Infected Freaks (Book 2): The Echo of Decay

by Jason Borrego

  A sudden crash of thunder brought Sam to a scramble and the buzzing sound that followed brought Scott out from under the bus in a straight shot toward a standing fence encircling the school. He scooted around a bend of trees and dug through a large opening under the fence and continued on toward a Dumpster. Sam was amazed at how fast she followed. It had to be the mounting fear.

  Her body was close to his. She could feel his heart working overtime. Touching the surface of his shirt, it felt rough and thin. He turned back and glared at her, baring his teeth.

  “Once we get inside, it’ll be dark. Whatever you do, don’t turn on any light.”

  She peeled her hand off his back and nodded. She knew about the light and the danger it brought. Panic was not an option. Survival followed the swift and smooth thinker in the new world. There were plenty of serviceable weapons back in Bob’s garage. Still, Sam preferred the crossbow. She could do a lot of silent damage from a distance. Distance was a friend in dealing with the freaks. The thought of getting close to one brought a quiver all the way to her tailbone. Nonetheless, if she needed to get close to kill it, she wouldn’t think twice. But Abraham told her she might need to use the weapon on one of the mechanics. This only confused her.

  Sam scanned the shattered school yard. A handful of infected freaks skittered around in a playground to the right. The broken swings trudged forward and backward as the monsters staggered between. One of the freaks, a child, waddled toward them, almost unrecognizable beneath the infusing fungi. Spores seeped from the thing’s gaping mouth. The rim was stained with the remains of the monster’s last meal. Blood clung to its curls like morning dew and its eyes were empty sockets stuffed with fist-sized mushrooms. The playground had become a communal jungle of horrors.

  A sudden snap of thunder directed the dead boy’s attention away. Sam sighed. She didn’t know if she had the grit to murder a child. It was hard to imagine such a place teeming in the playful screams of children running up and down in joy and adventure.

  To the left, she saw a loading dock with an eighteen-wheeler backed into and through the building. In an instant, Scott shot to his feet, putting as much force as he could behind his sprint. A wave of fear tingled Sam’s senses. An upsurge of discomfort crept up her thighs as she bounced up the front of the semi-truck, trying to keep pace. The icy touch of the metal drove her farther down the crashed semi’s spine. At the far end was a narrow opening between, and when Scott disappeared into the darkness of the school, she had no choice but to follow.

  Sam tensed, ready to fight as her shoes stung against the ground. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dominating darkness. Minutes passed. She listened to her soft breaths over the tick of her heart. At that moment, the images of the room took shape. She followed Scott across the daunting space to the central hallway of the devastated school house. Sam eyeballed the door to a sealed lunchroom. The moans of the dead pierced the sound waves in a nightmarish manner. The doors were loosely chained closed and rattled under the weight of the prisoners.

  Being trapped in a school stuffed with infected children was almost too much for her to handle. She ran forward and struggled to keep up with Scott. All of the shadows blended in a maddening fashion. Dazed, she tripped over the spine of a textbook. The edge of her crossbow clashed against the wall in an uncomfortable clout. The sound brought a frightful silence. She felt the echo of the hallway magnify her footsteps to the point she stopped. Then the screams of the infected came barreling down the hall. She imagined a bat and the way it sensed its surroundings using sonar. The freaks had similar qualities.

  Here they come. She froze, unable to move or breathe. Scott hurried back and took her hand when she didn’t move. He mumbled something under his breath, registering his displeasure. The reverberations of the dead ran up and down the walls. One thing was certain; the freaks were coming toward the distinct sound she foolishly made. Scott dipped out of the hall and into a modest storage closet, dragging Sam like a bag of dead weight. He kept the door cracked to view the hall.

  “Close the door,” she whispered.

  “Shut your mouth,” he replied through compressed teeth. Right away, they saw a small swarm of infected freaks scurry down the hall. They snarled and wailed as they fought for every ounce of scent that lingered in their wake. The awful sounds of slurping airways and congested lungs forced Sam to close her eyes and pray. The infected sniffed the air and followed the curve of an adjoining hall.

