“If you had a lightsaber, which color would you pick?” Peter asks, moving to sit next to me.
“Orange, I guess.”
I can see him rolling his eyes, now that he’s closer. “Everyone wants red, green or blue. Why can’t you pick a normal color?”
“Because I like being different.”
He laughs and shakes his head. Again, I feel a smile forming on my lips. I like the sound of his laugh.
“This is cool, right?” He says after a few seconds of silence.
“What?”
“Us, being friends. It’s cool we can talk about this stuff. Helps forget what’s out there.”
I nod. We don’t say anything else. The sun finally sets. My head falls on his shoulder, and his hand finds mine in the darkness. He falls asleep, but I can’t. This ditch isn’t safe. Our food is still up there. We don’t have any water and his ankle won’t get better in days. We are going to be slow and loud now. Easy prey for animals and everything else. I look up, wondering if I can climb the vines alone, then I turn to Peter beside me. For a second, my heart races. I would leave him behind.
My eyes close, and I shake my head. I can't do that. But before I fall asleep a question won’t leave me: Why not?
The Hunter's Daughter V
December 18th, Friday, 12 am
I reach Redwood by midnight. The knuckles on my hand are white against the steering wheel. A heavy truck blocks the Main Street, so I steer my own car around it. The town that greets me is the same one I left behind. The buildings are, at least. There are no signs of the usual folks strolling around chitchatting in front of Old Joe’s or playing cards by the sidewalk while having a drink.
“You are too late. You should’ve taken the faster route back to town,” Father’s voice rings inside my head.
Fearing the worst, I park the truck behind the pizzeria, inside Old Joe’s open garage. He still kept the keys below a trashcan. With my bad shoulder and arm, I can’t walk around carrying heavy bags of weapons and ammunition, so I get out of the truck only with a SIG Sauer hidden in my back, below my T-shirt, and an AK-47 over my left shoulder. The assault rifle model has been used for close combat for years now and is the favorite weapon of guerrillas and warlords, because it’s relative cheap and durable.
Not my choice of weapon, but we need to speak the same language. These idiots have to see I’m not joking around.
Now, if I were an invading small army, where would I be right now? Holding hostages in an easy controllable place, while a few others raided the town for supplies. My best bet is the school. The basketball court, maybe, since it provides a way to intimidate people: take one from the crowd and shoot the person where everyone can see.
I approach the school by the back, climbing the fire escape stairs to the roof and surveying the building surroundings on higher ground. No patrols, no snipers perched on roofs. Sloppy. Maybe this is going to be easier than I thought.
The basketball court has a glass ceiling window that I use to peek inside the school. People move around between bedrolls; some are reading and playing cards by candlelight. Not exactly the scene I was expecting.
I climb down back to the ground, moving crouched to the back doors of the court. My eyes search for clues through a small gap between each door. It’s my ears that solve the mystery.
“Don’t worry, Frank. I know they are fine. They must be. Now rest, please. You need to be well-rested if things go wrong.”
My old principal’s voice is exactly as I remember: comforting, but strict when needed. I’m happy to see Mrs. Terrence is still alive and well.
There is a brief moment of hesitation, before my hands push the doors open. People turn around and stare at me. This is far from the first time I draw their attention. By now, I’m used to their whispers and badly hidden gasps. I stroll between bedrolls and surprised people to reach Mrs. Terrence.
“Lily? Oh my goodness. Is that really you?” She almost runs to me, a smile so big it makes me embarrassed. “Thank God! I’m so happy you are here.”
I nod, feeling my cheeks warm a little. I’m used to the stares, not people actually being happy to see me. “Hi, Mrs. Terrence. Everything all right?”
She looks at me from head to toe, eyes lingering on the AK-47. Under normal circumstances, I would expect a lecture about caution and not scaring off people. Today, I can see in her eyes she’s a bit disappointed, instead of shocked, by my carelessness in bringing an assault rifle to school.
“Yes. For now. Is this…?” She points at my gun. “Is this all you brought? Where’s your father?”
