She got to her feet and picked up her crutches, tucking them under her arm as she turned and hobbled back for the woods.
The door at the front of the house burst open and the killer came out, marching after her.
Sarah looked over her shoulder as she ran, still holding the ice pick, terrified he would catch up to her.
The killer's face was painted in his waxy smile, his eyes wide with excitement. But his leg wobbled suddenly and then gave out, and he fell onto one knee. He leaned forward, putting his hands in the snow, and pushed himself back up. He took an uncertain step forward and his legs wobbled again. Finally, he remained still, just watching Sarah as she disappeared into the woods as far away from him as she could get.
20
HUNTING PARTY
The tall trees gently swayed overhead as the wind swept through the woods. Everything else was calm and unmoved, the snow glistening peacefully in the moonlight. Far off, a squirrel scampered through the snow as if it were diving into a pool, searching for food.
Sarah ran through the snow, tripping on something underneath and falling onto her hands and knees. The crutches she'd tucked under her arm spilled out and she panted like her lungs were on fire. The crisp and chilly air licked her cheeks and her hands, and though her chest burned, she was still freezing. She had broken up the peaceful scene that nature had created around her, though there was no one else around to observe the disturbance. In a way it almost seemed silly to her when she noticed how quiet it was that she had been running for her life. But she knew exactly what she was running from, and she continued to look behind her to see if he was following.
There was no sign of him, and she had reached a safe distance away. She rolled onto her back, bringing the blanket over her head and scrunching the edges in tight balls between her fists, clutching it to her chest. Her feet were starting to become numb and she just wanted to lie by a nice warm fire. She still had the ice pick in her hand and she let go of it. It rolled off her fingertips and buried into the snow, creating a perfect shape of itself like in a cartoon.
There was one chance and only one chance to end the killer's reign of terror, and the ship sailed. Though he was badly injured, he certainly wasn't down for the count. But she couldn't do it on her own. She considered fleeing far, far away after she caught her breath. Maybe she could create enough distance from him before he was in any shape to stalk her again and maybe she would be able to disappear, never to be troubled by the killer again. She had no idea how he had continued to find her in the first place; no matter where she went, even if she didn't think she was being followed, there he was. And she knew he would be there again, no matter what.
Sarah closed her eyes, squeezing her palms to them. She could feel a bad headache coming on and she knew the pressure was getting to her. Just like the killer, it was a pervasive evil, always following and lying in wait at the edge of her consciousness. She racked her brain, trying to figure out what to do, but came up short.
A gust of wind blew through the trees above her and carried a voice with it.
Her ears perked up.
Faint and distant voices floated to her and she realized that she had almost made it back to the bandits camping in the middle of the road. She flared her nostrils and the smoky, sweet scent of burning wood filled them. And just as suddenly as the sensations came to her, so too did the answer to her problem.
Sarah picked up the crutches and got back to her feet. She propped them under her armpits and made sure the blanket was wrapped tightly around her, then she headed toward the voices and the smell and the almost pulsating orange glow that soon became visible in the distance.
When she reached the edge of the woods by the road, she had come from a slightly different angle than before, and she could see past the Chevy into the circle around the fire. It seemed half of the bandits that she had seen or heard before had left, with only three remaining. One of them was standing up, cradling his AK-47 behind his neck like a pool cue.
"I'm going to hit the hay," the bandit said, looking down at another sitting in a plaid lawn chair.
The one sitting in the chair glanced over to another bandit beside him and said, "Yeah, I think it's time to pack it in for the night."
The three of them chatted for a couple minutes before grabbing their guns and a couple of supplies and taking them to a rest stop on the other side of the road.
The last bandit that remained behind scooped up handfuls of snow from the ground and dumped them on the fire. The flames flickered violently with the first dumps of snow as a cloud of smoke rose up from the burning wood, then it went out completely with a final dousing. The bandit had only a pistol on his hip, and he stopped to pick up a small green box before joining the others inside the washrooms of the rest stop.
When the coast was clear, Sarah emerged from the woods and made her way over to the fire that was still emitting white and wispy streams of smoke. The dog they had spit roasted over the flames remained, its picked-apart and eaten remains charred black. Sarah looked around, trying to figure out some way to get the bandits' attention. All they left behind were a few lawn and patio chairs—some of them had the misfortune of sitting only on milk crates—and some garbage. The shells of the torched cars surrounded her, but they were stripped bare and she knew she had no use for them.
Sarah stared off at the rest stop to make sure no one was going to come out, and she placed a milk crate next to the fire and laid the crutches on the ground. She pulled off her shoes and stuck her feet out over the campfire, letting the residual heat warm them. When she felt toasty and her socks partially dried, she put the shoes back on. It was a slight reprieve, and in that moment, it made all the difference to her.