  “Don’t move,” Scott whispered as the freaks moved on.

  Fear tingled through Sam’s fingers and hands. The infected things had left bloody footprints on the wet tiles. The sound of death dipped down a few notches, and then the freaks disappeared back into the guts of the school, giving a glow to Sam’s tight features. Something was different about these infected. They appeared more bloated in fungus and blight.

  Determined, Scott moved farther into the hallway, crouching to give himself a tactical advantage. If something leapt out at him, he looked ready to meet it head on with his makeshift weapon. Sam glanced back over her shoulder at the empty halls.

  They’re gone.

  The wind outside continued to slam against the structure, hard and steady. The harsh noises everywhere must have confused the infected. The fierce storm was reaching its peak. As Sam strode down the hall, she drew her crossbow and jammed her finger into the trigger, ready to fire. Her experience with criminals taught her to never let her guard down. This was an internal security measure she had come to rely upon. She feared Scotty almost as much as she did the infected. But she also wanted to kiss him.

  “Over here!”

  She spun to the right with her crossbow leading the way. Sam didn’t understand the concept of only pointing a weapon a something you’re willing to shot. She quivered when Scott dropped to the floor. She removed her trigger finger and showed her cutest smile as an apology. “I wasn’t going to shoot you.”

  Scott climbed back to his feet, whispering curses. “Don’t point that weapon at me again.” He pointed to the gymnasium door and wiped his glossy head. They stared at each other for a moment. “The vent is through the gym.”

  Sam nodded. She was ready to end this expedition. Keeping one eye on the darkness of the hallways and the other on the door, Sam prayed for safety. The creaking sound was soft as Scott pulled the door open. When she saw nothing came running out, she followed him in the large cavity.

  A hive, Sam thought, touching her pounding chest. The basketball court was a jungle of fungus and flesh merged into something profane. The high windows were blocked out by a heavy layer of blight. Abraham was right, she told herself, stepping around a tangle of vines and clusters of snowy puss. A dozen rotten corpses sat on the bleachers, infection settled on every piece of exposed surface.

  “This is where they sleep,” she whispered to Scott.

  “Be quiet,” he replied, keeping an eye on the bleachers.

  He must have known what lurked behind the rotten bleachers. Sam tried to make out the monstrous size of the block-shaped creature blended with the fungus growing up the wall. But she couldn’t see its horrid details. However, she somehow knew it was watching them.

  The deep, wrinkled arch on Scott’s forehead told of his dwindling courage. He strode over toward the far side of the gym. A green jelly of spores dripped down the frame of the double doors with golden handles. “We have to get through,” Scott whispered.

  “What’s inside?”

  “Inside is a short hall with a vent that will lead you into the maintenance bay.” Sick of wasting time, Scott cut at the unknown jelly with his makeshift weapon. It poured down like honey, sticking and clinging to his weapon. Frustrated, he slipped through and entered the next room. Whatever was behind the bleachers must have scared Scott in a severe way.

  Sam held her breath and followed him through, not wanting to find out the reason for his anxiety. She didn’t see the shocking creature peeling itself from the wall behind the bleachers, nor did the jelly t
ouch her as best she could tell, yet that wasn’t enough to calm her.

  A sudden smear of guts and blood brought Scott to his back. He was too busy looking behind to notice the terrors ahead. The thump was nothing compare to the infected freak climbing on top of him, gnashing its teeth near his face.

  “Scott,” she squeaked. Sam was rattled with nerves as she aimed at the fight. Damn, she thought, unable to get a clear shot.

  Scott reached back for his rod with a knife on the end, and when he did, the thing tore out a chuck of his throbbing neck. His hands were dripping in fungi as he continued to struggle.

  He pulled the thing closer and shouted, “Run.” The thing bit him in the chest over and over. Scott’s fists hammered away at its head with little effect.

