re a big boy, don’t cry at me. To answer your question, my son Griffin is dead. I put a bullet through his brain this morning.” He waved the oversized gun in the air to punctuate his point.

  Kimble’s head drooped and he mumbled something that could have been I’m sorry or oh shit under his breath. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and his chest heaved with effort. Kahn noticed his lungs were burning and he exhaled his held breath and drew another in a loud gasp. Llewelyn heard Kahn’s shaky breath and turned his attention away from Kimble. He turned and addressed his followers.

  “This man is the same terrorist that
exposed our weakness yesterday. Don’t think I forgot you. This man tried to take advantage of our kindness toward our Neighbors, stole from us, and brutally sent his diseased attackers into our peaceful gathering! This is the way of the Muslim terrorist, this is not a peaceful religion, they seek to destroy our values. And you see, he doesn’t work alone. He’s part of a whole cell of Islamic terrorists living right here among us.” Llewelyn jabbed his free hand toward Ash, implicating the two men in the undead attack from the day before.

  “I wasn’t even there. I had nothing to do with your guy getting killed,” Ash spat in retort. He kept his eyes low to the ground. “What happened yesterday wasn’t his fault. He was almost killed by those things too. Kimble helped him get away, but he didn’t steal anything from you. It was a misunderstanding. We’re all in this together. Just let us go.” He waited for a moment before slowly looking up at Llewelyn, bravely confronting and holding his gaze. “We’re not even Muslim, you asshole.”

  “Lies!”

  BAM!

  Before Kahn knew what was happening, Llewelyn raised the heavy weapon and pulled the trigger. Kahn flinched as warm blood hit him across his face. He pinched his eyes closed and heard, or felt, the impact of Ash’s body hitting the concrete.

  He instinctively used his hands to wipe the blood and tissue away from his wet face. He looked at his hands and saw the bright red blood of his brother-in-law. Slowly, he allowed the body to come into focus as his eyes and ears recovered from the reverberating blast. Ash’s corpse lay prone and still with his arms splayed down his side. Most of his head was gone, disintegrated by Llewelyn’s bullet. What remained looked crushed or flattened against the red ground. Ash’s heart pumped the last of his blood onto the growing stain around his body. Kahn clenched his fists, squeezing droplets of Ash’s blood out of his fingers and adding to the red stains on his shirt and pants. The two guards held their rifles up, pointed at each of the remaining men’s heads at a range that would not miss. Kimble looked in shock at the body, covered in gore and soaked with blood from the traumatic execution.

  Llewelyn took a step back, avoiding the puddle of slick blood growing at his feet, and turned to the rest of his men.

  “Okay, let’s go. Bring Kimble inside.” He turned away as the guards stepped toward the bulky, kneeling man. Two grabbed his armpits and helped him rise, a head above any of them, and two kept their rifles raised as the group walked toward the front door. Kahn’s eyes watered and he fell to all fours with a jerking sob. He felt tears running down his face, mixing with Ash’s blood and dripping onto the ground in front of him. His vision blurred, and he stepped his hands from side to side on the gray surface. His left hand came down in the warm slick of blood staining the ground and he pulled it away and wiped it on his pants, trying to wash away the gory sight.

  “Why?” he sobbed. “He didn’t do anything!” He looked up at Llewelyn’s knees. The man bent down and looked in Kahn’s face.

  “Don’t worry, we have something we’ve been working on for you. You ain’t getting off so easy. Take him.” He stood and gestured toward the two young men. Llewelyn walked away, stomping on the concrete with each step, unburdened by his actions. He followed Kimble’s escorts into the front doors.

  Kahn’s two assailants stood over him with their pistols drawn and pointed at him. He kept still, heavy on his knees, heaving and suffering through hot tears. Numbness crept into his mind, trying not to picture his inevitable death at the hands of these followers. His wife came to mind and he choked and sobbed over her brother’s senseless execution.

  “C’mon, let’s go. Get up,” one of the men spoke, coming close to Kahn’s face with the deadly end of the pistol. “Get the fuck up!” The man swung his pistol at Kahn’s face, catching him high on the cheekbone and knocking him to the ground. Kahn felt around in a daze, feeling his own blood spring from the blinding pain and run down his chin and neck. He stayed in place, reeling with both physical pain and mental numbness.

  Rough hands grabbed his clothing and pulled him up. He first shakily came to his knees before being forced to his feet. His eyes rolled and he caught glimpses of his surroundings. The guards on the roof with wood stocks and scopes on their rifles. The line of cars, including the SUV that was their misguided objective. Red streaks and footprints, desecrating the secure area of their home. He was pushed and prodded, struck, and dragged by the arm. He vaguely heard and saw the gate being opened, but only in his periphery. He was unfocused and unable to do anything but follow blindly.

