Jackson Kidd (Book 1): Surviving

by West, Mark

  ‘Fire!’

  The sound of gunfire fills the room. I don’t hesitate, lining up my first target and shooting. I hit a middle-age man in aisle five, who unexpectedly stops to investigate something beside him. The projectile opens his skull, spraying bone and flesh onto the confectionery. He topples to the floor.

  A small girl is coming up behind him. I pump the rifle, flicking out the dead round and resighting her in my crosshairs before pulling the trigger. The bullet rips through the air and hits the girl between the neck and shoulder, leaving a gaping hole the size of an orange. Her shoulder drops, connecting tissue severed, but she doesn’t go down and continues to stumble forward in a blind rage.

  ‘Dammit!’

  I eject the round and slam my gun back down on the railing. It pings back at me. I take aim once more. I can see the girl is bleeding out; a thick trail of soup-like blood leaking from her shoulder. She screams out and I freeze for a brief second, remembering this was once someone’s kid. But I can’t think like that. I shake the unwanted thought away, place my finger on the trigger and squeeze, dropping her to the floor like a sack of potatoes as her tiny head explodes. The sight makes me feel sick. But it’s either them or me, and I choose me over them.

  I scan for another Infected and spot a woman at this end of aisle seven, closing in on the checkout where Doug is hiding. I reload and quickly fire, disintegrating her knee, bending it backwards like a floppy toy. She crumples, arms falling forward in attempt to brace her body, and slaps the concrete hard. She attempts to stand once again on the rubber leg, but fails, giving up and crawling. An acorn-sized hole appears in her eye socket. Her head snaps back then falls forward into the lap of her arms. I hadn’t taken the shot. I peer down to see Doug lowering his rifle.

  Over the next few minutes I kill another three Infected. I’m intrigued by the last guy. Nothing about his appearance seems strange, but it is the way he acts. Other infected walk in a straight line, appearing unaware of their surroundings or the danger they are in. He is different. It is as if he is able to anticipate my attack. Every time I line up a shot, he moves sideways at the last moment, ducking my bullets. Eventually I get a lucky break, clipping his leg and sending him to the ground.

  I’m brought back to reality by Rohan’s screaming. I peer down just in time to see him jump onto the counter, swinging his machete furiously at an approaching woman. He slices her left arm, splitting it open like an overcooked hotdog, before bringing the machete back to nestle next to his side. Seconds later he explodes again, drawing the blade across the woman’s neck and taking her head clean off. Her head tumbles backwards onto the floor, but her body remains standing. Rohan lowers his machete and raises his leg, kicking the body backwards like a rugby bag, so that it falls to the floor.

  He turns his head to see another man right next to him, but doesn’t falter, swinging his blade back around his body in a pirouette motion and chopping a lunging hand clean off. Blood shoots from the decapitated limb, squirting over Rohan’s face like a water pistol. The unexpected splatter seems to blind him and he stops, wiping furiously away at his goggles with the sleeve of his arm.

  I swing my rifle along the rail and peer through the crosshairs, but struggle to gain a good line of site with the frantic movement going on. The man suddenly lunges with his other arm, clamping tight onto Rohan’s left leg. He yells in fright and tears his goggles off. I’m out of time and need to take a shot quickly before it’s game over. I take in one last breath, steady my aim and fire. The side of the man’s face vanishes, and his hand releases its grip on Rohan’s leg. I close my eyes for a second and draw in air through my nose. I did it.

  Confused, Rohan kicks at the body before spinning around a few times and spotting me, my rifle still pointing in his direction. He smiles and gives me the thumbs up. A brief smile touches my face. I nod twice and turn my attention to the others.

  Lincoln is now standing on the counter too; the time for hiding is now over. Three kids are approaching him: a girl with a boy on either side of her. They look to be in their early teens. I watch him take a quick shot at the boy on the left. The bullet rips a small hole in his chest before blasting out the back and hitting the shelving behind with a loud clang. The boy stumbles so that he’s a couple of steps behind the others, but regains his balance and walks forward again.