  Sam’s body weakened. She shuffled forward, putting her back up against the wall as she inched by the nauseating fight. She could hear the mastication of flesh. When her eyes met Scott’s, she felt as if she had taken a bullet to the brain. His glossy eyes glanced up, beckoning her to climb through the vent. His eyes pierced right through her soul. There was a ladder near where they had tried to access the ductwork and failed. She clawed up the rusty scabs on the ladder held together by cheap welding and dove into the filthy darkness of the vent.

  Turning back, Sam saw Scott stabbing the infected freak over and over. Yet, there was a series of bites up his chest all the way to his wet neck. Chunks of meat were missing in a dramatic fashion.

  “The door,” he groaned, cramming his hand into his leaky neck. The pale bluish glaze to his skin told of the swimming infection running through his blood.

  Samantha Downs was petrified. She clawed her way forward through the suffocating vent. It took everything to drag her frame through the narrow space. The wails of more approaching freaks caused a second surge of panic and alarm that threatened to stall the girl. The freaks would be swarming the gym in a matter of seconds. She tried her best not to imagine the creatures devouring him. Desperate, she kicked the vent shaft and spilled upon the cold cement floor. The dust covered Sam in gray powder from head to toe.

  Darkness engulfed the hollow. She clicked her flashlight and followed the beam of light from concrete wall to concrete wall. Sitting in the middle of the rather clean garage was a dirty yellow school bus. The screams of Scott cursing and calling for her to open the door amplified. Sam sprinted up the ramp toward the secured metal door. I can’t open the door. If Sam opened the door, she would be dead.

  “He’s already infected,” she whispered as a single tear rolled down her blistered cheek.

  “They’re coming,” he screamed. “Open the fuckin door!”

  Sam gathered her strength for a few seconds, listening to his pleas. She reached for the door handle, mind numb, eyes locked in madness. Scott’s screams were reaching new limits.

  “Screw it.” She opened it, heart pounding.

  Scott fell through the door.

  “Move,” she shrieked, trying to drag him out of the doorway. She could hear the clutter of a dozen feet stamping through the gym. Time was running out. Scott slithered across the space. She heaved her tiny frame against the door and pushed. Sam blinked away the images of being devoured by the approaching horde as best she could. At the exact second the door closed, the first infected freak smashed against its sturdy frame. A sharp pain set fire to her mind. I shouldn’t have let him in.

  Scott shook like a man who felt an electric sting clawing through his blood stream. He was flat on his back with his arms pressing against his messy wounds. “What happened?” He pulled out his flashlight and turned it on and then sat it on the ground.

  She hesitated. “You got attacked.”

  He cracked his jaw and fluttered his milky eyes. It must have been an abysmal deep boiling pain. The infection—Sam couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like. Huge drops of salty sweat poured down his face. His attention flittered between Sam and the surroundings.

  “Resist it,” Sam said as if it were that easy.

  His balance wavered as he nearly fell over twice. Then, he turned his attention to Sam. “You did this,” he muttered, using the smooth walls to climb to his feet. “You set me up.”

  “What?” Sam was frightened. “I saved you.”

  “Saved me? I’m already dead. I don’t want to live as one of those things, you stupid bitch.” He fumbled toward Sam like a drunk after dark. “Who told you?”

  “Told me what?” Sam rushed into the smothering darkness of the maintenance bay. She wasn’t going to let him near.

  “Bob, he wanted you for himself.”

  Her mind darkened as her heart surged. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t play stupid. I brought you out here to keep you as our little pet. I was going to return and tell that old man you died. You were going to be our slave. That way nobody got hurt.”

  Except me, she thought. She’d spent too long as Rictor’s prisoner, and there was no way she was going back to that sort of life. Her fists tingled as she drew her eyes toward the stumbling brute. Her soul was screaming for revenge. “Why me?” she asked, wanting to move, pace, anything to keep her mind from settling.

  “You think those people you’re traveling with care about you? Abraham would sell you for a chance at finding his family. In fact, he practically did, sending you out here. Bob thought about asking fuel for you. But this was easier. Abraham and Bob used to serve in the military back in the day. I bet those two are working together.”

  She faced Scott. The striking man was a thug, a low life and a no good piece of human trash. “Did Tyrell come through your town?”

