“That's where I come in,” Desdemona added with a cocky sneer. “I've found I have a real knack for keeping the troops entertained, so to speak.”
“It's a perfect balance,” John said with a self-satisfied smile. “Those who crave order and stability get it. Those who crave lawlessness and chaos will have their fun as well.”
“As long as they don't piss off you or your wife,” Benji added, looking disgusted. “At which point they get fed to zombies, killed for sport, eaten by cannibals, or worse, made into slaves at one of her new churches.”
“You catch on real quick,” John responded. “You've come a long way from your idle days of video games and comic books. Looks like we're just about ready for the next part of the plan.”
John let out a loud whistle and the tow truck driver revved his engine, sticking his thumb out the window to let us know he was ready. I felt my stomach lurch as we began to move, the bars of the cage we were in slightly vibrating. For a moment I thought we were heading away from the fighting, but the driver brought us around in a wide loop through the patches of stragglers still ambling our way sporting torn limbs and gruesome wounds. The ones closest to us reached their gray hands toward the cage, but were unable to even touch the bars because we were up so high. This was obviously John's intention to keep us all away from the swarms of biting corpses, but it also meant that if anything went wrong we'd be trapped. We'd be surrounded on all sides by angry zombies all trying to break in and tear us apart, while we waited for help to arrive and set us free again.
Seems like a flaw in his plan, I thought. It didn't surprise me though. Above all, John was arrogant. He rarely thought things through because he knew if something went wrong, he'd find a way to make someone else pay for it instead of him. It had been his one constant characteristic, unchanged since I'd first had the misfortune of crossing his path.
I thought about the night Benji and I left New Lompoc, how John had abandoned his own men to save himself, how he'd later blamed Tank's death on me when it was really John who'd left his friend behind.
One thing’s for sure, I thought. John can't run anymore, not while he's locked in this cage with us. Whatever happens now happens to all of us.
Most of the horde was now already on base, working their way into the fighting between Franco's men and our resistance. We wheeled around and the truck picked up speed, knocking over zombies that wandered blindly into its path and crushing them under the large vehicle’s tires.
“Don't worry,” John said, as the motion of crushing a dead man's head sent us flying off our feet. “The cage is chained down. It's not going anywhere.”
All around us I could see evidence of the battle raging on in our absence. Blackshirts climbed on top of anything they could, alternating between taking shots at Loyalists in standard camo, and relentless zombies intent on making a meal out of them. There was even a guy who had climbed up a tree, thinking he was safe in the perch. He had a sniper rifle and was working on taking out a dozen or so of Benji's fighters who'd taken over the PX building. The fighters had managed to keep the biters out momentarily by blocking up the front with some two-by-fours and plywood. The Blackshirt sniper waited patiently for the fighters to stick their heads above the mess of lumber that had been haphazardly piled together until it resembled a drunken beaver’s shoddy handiwork more than a shelter from the maelstrom of hot lead raining down all around them. He picked them off one by one, with diabolical precision, a cruel grin twisting the side of his face as he knocked them down like tin silhouettes of ducks at a carnival shooting gallery. He snapped the bolt of his rifle back between deadly shots, reloading and taking aim anew. In his single-mindedness he'd ignored the growing number of zombies around the base of his tree. By the time he'd realized his mistake, it was too late. Working together as I'd seen them do in Vandenberg, the zombies used the weight of their bodies to uproot the massive oak, sending the startled sniper sailing down to the ground. They were on him in seconds, the sound of his astonished cries causing me to inwardly wince in sympathy. I turned and looked away as I saw one of his legs pulled free and held up like a drumstick to be shared between two very hungry former humans.
“Why are we heading back on base anyway?” Benji asked.
“I'll tell you why,” John haughtily replied. “The last thing Franco said to me was to find you and bring you to him. He said he was headed to the lab to get Haki. He was sure after the resistance fighters saw his super zombie doing whatever he ordered, they'd fall in line quick.”
“But you don't work for Franco anymore,” I stoically reminded him.
“I never did,” John spat, visibly trying to control his anger at the idea.
“It's all right, lover,” Desdemona cooed, but John shook his head.
“That creep treated me like garbage,” John snorted, practically foaming at the mouth. “He killed my friend right in front of me, then sent me to run errands for him like I was his punk. He thought he was better than me, but I'm gonna show him he's not. That's why I'm planning on personally feeding him to my army.”
“Why not just wait until the carnage is over, then send your handlers in to clean up before tracking down Franco? It's not like he's going to escape, not while this madness is going on.”
“I'll be damned if someone else gets to kill him first,” John raved. “I wanna see the look on his face when they start tearing into his skin and he knows that it's all over. I wouldn't miss that for anything in the world.”
The truck came to a stop near the side entrance to the labs. There were several zombies roaming about, moving forward to the sounds of yelling and gunfire we'd just passed through. I saw a few go through the open door that led to the cells we'd been in just hours earlier and vanish out of sight, swallowed up in the shadows. Going that way right now meant fighting through monsters to get to Franco. The odds of being killed were greater than the odds of ever seeing the coup leader’s face again, and that didn't account for what might happen if Franco unleashed Haki on us.
