“Can’t sleep?” Bob asked, emerging from a stairwell. He carried a candle on a chipped plate.
In the hallway, chairs were tossed on top of desks, piled between couch cushions, and trimmed in lamps and anything else that would make it hard for the infected freaks to penetrate if they ever infiltrated the residence above the garage. It wasn’t meant to stop them forever, only slow them down. Or maybe this space was used as an attic for all the things Bob didn’t want to throw out.
Bob and his mechanics had spent most of the day killing the freaks that penetrated the small compound. Abraham and Hunter were tasked with baiting the horde into the kill zone. This was their punishment for creating the problem. Somehow they survived and managed to patch up the massive hole in the side of the building using a truck trailer. It was an eventful day.
“I seldom sleep.” Abraham paused. “Why is it taking this long?” In the dark beyond the safety of the walls, the wind rose to a crisp howl.
“Scott is a tough man. He uses stealth and that takes time. He served in several special operations with me.” Bob bit his lower lip. “Let’s take a walk to the garage. I don’t want to wake the children.”
Abraham narrowed his eyes. “A walk could help clear my head.” He followed Bob down the stairs. This led back to Bob’s garage. “So what are you planning on doing with an armored bus?”
“Seriously, I told the truth.” He adjusted his leather jacket and found a seat on a torn bar stool. Bob was nervous as he got back up right away. Abraham watched him pick up a loose extension cord and wrap it on a rusty nail. “So what were you planning on doing with the black girl?”
“Sam? I’m taking her to Denver.” Abraham saw a glimmer of Bob killing innocent people in Russia. The truth of Bob’s brutal crimes would never rest in Abraham’s mind.
“Would you be interested in a trade?”
Abraham ran his hands through his hair. “What do you mean?” He knew what Bob meant. He saw the way Bob looked at Sam, the way his men were pissed when he cut him down. Bob took whatever he wanted during the Winter War. Why would he be any different during the apocalypse?
“You know what I mean. I could help you get back your family. And in return you could leave the girl behind. You’re going to need help against the men in yellow. It would be like old times. And the rest of the prisoners at the Red Tower could populate this town.”
So you can have more than one slave. “Are you mad?” Abraham touched one of his sore ribs. “Were you ever a good man? Or did the countless battles distort your humanity?”
“Probably not,” Bob said, appearing to think back. He sorted through a tool box and the metal clank of each device echoed across the tense space. “We wouldn’t treat her bad. She would be one of us.” He almost sounded sincere. “And the rest of the prisoners at the Red Tower would have a second chance at life. This town could be a place of refuge.”
Fueled by a persuasive mix of agony and worry, Abraham’s mind stormed in uncertainty. His blood circulated as he looked across the various work benches for something he might use to disable his old acquaintance. Abraham’s strength was indeed temporary and he would have to be quick. “So that’s why you sent her to the school?”
“It’s not like that,” Bob contended. “Scott and Sam will return soon, and as I said, you all can leave with a little fuel.” The sound of Bob’s scuffled footsteps echoed across the space. His pitted face was flush and flooded in anger.
“A little fuel now, huh?” Abraham questioned, reading the lie written on Bob’s smug face.
“Sam’s brother owes me a lot of money. We could break that debt and call it even if you’d leave her behind.” Bob’s fingers danced back and ran across the surface of a mounted buzz-saw. He flipped the switch and listened to the whine of the powerful engine. The grinding gears reminded Abraham of the infected creatures. It also reminded him that Bob’s garage had plenty of electricity from the makeshift wind mills on the roof. It was in that moment, he saw Bob pick up a crowbar and show his ugly teeth. “We need a good woman. She could be our queen, the queen of the mountains. This place will be all that is left after Denver tears itself apart.”
“Sam has already been through too much. Keep your fuel. We’ll find our own way in the morning.” Abraham paced farther back into the dim garage. With each passing moment, the gloomy layers of doubt burned away. He knew a battle was coming. Bob had too much pride to let him leave in peace.