Her question chokes me from the inside. I try not to let my voice crack too much. “He’s not coming.” I adjust the rifle’s strap over my shoulder to hide my shaking hand.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps he’ll change his mind later.”
Mrs. Terrence was always nice. I liked her husband too. They used to come and visit Mom on Thanksgiving. Danny was too shy, apparently. More likely, he was too scared of the deer heads on our walls. The smell of Mrs. Terrence’s turkey and Mom’s apple pie used to mean happiness. Not anymore.
No matter how nice she was, she had no clue how my Father’s mind really works.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I mumble, before changing the subject. “I have a pickup truck full of guns and ammo back at Old Joe’s. I didn’t know how bad the situation was. Couldn’t risk it falling into the wrong hands.”
“Smart. You did well.”
“So, what is the situation exactly? Where’s Roger?”
She turns her gaze to the ground. I tense up. Mrs. Terrence never avoids anyone’s eyes.
Not Roger. It can’t be Roger.
“They aren’t back. Yet. I… It’s still early. I’m sure they are fine.”
He’s alive. Or was. I’m not too late. Maybe. I relax.
“Back from where?”
Mrs. Terrence explains their plan: grab some those infected people and use them to dispatch the forces before they even reach town. It’s an okay idea, but like any okay idea, it can go south quickly. Stepping inside enemy territory without knowing the lay of the land can end up being a huge mistake.
“How many men did Roger take?”
Her gaze runs around the court before she answers me. Not again. Mrs. Terrence what’s the matter with you today?
“Danny and your mother.”
“Why not Gutierrez and O’Neil?”
Mom did have some experiencing tracking, so that made sense. But Danny? What did he know about sneaking inside a college and close combat? Didn’t he hate guns?
“Roger thought if something happened… Someone with experience should stay to protect the town. We have few people who can shoot here, we need those two. And Danny did manage to kill a few zombies these past weeks.”
I bite my lip. It feels weird to have her call those crazy people “zombies.” I guess Danny was the one responsible for that. I don’t like it. Makes me think I’m a survivor in a horror flick. And I know those movies end badly.
“Okay. So it has been twelve hours since they left?”
She nods. This is bad. They should have come back by now.
“I’m going after them.” I place the truck’s keys on her hands. “Take the guns and arm these people. Place them all against the front windows, and your best shots should go to the roof with the long-range rifles, to keep watch. Block the back doors too. Put sentries on them. The gym teacher is alive?”
“Yes, but Lily—”
“Good, then he must have whistles. Distribute them to each room. At any sign of danger, tell people to blow it and warn the others. Communication is key here.”
“Lily—”
“Also, you can arm them with fire extinguishers, hammers, kitchen knives or even scissors. An invader in pain has no focus and can be tackled by a big group with no problem. Remind them to force the guy's gun upwards always, so a possible gunshot doesn’t hit them while they jump at him.”
Mrs. Terrence places a han
d on my right shoulder. My winter coat protects my skin from the contact, but I still flinch instinctively. “Lily, listen to me. All your suggestions are very reasonable, but I’m going with you.”
“No way—”
“I’m done waiting. I waited too much in my life. First with Tony, now with Danny. I can’t stand it anymore. Whatever happened, I need to know.”
I nod. No way I’m capable of saying no to this woman. I spent too much time inside her office to know that she doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “Okay. Do you have a gun?”
“Yes. Of course. A shotgun.”
“Where is it?”
Her eyes open wide. “Oh no. I forgot to keep it with me, haven’t I? Danny… He won’t be happy.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “He said to keep it with me at all times. It must’ve slipped my mind; I had so many things to do….”
Poor Mrs. Terrence. I never saw her so unfocused. Worrying about her son all night could break even her, I suppose.
“It’s okay. Just go grab it. We should leave as soon as possible.”
She nods, jogging to the corridor and disappearing from view. I’m suddenly very aware of the crowd watching me. They must have heard our conversation. A burly man that I vaguely remember as a father of the town’s only pothead stands in front of me. His arms are crossed and he looks at me like I’m nothing but a nuisance.