  Lincoln swings his rifle around, holding tight to the muzzle and points the hard timber butt towards the trio. He jerks the gun backwards before snapping it forward with a hard jab onto the girl’s face. The cartilage and bone crumple inwards, and a burst of blood squirts out. Lincoln pulls the gun back, striking her in the face once again with no mercy, this time causing her to fall back onto the ground. She doesn’t seem dead, but I doubt she is getting up any time soon. Her mutilated face peers up at the ceiling and her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.

  The second boy pounces, grabbing at Lincoln’s leg and pulling it towards his gaping mouth. Once again I curse myself for just watching, but know I don’t have a shot. I can see Lincoln’s face go white in fear for a second before he snaps back into action. He pulls his hunting knife from his belt and stabs it into the boy’s left ear with a roar, causing the boy to release his grip. Lincoln then lifts his leg and swiftly kicks the boy to the ground where he lands next to the gasping girl, knife still embedded deep within his skull.

  I can see the first boy approaching again, so I bring up my scope, lining his head with my crosshairs and fire. His head flicks back, and he drops to the floor just as quickly as he came.

  Lincoln doesn’t react to my kill; his attention is on reloading his rifle. He jumps to the floor next to the girl when he is done. He pushes the muzzle to her face until it’s only centimetres away. I can see his lips mumble something before he fires, splitting her head open and ending the attack from the trio of teens.

  ‘Runner!’ Doug screams.

  He is pointing towards the back of the store, where I can just make out a large man, around six foot three, charging towards us. His shirt is torn from side to side revealing curly chest hair, and his pants are too small for his massive body, restricting his movement. If he wasn’t so large, he may have been even faster. But his bulging stomach is holding him back.

  I call out to the others, ‘Shoot him!’ and point my rifle in his direction.

  Doug opens fire at the man, while Lincoln and Rohan continue their assault on the remaining Infected. Bullets spray in the man’s direction hitting him across the chest and arms, but it doesn’t slow him down as he heads for Rohan. Pings and rattles echo around as the bullets hit random objects in the store. I fire a few more times, but fail to land a good shot. I find his erratic movements impossible to judge as he zig-zags down the aisle.

  Finally, a bullet hits his left temple, taking a small handful of flesh from the corner of his head. I expect him to fall, but instead he leans sideways, staggers for a moment, regains his stride and picks up the pace. This guy is a machine.

  Rohan is standing over another dead woman near the front of his counter, oblivious to the approaching man who is now only a few metres away.

  ‘Look out!’ Doug screams, fumbling with his gun. But I know it’s too late.

  Rohan’s head turns, seconds before the man crash tackles him to the ground. The impact has so much force behind it that it sends the pair sliding along the polished floor.

  ‘Holy shit!’ a voice cries out.

  I watch in horror as the man begins pushing himself off the ground, exposing Rohan lying on the ground beneath his massive frame. Rohan’s eyes are closed, and I’m not sure if he is dead or unconscious.

  The man raises his arms and his chest bulges. He slowly opens his mouth. I hold my breath, knowing what is about to happen. I quickly line the man up again in my crosshairs and pull the trigger. Nothing happens; I’m out of ammunition.

  The man leans in close to Rohan’s face and I don’t know if I have time to reload, but try anyway. I stuff my gun under my arm, unclip the ma
gazine and reach deep into my pocket to pull out a few loose rounds. I fumble with the bullets, shaking in a panic as I lock them into the magazine, one after the other. I look down to see the man has stopped moving, his body hovering over Rohan’s. Why isn’t he attacking him?

  He shifts his body slightly and swivels round to look up in my direction. Cold chills run down my spine as our eyes lock, freezing time around me. I’m unable to move, his eyes holding my body captive in a hypnotic prison. I don’t know what’s going on. I scream in my mind to lift my gun and shoot, but nothing is working. Not again, I think, remembering when I froze in the hardware store.

  His chin trembles and his lips part. His tongue flicks out like a lizard. Is he about to say something? And then his head explodes into tiny fragments, scattering along the floor like marbles. I feel a rush of air enter my lungs as I take a deep breath, my body again under my control. The man flops back over Rohan and I peer across to see Lincoln standing a few metres from them, lowering his rifle with a harsh look of satisfaction on his face.

