Empty Bodies (Book 5): Damnation

by Zach Bohannon

  Shaking his head, Karl said, “Really, I’ll be fine.”

  “All right.” Will looked back to Charlie. “Ready?”

  Charlie nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Sitting behind the driver’s seat, Charlie exited the vehicle just before Will.

  The creatures had made it a mere twenty-five yards, cutting the distance to the van in half. A narrow shoulder and shallow ditch divided the trees from the road. The next driveway was past the pack of Empties. Will wondered if he could drive the creatures down into the ditch as he started to make his way for it.

  “Come on, you bastards,” Will said, waving his arms with the machete in one hand.

  “Hey, ugly,” Charlie said, pointing at the creatures nearest him. “Yeah, you. Come on!”

  With that, four of the creatures headed toward Will and two toward Charlie. The plan worked. But when Will glanced back to the van, Karl had remained frozen in the front seat, and Spencer was still in the back.

  “Come on!” he yelled, waving toward the van.

  The first creature slipped as its feet left the pavement, and it rolled down into the ditch. The second and third kept their footing, and the fourth fell like the first. Under Will’s feet, the ground was still muddy from rain, and he found it hard to keep his own footing. In front of him, the Empties seemed to be having a similar problem. Will stopped moving backward, readying himself to attack.

  The Empty leading the way came within a few yards of Will. He almost slipped again, but managed to rear back and swing the machete. He connected with the thing’s neck before it could bring its arms up to block the blow. It fell forward, and when Will tried to move back, he found that his feet had stuck into the mud. The body slammed into him with enough force to knock him back. Will fell down, the back of his head slamming into the muddy soil.

  Above him, the other standing creature snarled, and aimed for Will’s exposed stomach. Will pointed the machete blade straight up, and the Empty fell on it like a stake. The blade entered under the thing’s chin and came out through the top of its skull. Will lost his grip of the machete handle, and the butt-end of it landed next to him. The Empty’s entire weight fell down onto the blade. It made a sick slurping sound as its head slid all the way down to the handle. The rest of the creature’s body fell on Will, pinning him down.

  “Shit,” Will said, looking up.

  The other creatures had made it to their feet, and were creeping toward Will. They seemed to have no trouble with the sopping ground beneath them.

  Will yelled, “Help!” He tried to look over toward Charlie, but he couldn’t see over the top of the ditch.

  The two beasts, both having been stout males in their living days, were now only a few yards away from Will. He tried to push the weight of the Empty off of him, but it proved impossible. The creature was too heavy, and the butt-end of the machete had sunk into the mud, holding the beast in place. He’d made some progress in pushing the creature off of him when one of the other Empties piled on. Now he had the weight of two creatures on him.

  With the slain Empty as the only barrier between them, the live creature chomped its jaws, trying to find any piece of Will’s flesh that it could. Will squirmed, trying to keep clear of the Empty’s decrepit teeth. Its saliva dripped down onto Will’s arm, and Will continued to call out for help.

  A loud bang sounded through the air, followed by another. After the second, the standing Empty fell backward, blood shooting out of the side of its skull. The Empty in his face screamed, and then another shot went off, this bullet sinking into the side of its head. Blood splashed down onto Will’s face, and he turned his head, closing his eyes. When he looked up again, he saw Spencer standing over him, a gun in his hand. A thin cloud of smoke floated from the barrel.

  Charlie appeared at the edge of the road and dropped the ax.

  “Shit,” Charlie said. He shuffled down into the ditch and pushed the top Empty off of Will, then helped Will move the other. He extended his hand to his friend, who accepted it. “You all right, man?”

  Will pulled away from Charlie and hurried out of the ditch, coming face to face with Spencer.

  “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “Get the hell out of my face,” Spencer said. “You said not to use the gun unless I had to. By the looks of you down there, I think I needed to use it. You should be thanking me.”

  “Yes,” Will said. “Thank you. Thanks a lot for taking your sweet ass time in getting out of the van.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Will swiped the gun out of his hand and aimed it at his forehead. Spencer raised his arms.