  “Ah, I see Bob didn’t tell you everything. That black boy came through and it was a bloody war.”

  Sam’s trembling fingers fumbled at the trigger of the crossbow. Her breathing was shallow. After several heart beats, she managed to build the courage. “Did you kill him?”

  “The black boy, no, but I will have you before I turn.” He slipped his hand to the floor and picked up his makeshift weapon. He scooted along the wall, half awake. “Was it Bob? Or was it one of the others? Did you they promise you something for killing me?”

  “It was Bob,” Sam said, knowing the lie would hurt him. The palm of her finger pressed the trigger back as she grinded her teeth. The crossbow bolt sailed out across the space at the same time Scott charged.

  Excruciating pressure was released in his head as the tip of the bolt pierced his skull. “You son of a bitch,” she muttered. The bolt bent as it shattered his cranium.

  How long had she been alone in life, Sam no longer knew. She paced around the dead body of Scott Mahoney, chewing her fingernails to a nub. Reality seemed to shift into something she no longer understood. “I killed him.” It felt good to say.

  Deep in the trenches of thought, she wondered if she would forever be haunted by this memory. This group of mechanics planned on keeping her as a slave and Abraham might have signed off on that deal. He would never… But she really didn’t know him.

  The things they would have done to her, the nightmare she would have experienced. Would she ever trust a man again? “Hell no,” she blurted. Her time in the darkness allowed her to think, and thinking brought her to the conclusion that everything was Tyrell’s fault. If he never left me, she told herself, shedding stinging tears.

  VI

  Abraham knew Bob Hatchet was plotting something under his phony smile. The felonious man was less than honest with him during the Winter War, yet he had no choice but to tolerate Bob’s plan at this point. Abraham saw through his old war buddy, but Sam seemed smitten, almost obsessed with Bob and his band of mechanics. Sam was a smart enough girl. Nevertheless, she seemed to find pleasure in the company of crooks. Abraham only hoped his intuition was wrong. Perhaps Bob changed after decades removed from the carnage of the Winter War. War never changes, and neither does the man returning from battle.

  He closed his eyes and visualized the tattered family picture nested in his vehicle dashboard. His fam
ily was his strength. Looking across the cluttered bedroom, he exhaled a grave breath of desire. She has been gone too long, he thought. Bob promised they would have the fuel first thing in the morning. However, something about the situation stunk. It was the preferred scent of criminals. He felt as if it was wrong for him to be safe in bed, and Sam out in the darkness evading infected freaks. Sam and Scott left late, under the cover of darkness and a harsh storm. Still, he believed she should have been back by now.

  Unable to stop his racing mind, Abraham slipped off the cold leather sofa and laced up his boots. He turned back to the far end of the room and saw his grandchildren were fast asleep on a sturdy metal bunk bed crammed in the corner of the cluttered room. Hunter hugged his rifle like an old teddy bear as Abraham imagined better times. Abraham knew his grandson would keep Emme safe. Sure, they fought like cats and dogs, but what siblings didn’t? Hunter would do whatever it took to keep his family alive. In a way Hunter had become him. Then again, it was Emme that saved him with his own pistol.

  The rest of Bob’s men were sleeping in a shoddy hotel across from Bob’s garage. This gave him a false sense of safety. Stepping out into the second floor hall, he churned through the possibilities. He needed to get to the Red Tower and rescue his family. He covered the distance to the end of the damaged hall. A fine, icy rain fogged the nearby window. Using the palm of his hand, he cleared a little spot in the glass to get a better view. He turned up his jacket collar and stared at the network of buildings lined in deep shadows. The low-level storm clouds had blocked Red Dead and its bloodstained tint for most of the day and night. It made all the difference in the world. The storm didn’t stop him from remembering what was out there, preying upon the living. He tried to focus on the positive for the first time in over three years, but it was a waste of time. Nothing in this world was charming anymore.

  At that time the color ran from his wrinkled face. In the reflection on the sliver of glass, he saw Bob Hatchet coming up from behind.