“It doesn’t work that way.” Bob gasped, coming to a stop. The truth of his intentions spilled out on the rage of emotion scrunching his features. “I will have the girl.”
The panic Abraham felt left him winded. “You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s not property.”
“Keep your voice down.”
Abraham looked at the loud saw humming and then rolled his eyes. His injuries were great, and his chances of escape slim. Yet, he knew if he didn’t act fast, he would lose everything. Sure, he understood it would have been easier to trade the girl and save his family. However, he was an honorable man. He would rather die.
“What the hell, Bob?”
“This is a dangerous world. You were a fool to think I’d let you leave without some sort of payment. I tried to work out a deal because of our old ties. However, you shoved it back in my face. Agree to my terms and I might make you the Sheriff of Fairplay.”
Bob turned for a second and in that flash, Abraham steamrolled him. A piece of cold steel stole the moment as Abraham’s trusty hammer crippled his old friend’s cheek. By the time Bob saw the sudden movement in his peripheral vision, it was already too late to defend. The hammer crashed down a second time, bruising Bob’s spine with the force of his metal.
Mr. Hatchet collapsed. He folded to the oily ground, stunned and dazed. “I warned you, Bob!” Abraham gripped the back of Bob’s leather collar and lifted him. After two hits from a hammer, Bob still struggled to fight. He pushed and Abraham redirected. Bob fell forward toward the mounted buzz-saw and screamed.
Thick dots of red stained Abraham’s vision as the machine severed Bob’s right hand at the wrist. “Shit,” he cursed, tossing his old comrade to the floor.
The sudden explosion of pain caused Bob to black out. Abraham knew when Bob woke there would be hell to pay.
His tired eyes fluttered as he heard the screams of his granddaughter penetrate through the thick walls. Bob, the infected freaks, and his missing family were all forgotten in that jarring moment. There was only Emme’s voice rising and falling. Abraham felt a sharp tear in his humanity. It was a warm rush of unmatched courage and rage that brought him toward the sound.
***
It sounded like a thousand running lawn mowers coming straight for her. Emme’s hearing aids picked up the vibrant sound of a hundred infected freaks on the prowl. The dark utterances said something, but she couldn’t understand. The high-pitched sound stung through in a static swirl that brought her off the top bunk in a hurry. For a second, the harsh sound was loud enough she thought it might kill her. Yet, it stopped after several agonizing flares. All she could picture was the infected she killed coming back for revenge. Emme continued to shriek, staring at the empty blanket where Grandpa Abraham was supposed to be sleeping.
Her yelps woke her brother in a panic. She watched him scramble to his feet, wiping the sweat from his uneven brow. “What’s wrong?”
Emme stood next to the bunk bed in hysteria trying to figure out if it was only a bad dream. When she knew it was real, she hesitated as she approached her brother.
“Was it a bad dream?” Hunter couldn’t hear what his sister heard.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized it was three in the morning. Outside, the wind continued to lash the building with long showers of rain. The window thudded against the frame as the buzzing continued driving her to scream even louder.
***
Running as fast as he could, Abraham tore the bedroom door open. Holding the palm of her hands over her ears on the floor sto
od his sweet little granddaughter.
“The creatures are coming,” she muttered with her brother standing next her. “I swear on everything, they’re coming for us.”
“Who’s coming?” Abraham questioned, wondering what was wrong with his granddaughter. Was she having a night terror? “What is going on, Emme?”
Jumping up and down, she recalled her time in the barn. “A mob of infected! They found a way into the compound. Shit!”
Emme didn’t usually sleep in her hearing aids, but she was so exhausted, she drifted off fast on the couch. Abraham carried her to the bed and didn’t want to risk waking her by taking them out.
“Get your things. We have to go now!” Abraham had expected to find one of the mechanics standing over his granddaughter. He would have torn them part with his bare hands. This is a blessing, he thought, hoping the infected would occupy the mechanics while he planned their escape.
Given the fact he dismembered Bob downstairs, he didn’t think the rest of the mechanics would welcome him with open arms. Truth was, Abraham was damaged enough to approach life in a darker light. “Hurry—back to the Blazer.” He looked down the hall and saw the shadows of lengthy men on the prowl. “Where’s Jeffery?”