  “Whoa, what the fuck, dude?”

  Karl raised his own weapon, aiming it at Will.

  “Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Charlie said, raising his hands up toward Karl.

  “He needs to put his gun down,” Karl said, speaking to Charlie of Will.

  “No,” Will said. “You need to listen to me, and listen good. Timothy asked me to come here with you all. He did that for a reason. Because I have the most experience out of any of us out here in the world since all this shit started happening. Now, if you’re not going to do what I say, we’re going to have a problem.”

  “You’re not in charge,” Spencer said.

  “You’re wrong,” Will said. “When it comes to how we handle these monsters, I am in charge.”

  “Let’s all just cool it,” Charlie said. “Will, come on.”

  “Karl, if you aren’t going to side with me on this, then you may as well just drive us right back to that house and let us be on our merry-fucking-way.”

  Karl bit his lip. He kept his gun fixed on Will for another moment before finally dropping his arm.

  “Good,” Will said. He refocused his attention on Spencer. “Now, don’t pull that shit again. Got it?”

  Shaking, Spencer nodded.

  “All right.” Will lowered the gun. He clicked the safety on, then took the gun by the barrel and handed it back over to Spencer.

  Spencer looked surprised that Will would hand him the gun back, but Will did so anyway as a sign of trust and as a way of saying it was time to move on. Spencer accepted the gun, and slipped it back into its holster on his waist.

  “Now, let’s get the hell out of here.” Will moved past Spencer and loaded back into the passenger seat of the van.

  In two minutes, they were back on their way.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The blood stains spread across the football field were most apparent where the fading chalk lines remained. The field was empty now, but it looked like a battle of nations had taken place there.

  A chain link fence standing about eight feet tall lined the perimeter of the field. Part of it looked like it had been there when the football field had been used as a sporting arena. The rest of it looked like it had been built more recently.

  After zoning out for a period of time, a punch to the spine alerted Gabriel. He clutched his back.

  “Move,” Lance commanded.

  Derek walked down the aluminum stairs and stopped at a row of seats six rows away from where other people were sitting. He moved to a seat in the center of the empty row and Gabriel followed.

  After Derek took a seat, he said, “Leave an empty between us. I don’t need you all up on me while we sit here.”

  Gabriel did as he was asked, leaving a vacant seat between himself and Derek. Fortunately, Lance had the same idea, and left an empty seat to Gabriel’s opposite side.

  “I don’t need your queer ass all on top of my shit, either,” Lance said, adjusting his hat on his head.

  Likewise, Gabriel thought.

  Only about a hundred people were in the crowd. Half of them sat on the side of the stadium Gabriel was on while the other half sat on the opposite side of the field. Guards had been stationed around the outside of the fence. About every twenty-five feet or so, a person stood with a rifle in their hands. Most of the guards were men, but some were women, each facing the field and not the cro
wd.

  Everyone in the stands stood as they erupted into applause. Gabriel looked around, confused as to what they were yelling for.

  “Stand, you piece of shit,” Lance said, grabbing onto Gabriel.

  With Lance pulling him to his feet, Gabriel stood. He looked down to the field, trying to figure out what everyone was clapping and cheering about. He saw nothing of interest, and was further confused. When he looked over to Derek to follow his gaze, he finally realized what all the commotion was about.

  At the far end of the field, a smaller set of bleachers sat under the scoreboard. Gabriel assumed this was where the band would have played during the football games. Today, there was no band. Instead, a muscular, gray haired man waved to the crowd as he made his way to his seat.

  Nathan Ambrose.

  Surrounded by a small entourage, he stood in front of his seat, continuing to wave as the people on either side of him clapped. What the hell was so special about this guy? Gabriel wasn’t sure, but found himself suddenly more intrigued with finding out.