  Doug breaks the silence that lingers through the store now the rest of the Infected are dead. ‘Rohan!’ He scrambles over the front counter and rushes towards him. Lincoln drops his rifle and follows.

  I swing my rifle over my shoulder and race down the ladder. I can feel my heart thumping and feel slightly giddy from the sudden rush of adrenaline thick and strong in my veins.

  ‘I need help guys! This bloke is bloody heavy!’ Lincoln grunts, pushing against the man’s side.

  I kneel beside him, hands pressing into the bloated man and I can feel my fingers sink deep into the fat until I hit a solid foundation.

  ‘Ready?’ Lincoln asks, holding tightly onto the guy’s shoulder.

  I nod. ‘Ready.’

  ‘Okay, on three. One, two, three!’

  We pull and push at the man until momentum starts to work in our favour and he rolls to one side, eventually flopping over onto his back. Air hisses though his gaping wounds as his lungs compress for the final time. With the release of the dead weight, I notice Rohan’s eyes start to twitch. Lincoln leans quickly over, shaking his body violently trying to wake him up. ‘Rohan? Are you alright?’

  His body jiggles, and a faint groan comes from his lips. We wait patiently for another minute before his legs start to slide across the ground. He groans some more, words hardly forming a sentence. I slide behind him and help pull him into a seated position. I feel a small welt starting to form to the back of his head. His body feels warm to touch and I hope he isn’t beginning to burn with fever, but think it’s just perhaps the heat from the other man.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I ask, scanning his body for any more signs of wounds, but can’t see any.

  Rohan’s eyes open and he brings his hands to his face and rubs gently. His goggles are lying behind him, the gun and machete to one side. He is covered from head to toe in wet blood that stains his skin and clothes like ink.

  ‘Dammit, my head hurts,’ Rohan moans. ‘Can you help me to my feet?’

  Lincoln and I grab an arm each and pull him to his feet. His legs start to shake at first and I steady him with my body while he regains his balance.

  Lincoln slaps him unexpectedly on the back. ‘You were hit by a running Infected mate.’

  He slips out two cigarettes from his top pocket and places one in his mouth. He offers the other to Rohan. Rohan takes the smoke and Lincoln pulls out a small hip flask and unscrews the top.

  ‘Take a sip of this, it will put hairs on your chest.’

  Rohan accepts the bottle with no hesitation and places it to his mouth, throwing his head back to take a deep swig. His face immediately contorts, eyes squinting as he swallows.

  ‘Damn.’ His face crinkles some more, a sour expression filling his eyes. ‘That’s strong. What is it?’

  Lincoln winks. ‘It should be. It’s forty-year-old bourbon mixed with a hint of lemon.’

  Rohan takes another sip before handing the flask back. I watch as he discovers the lump on the back of his head and begins lightly touching it.

  ‘My head’s throbbing. I think I have a lump.’

  ‘Are you injured anywhere else? There’s a lot of blood on you.’ I watch him check the rest of his exposed skin, but blood is everywhere and I doubt he can tell if it’s his.

  ‘Just my head. I’m sure I’d have felt pain from any bites by now.’ He peers down at his clothes. ‘Looks like I’ll need some new clothes. I’m covered.’

  He brushes away a few clumps of flesh from his shirt and pants and I look away in disgust. I feel a little nauseous from all the blood. I turn to Lincoln.

  ‘Did you notice anything strange about that Infected. Or any others, for that matter?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you mean, what do I mean? Well, for starters, that guy was bloody running. And what about the way he stopped and peered up at me before you shot him? It was like he was about to say something to me.’

  ‘When you put it like that, that was kind of strange.’ He chuckles at Rohan’s antics as he flicks away a bit of skin with exaggerated movements.

  ‘Kind of strange?’ I feel my frustration growing. He isn’t paying attention to anything I’m saying, because he is too busy watching Rohan. I need him to concentrate on the bigger picture. I shove him, perhaps a little too hard, in attempt to gain his full attention, and he has to put a foot out to stop himself from tripping over. I can see annoyance in his eyes, but I don’t care because he is now listening to me. I glare intently to make my point.