  The three men, prisoner and executioners, walked straight into the divided, four-lane highway. The road sloped up toward the middle, and then back down again after the overgrown grassy median. Kahn stumbled and tried to regain focus. His face was swelling and continued to bleed. So he focused on the pain and tried to will himself out of shock. Slowly, as they crossed the road, his senses came back. His resignation began to fade as his intelligent mind started to look for weaknesses, maybe some way to fight back or escape. He looked down each side of the road, seeing scattered cars but no signs of life.

  Ahead was a yellow stucco building with a dilapidated sign advertising “Mexican Café” to motorists. Kahn didn’t recognize this place, a typical small restaurant common all around the city. The building was dark with no cars. The two men dragged Kahn away from the entrance and around to the side. A small white and orange construction vehicle was parked here, the kind used to move small plots of dirt. Or dig holes. As they passed it Kahn detected a rotten odor. It smelled like decaying animal and it was wet and clung to the cool, morning air. As they came around to the rear of the restaurant, Kahn saw their destination.

  It was a pit. Dug deliberately into the fleshy earth behind the building, and the source of the stench. Rotten flesh crawled and moved inside the hole, and the two men dragged Kahn toward it. They cursed and struggled with him as he came to the rim of the abyss.

  He didn’t know if it was a trap, or something they stocked like a macabre fishing hole, but the fifteen-foot-long hole contained at least a dozen of the dead. They clawed and reached up to the edge, but only dug into the soft clay. Agitated growls emanated from their dead lungs as they detected live flesh nearby. Kahn’s two guards brought him within inches of the edge, goading him with the gruesome and certain death to come.

  “No quick death for you! You’ll be eating the next guy!”

  One laughed slightly and Kahn turned to him, toward the left, and peered at him through his swollen eye on that side. The young man was holding Kahn with his right side and had his pistol in his left hand. It was loose and facing the ground. Kahn looked and saw his finger was off the trigger.

  Seeing an opportunity, Kahn dropped to one knee and tried to act limp and helpless. He hoped the left hand of his target was not dominant as he decided on an offensive move. As he predicted, the man moved over him and attempted to pull Kahn back upright. Kahn resisted and waited until he felt his captor was pulling hard enough for the idea to work. Then, Kahn quickly reversed his momentum and sprung his legs up and out, in the direction of the goon on the left.

  Both were caught off guard. The man on the right, not targeted by Kahn, stumbled backwards and flailed his arms wildly to catch his balance. He inadvertently flung his pistol in the air as he fell onto his backside in the dirt. Kahn succeeded in catching the guard on the left, the top of his head struck the bottom of the guard’s chin and his head snapped up into the air. Kahn scrambled, thankful they didn’t secure his hands, as the dazed assailant fell onto his back. Kahn jumped over him with screaming muscles and grabbed for the pistol. The man grasped at Kahn’s body but failed to secure his grip in the madness. Kahn kicked and crawled over him and reached for a solid grip on the loaded gun.

  He spun in a blind panic onto his back, lying on the hard ground. He found the second guard coming to his feet and searching for his weapon. Kahn sighted him and pulled the trigger in rapid succession. His body flinched and his arms reached toward the sky as the rounds struck h
im. He fell limp to the ground.

  The second man recovered from his brief daze and began to strike at the armed prisoner. Kahn was laying across the assailant’s legs and each blow struck him in the stomach, the crotch, or his weakly defending arm. He tried to swing the pistol over but the man knocked away his grip. They both scrambled for footing and began a clumsy, rolling wrestle across the hard ground. Kahn ended up on top and tried to punch and hit while still defending against heavy blows to his face and neck. They rolled again and Kahn was on bottom, trying to hold his fists to his face for defense. The pistol was gone, and it was all he could do to keep the fury of blows at bay.

  He raised his knees and tried to push away the violent attack. The guard pulled back for a moment and began a movement to stand and gain ground. Kahn bent his knees and quickly kicked the assailant in the center of his chest with both coiled legs. The guard doubled over and his feet flew from under him as he grabbed at his injured midsection.

  Kahn watched as his opponent lost his footing and fell. His body, however, disappeared from sight and Kahn was suddenly alone on the battleground. Confused and exhausted, he struggled onto his elbows and looked forward for any sign of the other man.

  He heard exhales of hungry breath and the muffled sound of struggling. He rolled onto all fours and crawled carefully forward, toward the precipice and peered over to confirm his suspicion. There was a starving frenzy of activity, kicking up dirt and blood as the creatures tore into the hapless man on the floor of the manmade fissure. Kahn collapsed to the side, tired from effort and tired of the gore and death of the morning.

  He cried. He cried thinking of Ash, lying dead on the ground. He cried for his wife and son, starving and surely sick with worry. He imagined having to tell Aisha about Ash, and he couldn’t stomach the details enough to imagine saying them out loud. He covered his face with his hands and cried for himself. He waited for relief from his pain, listening to the sounds of the dead.