  Ambrose put out his arms, signaling everyone to sit down. As everyone abided, Gabriel nestled back into his own seat and worked to get comfortable. For the first time since Gabriel had emerged from the inside of the school, everyone in the crowd had gone silent. They all turned to look toward a building on the opposite end of the stadium from where Ambrose sat.

  A man emerged from the building.

  He was young, maybe in his early 30s. Many in the crowd stood up and cheered as he walked toward the field. Instead of reacting to the cheers with excitement, the guy looked scared. Confused. Hand-drawn across the front of his white t-shirt was the number 12. Gabriel found himself in his own state of confusion. What was he about to see?

  The crowd calmed down for just a moment as Number 12 came to a stop at the five yard line. Then they began shouting again as another man walked out from the field-house. While this guy also looked scared, he walked onto the field with more confidence than the other man had. He stood slightly taller than his counterpart, with the number 32 drawn in permanent marker across the front of his own white t-shirt. Number 32 walked out onto the field and stopped next to Number 12. The two men looked at each other for just a moment, then focused to the bandstands where Ambrose had stood up again.

  Everyone fell silent. They focused their attention on Ambrose, who held a revolver in his hand.

  One of the armed guards walked away from the goal post which stood in the end zone near Ambrose. An ax hung from the uprights. Gabriel hadn’t noticed it before. Gabriel’s mind started to spin as he put together the pieces of what was about to happen. He glanced down to the two men on the field, who were both now positioned in a sprinter’s lunge. Gabriel looked back up to Ambrose, who pointed the revolver to the sky.

  He fired.

  The crowed erupted.

  Both of the men on the field took off in a full-on sprint. Number 12 ran out to an early lead, but only by about a half-a-car length. By the time they reached the fifty, the two men were in a dead heat.

  When they reached the other thirty-yard line, Number 32 body checked the smaller man. Number 12 lost his footing, flying horizontally into the air before slamming down onto the ground. He fell on his side and his head bounced off of the turf. Part of the crowd roared in excitement while the rest filled with a collective sigh. Gabriel thought the blow to the head may have knocked Number 12 out cold, but the competitor grabbed at his side.

  Number 32 laughed as he looked behind him and saw Number 12 writhing in pain near the thirty-yard line. With the competition over, Number 32 slowed his sprint to a light jog. He reached the goal post at the back of the end zone and grabbed the ax with ease.

  At this point, Gabriel expected Number 32 to run thirty yards back and bury the ax into his counterpart.

  But it didn’t happen.

  Instead, the crowd went silent, and only the roar of an engine could be heard.

  Everyone in the bleachers leaned down and looked toward the noise. Number 32 glanced that way, too, and then started to jog back toward the fifty yard line. He passed by Number 12 without paying him any mind.

  At the corner of the field, in the direction everyone stared, a group of guards swung open the chain link fence.

  An 15-foot box truck drove through the opening, and the crowd erupted again. The doors and side windows of the truck were covered with metal panels. A similar sheet of metal had been placed over the windshield. Only, this one had a small window cut out of it, allowing the driver to look out.

  The truck moved to the middle of the end zone, and then the driver cut the wheel. He parked the truck at around the eight yard line, its rear bumper facing the center of the field.

  Four men dressed in full, restrictive body armor made of steel wobbled out onto the field. They moved toward the truck. The suits they wore reminded Gabriel of homemade costumes from a renaissance fair. Three of the men were armed while one was not.

  The four guards arrived at the back of the truck, and the unarmed guard put his hand on the handle of the sliding back door. The armed men each aimed their weapons toward the back of the truck as he unlatched the door and pushed it up. As soon as he pushed, he pulled the truck’s loading ramp out and then darted away from the vehicle.

  Gabriel watched what came out of the truck, and he understood the game now.

  One after another, Empties spilled out of the back of the truck. The four guards moved in a semi-circle, distancing themselves from the creatures while keeping their weapons aimed at them.

  When all the Empties had vacated the box truck, one of the guards fired a single shot into the air. The brake lights faded as the truck raced off the field. Gabriel counted at least fifteen Empties. The four guards moved as fast as they could in the armor, running around the back of the horde. Each of the humans made it out of the arena unscathed, and another guard shut and locked the gate.