Beside him is Linda Fords, with her pointed nose up and familiar condescending smirk. This is the same woman who tried to put my father’s presence in town to a vote. A vote. I had to watch as people raised their hands to decide if we could keep our house. To this day, it still is the most humiliating experience of my whole life. I hate lawyers. I hate her.
“So your father is dead, then?” She asks, a step behind the man.
“No.”
“Then why isn’t he here?”
“He—”
“We let him stay. We pretended he wasn’t bat-shit crazy. And this how he repays us?”
My SIG Sauer is aimed at her in a blink of a second. Angry at Father or not, I can’t stand anyone badmouthing him. She widens her eyes, as the man beside her places himself between us. I clench my teeth.
“Don’t ever say anything about my father ever again. Hear me?”
A few months back I could have ignored them, laughed it off at her stupidity. I don’t need to do that anymore. There’s no more stupid social order to follow; no reason to take any more shit from these people.
“He should be here,” The man says, not afraid of my gun. “He owes us.”
“He doesn’t owe you nothing. And I’ll shoot you both right here if you don’t leave.” They don’t step away. I place my finger at the trigger. “Now.”
They mumble, but obey. People whisper, gasp, spreading chatter around me and filling my ears with the usual crap: ‘Crazy’, ‘Horrible’, ‘Fascist’, ‘Violent’, ‘Unstable’, ‘Dangerous’. Well, today I won’t keep my head down and listen to any of that.
I point my SIG Sauer toward the ceiling. The harsh sound echoes around the court and shuts them up for good.
“Yeah, I’m dangerous and crazy. But guess what? My father was right. He was right. And now you need me to save this town. Deal with that.”
I wait for Mrs. Terrence outside. It’s easy to forget how petty this town can be. If it wasn’t for Roger… Well, at least I have the satisfaction of shutting them up now. My ex-Principal opens the doors and is followed by Gutierrez and O’Neil, Roger’s deputies.
“Everything alright, Lily?” I nod to her. “Sorry, I took so long, I needed to find these two to help unload your truck and distribute the guns. Also, I had to tell the council where we are going.”
“Do they still waste time discussing if cream is actually white?”
She laughs, but I don’t join her. It wasn’t a joke. Everything is possible in this town.
Mrs. Terrence stops laughing and clears her throat at my lack of reaction. “No. They don’t. Not after our first zombie attack. They learned their lesson.”
The four of us walk by along Main Street. As we reach Old Joe’s Pizzeria and my truck, we hear the distant sound of cars approaching.
“Did Roger take any cars?” I ask Mrs. Terrence.
With widening eyes, she shakes her head.
“Get in. Now,” I tell them, hopping on the driver’s seat and turning the ignition key.
The Geek VIII
December 17th, Thursday, 10 pm
The cold barrel hurts the back of my neck. Red Star makes us march with our hands raised as we go back inside the Science building. Roger and I trade frowns, and I feel like my heart is clogging my throat.
I flinch and wince as our group marches around the corridors and the armed men shoot at anything that comes running toward us. Screams and bullet noises come from inside the barred doors. Red Star kicks and breaks our mismatched barriers and makes way for his followers to get in and kill any zombies. At each room, more soldiers rejoin Red Star, most tired and with some kind of injury. After he cleared all of them, he takes us outside.
The night is freezing, with strong cold winds and snow falling constantly.
“Kneel,” Red Star orders us.
With guns pointed at each of our heads, we don’t have much choice but to obey him. A man with a ninja star tattooed on his neck ties our hands with rope. My wrists hurt, but I don’t think they are open to critique on their knots not being comfortable enough.
“Okay, let’s have a roll call, shall we?” Red Star says in a loud voice, so everyone can hear him. “Let’s see how many of you losers managed to survive.”
Seven men and women stand in line, guns on their shoulders and backs straight. They all have tattoos and helmets decorated with weapons, food or animals that signal their names.