Emme scanned the shoddy room and then shrugged. “He was sleeping on the floor. I don’t know where he went.” She slid into shoulder straps of the little black backpack and stomped into her boots. “We can’t leave without him.”
“Or Sam,” Hunter added.
Abraham reached for his pistol and took aim. Out of the stairwell two men holding bats stepped forward. “Abraham, get your ass over here,” one of them shouted. “What you did to the boss is minor compared to what we’re going to do to your family.”
Without a second thought, Abraham fired. No one would harm his grandchildren. The bullets tore into the clumsy men. He was a tangle of rage and passion as several sprays of blood were followed by the foolish men falling to the floor. They weren’t dead yet. Standing over them, Abraham fired a shot between each of the wailing men’s eyes. He had to make sure they were dead for good.
He heard Emme crying behind him. But he didn’t have time to comfort her. “This way,” he called back, running down the stairwell. He saw the set of blood-spattered footprints leading up and wondered if it was his boots or the men he just killed. It didn’t matter.
Back down in the garage, he could smell a heavy odor of alcohol. He prayed the mechanics were all drunk and numb. It would make his escape that much easier. He saw a smear of blood where Bob had passed out, but his body was missing. He was certain one of the mechanics must have helped him escape through the wide open roll down door. Two sets of footprints were stamped in the pools of blood.
Staring out the open garage door, all he could think about was the metal mouth of a monster. Outside in the safe block of town, he could hear the shouts of men assembling for an all-out war. Shit!
“Jeffery,” Emme cried out.
Abraham spotted the odd boy at the base of the garage door. The wild boy ran to his granddaughter’s voice on all fours, trudging through the smears of blood. Sometimes Jeffery walked on two legs, sometimes on all four limbs. It was strange.
“Dr. John!” he shrieked.
At once, Abraham’s eyes bulged, taking in the spattered blood painted across the humid garage. What have I done?
“We have to go back,” Emme said. “The infected are coming through that way.” She pointed out the door the way they had entered the compound.
Abraham couldn’t hear the infected freaks, but he imagined a sounded like an army of horses beating the ground.
“There are twice as many as we faced at the farm. We have to run.” The awful sound must have grown louder. She cupped her right ear and bawled. Whatever was buzzing in cosmic bursts brought a terrible scrunch to her face.
“Can you really hear them?” Abraham asked, placing a hand against the wall. Swallowing, he prayed the lightheadedness would pass. He remembered how Emme heard the dead at the overturned bus and then again at the infested building. Can it be?
The thought was ripped out of his mind as a spray of bullets echoed outside. Desperate to protect his grandchildren, Abraham nudged out sideways and pulled the chain to close the metal garage door. He heaved until the bottom clashed against the cement. The pings of ricochets rattled the tin every few seconds. He turned back to Emme and spat. “Can you really hear the dead?”
“Yes, we have to hurry.” Emme backed up and sprinted up the stairwell with the wild boy at her feet. Jeffery was howling every few seconds. However, his voice was silent compared to the buzzing cries of the dead as they finally reached Abraham’s old ears. Whatever was coming sounded like the gates of hell were blown open and its abysmal demons running out like inmates during a prison break.
Running up the stairs, Abraham sorted through his options. He wasn’t planning on staying, but how would he manage to escape? Ahead of him, Hunter smashed the butt of his rifle through the cloudy window at the end of the upstairs hall.
“We can jump,” his grandson said.
Abraham felt the temperature of the air plummet. He peered out the opening, facing his fears. The heavy rain was bothersome as it swept into his eyes. A plastic bag whistled over his head as he bobbed. “The school isn’t far,” he said. In the distance, he scrutinized the sprawling complex of buildings between them and the school. “The madness of the storm will hide us.”
“We have to get Sam,” Emme added, holding her elbow.
Below, a Dumpster was filled with black bags of sour garbage.
“What happened downstairs?” Hunter demanded. “Was that Bob’s blood?”