John took the key from around his neck, and began to feed it into the lock on the outside of the cage. I felt my stomach twist up in a ball of nerves as I realized he was planning on going through with what was surely a suicide mission, propelled solely by his wounded pride and blinded by a need for vengeance.
“Get ready to go when I tell you,” John ordered.
“Why not lock us in and leave us here?” I appealed, hoping to trick him into keeping us out of harm’s way.
Who knows, I thought. Some of our own guys might find us and break us loose.
“No can do,” John said. “You're my insurance policy. I want you in my sights at all times, amigos.”
“Insurance policy?” Benji looked confused. “But you said yourself that Franco is gonna know you betrayed him. What does it matter if you deliver us to him or not?”
“I don't need help dealing with Franco,” John laughed.
“He means when the rest of our armed forces show up,” Moto informed Benji, “which could be any minute now, for your information. He thinks if he keeps us near him and something does go wrong, he can use us as bartering chips to save his own skin.”
“That's right, cowboy,” John boasted. “They'll have to let us pass, otherwise I'll start killing hostages. The last thing they want is a group of their highest-ranking officers being butchered while the rest of the troops watch, and all because they weren't willing to negotiate.”
“They're not going to make a deal with you,” I objected. “That's not how things work!”
“You better hope that's exactly what they do, squirt,” John taunted. “Otherwise, the last thing you'll see in this world is the tremendous satisfaction on my face as I put your lights out for good.”
“It's not going to come to that,” Desdemona said gravely. “Because as soon as we take Franco out, we're going to be able to create a new battalion of supermen who feel no pain and only respond to us. Your armed forces won't be able to defeat us any longer. Your gene
rals will be forced to lay down their arms and surrender, or be slaughtered and conscripted to eternal hunger and warfare.”
“That's pure poetry, baby,” John exhaled as he gazed at his insane wife. “Now if you'd all be so kind as to follow me.”
John began to swing the door open.
“Wait!” I cried out, causing him to turn back to look at me. “You can't just send us out there unarmed.”
“You're crazy if you think I'm giving you back your weapons,” John spat back at me as he challenged my plea.
“So what are we supposed to do when we're attacked?” Benji asked, looking scared for the first time.
“Here's the plan,” John impatiently answered, looking annoyed to be questioned in the first place. “My guys will go first to make sure the hallway is clear. You will follow them. Desdemona and I will be right behind you. If you so much as turn away from that door, or change direction for even a split second, I will put you down. I'd hate to end it so quickly, but I'd still enjoy it; so try me if you don't believe me and watch what happens. Now, if you're all done with your game of twenty damn questions, let's move out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The door swung the rest of the way open, and John motioned for his men to go in ahead of him. They scurried like rats out of the cage and hopped down off the back of the flatbed, their heads whipping back and forth anxiously as the undead began to notice them. Soon several zombies were heading in their direction, their hungry cries alerting the dozens around them that there was more fresh meat to be had. Still, John took his time helping Desdemona down off the truck. By the time her feet touched the ground, John's fake Blackshirts were already starting to fire off head shots, bringing down four full-sized adult biters, and drawing the attention of hundreds more in the process.
“Come on then,” John said, turning impatiently to Benji, Moto, and me, as if we were the real cause of the dangerous delay, instead of his wife. “Don't just stand there looking stupid. Get moving.”
Benji hopped down first, looking nervously back and forth as more zombies began to join together and move in on us from all sides.
“Grab that one,” John said to Desdemona, who immediately took Benji by the back of the shirt and yanked him close to her.
“Boss man,” one of John's men cried out as he ran out of ammo and switched to his last clip. “We're getting low on rounds, and we got a lot of company. What's the plan?”
“I'm gonna cut a path right to the entryway,” John said confidently. “You'll follow behind me, then go in ahead and make sure it's clear. Our prisoners will stay between us as I get the door closed and secured. Any attempts to slow us down or deviate from the plan will result in a bullet to the head. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah man,” I said, feeling tired of his threats. “Just get on with it.”
“Don't sass me, you little punk,” John shouted, slapping me hard without warning. “Remember, you don't have to be in one piece to still be useful.”
Moto looked like he was about to tear John's beating heart right out of his chest and show it to him, but a yelp from Benji, who was now being practically choked by the smiling Desdemona, kept him in check. He hopped off the back of the truck and clenched his fists; no doubt waiting for the moment he could finally take a shot at our captors.
“Well? Do you need a personal invitation?” John sneered.
I didn't give him the satisfaction of answering. I moved past him quickly, ducking as he tried to slap me in the back of the head, and slipped to the ground below. We were now completely surrounded by hungry zombies. Every last one of them looked angry and violent and ready to sink their teeth into something warm and bloody as they pushed in on us. I looked around at their faces as they closed the gap between us, moving less than ten feet from where we stood. I no longer saw monsters and enemies. Instead I now saw men and women, completely lost and desperate, trapped in an impossible nightmare from which they were powerless to wake. It made me sad, but it didn't take away the visceral fear twisting in my guts. I knew that Moto and I were at far worse risk than the rest of our party because we'd already been given the antidote before. If we were bitten this time, there would be no coming back. That dark thought floated through my mind like a black cloud, as a terrifying roar came at us from all sides.