  Only the horde of Empties, an armed Number 32, and a still injured Number 12 remained on the field.

  The crowd stood and cheered.

  Number 12 had managed to make it back up to his feet, but stood with a bend in his torso as he held his side. He massaged his ribs to try and comfort them. His counterpart stood ten yards back from him in a battle stance, the ax firmly in his hands.

  The horde, no longer distracted with the guards, focused on the two men remaining on the field. The Empties lumbered toward them.

  Number 12 yelled out and started to limp toward the fence. He turned toward the side of the stadium in which Gabriel sat, and most of the crowd booed as he tried to get away. He looked terrified, his jaw moving up and down as he cried out. Tears ran down his face.

  The guards along the perimeter of the fence raised their weapons, aiming them at Number 12.

  Gabriel had been completely entranced by the situation until an elbow jabbed his shoulder. He looked up to see Lance cupping his hands around his mouth and booing. On the field, Number 12 stopped twenty yards from the fence.

  “What’s going on?” Gabriel asked.

  Lance waved Gabriel off.

  “They’re making him stay and fight,” Derek said. “If he tries to run away, the guards will shoot him in the legs and leave him to get eaten.” He laughed. “It’s fucking awesome.”

  Gabriel swallowed. He scanned the crowd. Apparently, everyone else thought it was awesome, too. Everyone except for poor Number 12, struggling to even stay on his feet.

  “What the hell is this?” Gabriel finally asked.

  Before Derek could answer, the crowd came to life in excitement. Gabriel looked out onto the field and saw Number 32 sprinting toward one of the Empties. It was standing just out in front of the rest of the horde. Number 32 swung the ax and decapitated the beast.

  Everyone cheered as the blood sprayed onto the turf.

  Number 32 readied the ax again, and then took a second swing. The blade of the ax buried into his target’s shoulder, and he had trouble pulling it out of the Empty. He yelled out, una
ble to withdraw the weapon just as the thing started to lunge at him. Number 32 evaded the beast and kicked it in the back, sending it to the ground. Without hesitation, Number 32 drew the ax from the fallen creature’s shoulder. He lifted the ax over his head and crushed the stumbled Empty’s skull before it could stand back up. With the rest of the group hovering toward him, he retreated fifteen yards, allowing himself time to catch his breath.

  Number 12 had finally turned to face the creatures, and part of the group had broken off to walk toward him. He had no weapon, and found himself torn between trying to appease the guards and fight the Empties by hand, or taking his chance with trying to outrun them. With either option, he seemed destined to die, barring a miracle.

  That miracle came in the form of a fatal mistake by the arrogant Number 32.

  Again, a single Empty had separated itself from the rest of the group. Number 32 saw a golden opportunity to thin the herd, and ran towards the creature with the ax on his shoulder. This, of course, drew a fury from the crowd. Even Ambrose stood and smiled, clapping his hands and raising a fist into the air.

  Number 32 struck the creature in the neck, sending the blade halfway through its flesh. When he went to pull the ax out, though, he did so with too much excitement, and he threw the weapon fifteen yards behind him.

  The crowd gasped.

  He turned to go after the weapon. Everything seemed to go into slow motion. Gabriel watched as the man’s foot turned onto its side as his ankle twisted around. He fell face first onto the turf and screamed in agony. His hand immediately went to his injured joint.

  Number 32 tried to stand, but it was too late.

  The first Empty reached him and attacked. Number 32 tried to fend the creature off, but then another Empty came, followed by another. The creatures swarmed him.

  The last memory of Number 32 Gabriel would have was his hand reaching through a gap in the horde. Then it, too, disappeared.

  Many in the crowd cheered while others either booed or were silent. Looks of surprise and awe covered their faces. Much of the crowd now shouted at Number 12. An opportunity had arisen for him. He eyed the fallen ax as patrons shouted “Go!” and “Grab it!”