“You’re too damn smart,” Abraham replied. “It appears that the mechanics are almost as lethal as the infected.”
“What?”
“Bob tried to get me to sell Sam to them as a slave.”
“Those bastards,” Hunter whispered under his breath. “Did you kill him?”
“No, I accidentally took off his right hand.”
“Accidentally,” Hunter repeated, fighting the cold finger of wind cutting through his denim coat. “Okay.”
Abraham could hear the carnage occurring at the threshold of the compound. The infected freaks had made their way into the safe zone. When he saw his granddaughter puke, he knew she must have heard every detail. “Grandpa, the freaks are killing them.” She wiped the foam around her mouth and took in a lungful of icy air.
The distant gunshots did little to help calm Abraham’s nerves. “Jump,” he said, pushing Hunter toward the window ledge. “Watch out for the bits of glass.”
Hunter had the face of an overwhelmed boy as he took two puffs from his inhaler. His grandson must have been shocked. Abraham repeated his words again, edging out the remaining shards of glass. With a shove, Hunter inched over the lip and jumped into the drumming rain. The squishy sound of his landing gave Abraham hope. Hunter leapt out of the foul Dumpster and cleared the area for danger.
“Come on, it’s safe,” he shouted back, wiping the streams of rain running through his blinking eyes.
Emme look at Abraham with a deep fear. “I’ll be right behind you,” he promised, gripping her shoulder. Emme swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She climbed up and then with a gasp fell into the soft embrace of bitter trash. Abraham pushed Jeffery and saw the boy land next to his granddaughter with a howl. Jeffery followed her every move like a loyal dog. Abraham felt bad thinking such thoughts, yet it was the truth.
Abraham crashed and crumpled beneath the piles of rubbish. It was hard to focus as he swallowed gulps of icy rain with each heavy breath.
“Please, keep quiet,” Emme said, placing a hand on the odd boy’s cheek. He seemed to understand. And for that Abraham was grateful.
Abraham quickened his pace through the narrow streets. Truth was he was blown forward by the harsh wind. This was the storm of the century. He watched the entire vinyl siding of a building tear, spinning up into the jarring clouds. The
town seemed to crumble in front of him. Rain swallowed the streets in mighty gulps of black water threatening to wash them away. The shells of remaining vehicles shifted under the weight of the rushing water, as if they were built for the rivers. Abraham knew the safety of the school was the only option of survival. However, making it there without the super storm killing them was a different story.
He seized Emme by her backpack as the wind bullied her off her feet. He pulled her into a brick doorway and ushered in the rest of his companions. “Hurry!” he commanded.
“Jeffery,” Emme cried.
Hunter pulled his sister down safely inside and held her as their clothing flapped in the fifty-mile-an-hour wind pilling through the open door.
“Jeffery,” Abraham said, reaching for the boy.
The peculiar boy’s eyes were fixed on a large wooden support beam coming straight for him. Abraham wedged his feet in the doorjamb and yanked. His fingers had sunk deep into the boy’s clothing and flesh. The force brought them both back. Abraham didn’t think and didn’t look at the debris coming forward; he slammed the door closed and prayed it would hold.
The pelting wreckage hammered the outside of the building, snapping timbers in several places. They looked at each other, gasping for air. It took several minutes for the storm to settle back down to an annoying hum. And when it did, Abraham pinched open the remains of wood and exhaled.
“We made it,” Hunter breathed.
“Not, yet we haven’t,” Abraham said. “How many are there?” Abraham asked his granddaughter.
“Too many,” she answered. Judging by the grim expression on her face, Abraham knew she could hear the primal screams of decay drawing closer with each beat of his heart. She really can hear them.
VII
Abraham was soundless, looking upon the destruction the stark storm had brought to the mountain town. Branches were snapped and some of the trucks splintered and bent. Parts of the neighboring shops were strung about the landscape with small cars, furnishing, and everything in-between flung about in disarray. A numb silence blanketed the front of the battered school. Yet, the durable brick of the school house remained intact.
Infected Freaks (Book 2): The Echo of Decay Page 7