  ‘If they start to run like that we are in trouble and—’ I’m interrupted by the sound of rolling wheels.

  ‘Hate to wake up the reunion party guys, but we need to load up and get the hell out of here.’ Doug is pushing an empty trolley in my direction. ‘There are a few Infected out the front, but I don’t believe they have noticed us yet.’

  ‘Let’s load up then.’ I give up on my previous conversation and roll another trolley towards Rohan. ‘You good?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be right. Might go and get something for my head first.’

  Lincoln begins spinning his finger in the air like a helicopter blade. ‘Let’s split up then, and get going.’

  Chapter 19

  HATE

  Amy takes a few steps along the deck and peers between the gaps. ‘Joseph! Joseph! Are you under there?’ She stamps her feet but there is no reply.

  Piper slowly lifts her head. ‘I hope he’s okay.’ She sniffs, wiping at the snot that runs from her nose.

  Amy stomps along the deck while calling out some more. ‘Joseph! Joseph!’ Again, there is no answer. ‘We need to check under the house.’

  ‘I need to get some more bullets in case he’s turned. Give me a few seconds.’ Victoria runs back into the house, bolting into the bedroom and ripping open a drawer. She does a quick scan. Behind a flashlight is a small box of ammo. She grabs both and stuffs them into her pocket before heading back outside where the girls are waiting for her by the hatch.

  Amy approaches the hatch with caution. ‘I suggest you stand back, Victoria, while someone opens the hatch. Just in case something decides to poke it’s head out.’

  Piper’s arm shoots up. ‘I’ll open the door.’ The arm quivers in the air, but there’s determination on her face. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘I’ll shine that torch you’re holding, once its open,’ Amy says.

  ‘Okay.’ Victoria nods, handing over the yellow flashlight. ‘I guess I’ll be ready with the gun then.’

  Piper kneels on one side of the hatch and then reaches out and grabs the latch. Amy kneels on the other side, torch held tightly, while Victoria crouches back a few metres behind, gun pointing in the direction of the hatch cover.

  Piper glances at Amy and then Victoria. ‘Ready?’

  Amy nods. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Me too.’ Victoria clicks the safety off. There is no way in telling what lies under there. ‘Open the door.’
/>
  Piper begins to slowly count down, ‘Three … Two … One.’

  In one quick motion she flicks the latch up, pulls open the cover and moves back, revealing a void of darkness. Faint dots of yellow and white light flicker between the rocks that enclose the area, making it seem like a starry night sky. But it is too dark for Victoria to see anything, so she shuffles forward a little.

  ‘Joseph could be anywhere in there.’ She peers through the scope.

  Amy clicks on the torch, sending a beam of white light through the hole. It shows metal piers, but no person.

  ‘I can’t see him,’ she says, shining the glowing light around.

  Intrigued, Piper begins to creep back towards the hole to investigate. Victoria shuffles forward some more, gun still poised and ready to fire.

  ‘He has to be in there. I watched him run in,’ Piper says, turning to Victoria. ‘Is there another exit under here?’

  Victoria lowers the rifle, scanning the surrounding rock wall to the subfloor. ‘I don’t believe so. The entire area seems to have been blocked off by rocks.’

  Amy continues moving the light back and forth until Piper grabs her arm and points the light at the back left-hand corner.

  ‘Wait.’ Piper’s eyes light up. ‘What’s that?’

  She begins moving Amy’s arm slowly back until it points directly at a dark shadow.

  ‘What is it?’ Victoria asks.

  ‘I think it’s—’

  A distant growl, like an injured animal, comes from the corner.

  ‘Joseph?’ Victoria calls out softly.

  ‘Look. In the dirt. It’s the gun.’ Piper directs the light down, casting a beam over the end of a dusty barrel.

  There’s another growl. This time it rumbles a little louder and deeper than before. Amy pulls at her arm and lifts the torch back up, the light stretched as far as it can reach, to reveal a human figure lying in the dirt. The girls gasp when they see Joseph facing them. Concerned, Piper shoves Victoria and Amy out of the way.