Ninja, Applepie, Eagle, Tomahawk, Taco, Lion, and Panther.
Red Star moves along the line, checking their conditions. He stops at a small tanned man with a smiling taco drawn onto his helmet. He’s sweating and fidgets the closer his leader gets.
“Show me your arms, Taco. I ain’t got all night and you know the drill.”
“Boss, please… I’m….”
Red Star shoves the gun inside the man’s mouth. “Don’t talk, Taco. Just fucking do what I tell you to do.”
Nobody moves, nobody even looks at the scene in front of me. They all pretend nothing is happening. Roger and Margaret are too busy trying to break out of the bonds without drawing attention. I don’t even bother. I have no clue how to do it. If I try, I bet I’ll ruin everyone’s chances by being clumsy and obvious.
Taco pulls up his uniform’s sleeves and shows it to Red Star. The man laughs and removes the gun from the guy’s mouth. Taco’s left arm is full of lumps and a bite mark. Red Star appears to know what that means.
“Ah, Taco, you got yourself bitten, haven’t you? Tsk.”
“I’m sorry, boss. I was trying to save Tortilla.”
I can’t help it, I let out a laugh. I feel a bit dirty for doing it, but come on: Taco and Tortilla?
“What’s so funny, nerd?” Red Star turns to me, walking in my direction.
“Well, they are both named after Mexican food. Is just… A taco trying to save a tortilla. That’s just funny, sorry.”
“They were married, you punk,” Applepie declares.
I try everything to stop it, but it’s too late, and I snort loudly. Roger frowns at me, shaking his head slightly. He thinks I’m drawing too much attention to myself. He’s probably right, because Red Star lowers himself to face me directly. He’s smiling.
“I’m glad you enjoy my choice of names. Not everyone appreciates my humor. I like you little guy.”
“Enough to let me go?” I force a smile.
He hits me with the back of his gun. It stings and blood oozes over my right eye.
“No,” Red Star says. “So shut the fuck up.”
The leader moves back to face Taco. The poor guy is still shaking in his boots.
&n
bsp; “Okay, Taco. Here’s the thing. You are going to turn pretty soon. Become a zombie and all that. But don’t worry, I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re not?”
He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Of course not. We’re family after all. And family takes care of each other.”
“Thank you, boss.”
Red Star takes a few steps back. “Ninja, Tomahawk, do me a favor and hold Taco down.”
There’s a second of hesitation, but in the end they do what he says. Taco shakes his head and fidgets, confused at what’s going to happen. I’m not sure myself.
Both men force Taco on his knees and hold his arms. Red Star takes Ninja’s samurai sword from his belt and unsheathes the blade. He licks the metal with a smile. Maybe this is some sort of ritual before this crazy guy gives Taco a fitting end. Or something. Decapitation, if quick, isn’t the worse way to go.
It soon becomes clear that Red Star doesn’t mean to end Taco’s suffering. At all.
“No, please no—”
The sword buries itself deep into Taco’s right shoulder. His screams reach my ears as warm blood splatters over my face. The arm is still attached to Taco’s body, so Red Star slices it off again and again. Somewhere between the third slice, yells of mercy, and muscles being ripped apart, Taco loses consciousness. Red Star chops his left shoulder in fewer hits, blood flowing freely from both sides. The arms are discarded over the ground while the body falls on its face. I taste bile coming up my throat.
I stare, breathless and heart accelerating, at Taco’s form, his left shoulder a mess of nerves and blood vessels. My eyes water a little. We are going to die, painfully and horribly. Jesus… This is bad.
A pool of blood forms around Taco, reaching me. Red Star instructs Ninja and the other man to tie the soon-to-be zombie in chains by the waist. He takes the other end of the chain into his hands. I have a bad feeling about this. A very horrible feeling.
“Now, where was I? Oh, right.” Red Star strides in front of Roger. “Time for a little payback.”
He hits my friend right in the face with his gun. Roger grunts and blood comes out of his nose.
Those Who Remain (Book 2) Page 4