Then again, it's not like any of us are likely to live through this.
Being attacked and fighting off one zombie was hard enough. I gulped as I realized that if we went down now there would be nothing left of any of us to find, except maybe our bones – and even those would be picked clean and pocked with teeth marks from where these ghoulish monsters had feasted on our remains. I pictured a blood-covered zombie sitting like a big baby, sucking the marrow from my femur.
I need to get my katana back, I thought, and the others need to be armed as well. That's the only way we're going to have a chance of making it out of this alive.
I scoured the ground for a weapon, hoping to find a gun that had been dropped or even a good-sized rock I could palm and use to defend myself, but there was nothing in sight.
“Let me show you amateurs how it's done,” John said with a hoot. He turned and began swinging my katana wildly around, slicing open faces and cutting off the zombie’s arms that were blocking the way between us and the door to the labs. He let out wild calls and fake martial arts sounds, the kind you'd hear in a bad kung fu movie, all while aggressively hacking his way through the crowd. Unable to think for themselves, the zombies simply kept coming. A guy with gray skin, and pus boils covering his forehead like braille, took the place of the woman John had just beheaded.
He's mocking us, I thought, but it's far worse than that. He's enjoying this attack way too much. It's like he gets a rush out of murdering people.
In fact, John seemed to possess a fervor I'd never seen before as he brought the sword up over his head, then forced it screaming down into the faces of the undead. It went beyond pleasure now, beyond a lust for power. This was cathartic for John, but not because the zombies had taken something precious away from him. On the contrary, it seemed that John's life kept improving as everything else got worse. This was about taking revenge on everyone who had ever doubted him or tried to stop him from getting his way. John was projecting the faces of his real enemies onto the undead, and letting his wrath come pouring through. Beads of sweat burst from his forehead as he powered through the biters that stood in his way, nearly swooning as the last zoms standing by the door fell in defeat. We were huddled together, moving in his wake while trying to avoid his wide swings. Desdemona shoved us forward as John turned and waved his free hand to his men, letting them know they were next.
“Let's go! Move it!”
The men wasted no time charging through the door and into the darkened hallway, leaving us exposed to a growing horde of zombies that were closing in on us. Neither John nor Desdemona needed to tell us twice to get inside. The only way we stood a chance of surviving was to risk running head-on into more of the undead, and pray that John's men would be able to take out any threats before we locked ourselves in. We dashed inside and John slammed the door. Almost at once we heard heavy thumping sounds as the zombies began to throw themselves against the door and pound on it in anger with their fists.
“That was a little too close for comfort,” John laughed.
“You did great, baby,” Desdemona cooed. “Now let's take care of Franco.”
The corridor leading inward was pitch black. The lights had been shot out before we'd gotten inside. Some other battle had taken place here. There were dark, wet-looking streaks on the walls that could only be blood. Lucky for us there were no signs of the living or the dead.
But there will be, I thought, as I remembered seeing several zombies go in earlier. They didn't just vanish. They are still here somewhere, waiting to sink their teeth into us!
Up ahead, the hallway intersected with another, causing light to spill out. I could see John's men crouched into fighting position. Both had
their guns out in front of them, right arms stiffly jutted out, right hands holding the weapon, with their left hands cupped underneath to provide stability. They moved cautiously forward, alertly turning in slow circles, ready to do battle with whatever came at them. When they were certain that the rest of our path forward was unobstructed, they stood up and waved at us.
“All clear,” the lead man stated.
“We're heading west,” John instructed him. “Make a right down the hallway that’s still lit up. That will take us back across to the viewing chamber. We're sure to find Franco there.”
Behind us a fresh round of unholy screams rang out. Enraged zombies pounded hard on the walls, making the ground beneath us tremble like a small earthquake and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up straight on end. I could see hints of sunlight coming through the door from where the hinges threatened to give way.
“Time to go,” Desdemona sang.
We didn't waste a second. Benji took off, and Moto and I followed him, chased by John and Desdemona. For a moment, I wondered if we'd be able to just keep running and slip away from them once and for all. It seemed like there might be a possibility of doing just that, until the door behind us buckled and the undead began to pour into the hallway with us. Desdemona shrieked loudly, kicking at them as she backed up into John, who began driving my katana through the lifeless faces of the oncoming horde as rapidly as he could manage, all while fearfully backing away.
Up ahead I saw the shadows behind John's men beginning to stir. Before I could shout a warning, three adult male zombies emerged from the darkness and pulled one of the neo-Nazi's down. He dropped his gun in shock and let out a loud scream of fear as they tore into his neck and bit at the top of his head. John's other soldier turned and began firing wildly, hitting both the zombies and his fallen comrade in the process. I froze in place as he turned around, his eyes glazed in fear, unwittingly pointing his gun at us. Moto held up his hands, and tried to block Benji and me.
Zombie Attack! Army of the Dead (Book 3) Page 15