She stared at the blackened wood, watching the wind blow the smoke into creative swirls in front of her. Peering underneath the pile, she could see glowing embers, still red-hot. As soon as she noticed them, the rest of the plan struck her like a brick wall and she looked over at the rest stop again, thinking about the small green box the last bandit had taken with him. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what was inside, and if she was right, it would work perfectly.
Sarah decided to leave her crutches next to the fire as she headed across the road for the rest stop; she wanted to be as silent and agile as possible. The building was much the same as the one she had seen when she spotted Jenny breaking inside and eating that poor woman; it was small with only two restrooms on either side, partitioned in the front by a wall separating the entrances. She'd seen that the first two bandits had disappeared into the ladies' room on the right, and the last one carrying the box slipped into the men's room on the left.
Rough snores floated out of the building from both restrooms as Sarah approached, and she waited off to the side near the men's room entrance, listening. She didn't hear anyone rolling around or fidgeting, and it seemed like everyone was asleep. She waited for five minutes just to make sure, her hands and feet starting to freeze again as she huddled in the snow. When she was convinced that there was no movement inside, she spun the ice pick around in her hand, holding it so that the pointed end was facing down in case someone was startled awake and she had to silence them. She held the blanket around her with one hand and she crept up to the door, peeking inside.
A handful of cots were haphazardly placed in the room between the stalls and the sinks. Some of the stall doors had been torn down, leaving toilets exposed, one of them shattered in half. Four bandits occupied the cots and cradled their assault rifles in their arms with the straps wrapped around their wrists. They lay on their sides, all except for one. The bandit that had brought the green box in lay on his back on the cot farthest from her. It was dark in the room, but there was a window high up in the far wall letting just enough light in to see. The bandit at the end appeared to be sleeping. His eyes were closed, but he was directly facing her, and all he had to do was open them and he would spot her instantly.
Sarah kept just half of her face peeking past the d
oorframe, glancing around the restroom. Finally, she spotted the green box sitting underneath the cot of the bandit facing her at the far end. The scene was almost too convenient, and it seemed that he was just lying in wait for her, like if she went in and tried to get it, he would suddenly spring up from the bed and shoot her, aware of her presence the whole time. And complicating the matter further, the three other bandits were crowded in front of him, their cots sitting at odd angles that she would have to weave her way through.
She remained at the door for a few more minutes, too petrified to take action. The bandit guarding the box was just lying there with his chest gently rising and falling and his hands clasped together on his solar plexus. He didn't snore like the others, nor did he fidget. His face was completely expressionless and Sarah watched it closely, looking for the tiniest movement. She remained on the spot, but a voice inside her head told her that the time was now before the killer disappeared from the house or came after her again.
Sarah drew her foot forward into the restroom and placed it on the floor. She was conscious of every tiny sound that she made, including the faint suction of the water being displaced under her shoe. She paused and waited to see if there was any reaction, then she continued. She let go of the doorframe and slowly moved into the room, feeling naked. The closest bandit had his cot perpendicular to her, and it took up almost the entire path. She made her way to the wall, gently holding onto the tile as she moved past the bandit's head. She stared down at him as she did and became paranoid that he would open his eyes and see her now that she crossed over to the side he was facing. She eyed his assault rifle, but like the next two bandits, its strap was wrapped around his hands and wrists.
The next cot sat along the door to a bathroom stall that hadn't been removed, making it much easier for her to pass. She kept her eyes on the floor, searching for puddles of water so that she didn't slip. She glanced up at the bandit guarding the box at the end of the room periodically, but still he remained asleep.
His pistol sat on his hip on the opposite side of him from Sarah, and she looked at it longingly as she crossed the third bandit. The cot was wedged into the bottom corner of the final bandit's cot, blocking Sarah's access to the gun. If she wanted it, she would have to reach over him.
Sarah reached the side of the final cot without incident, her pulse racing. She still couldn't get over how little the bandit lying in it moved and she still felt like it was a trap. She pulled the blanket over to one side a bit to free up her other hand holding the ice pick. She looked down at the bandit's throat as she clutched the tool, calculating where she would have to strike and how much force she would have to use in order to keep him from making a lot of noise or attacking her. She tried to determine if it was worth it to be proactive about it, and her hand trembled as she considered it. Not even aware she was doing it, her hand slowly rose into the air, tilting the tool slightly so that it was pointed at his throat. She quickly glanced over her shoulder at the others who were still soundly sleeping and snoring, then she looked back.
The bandit's fingers were lightly intertwined as the same expressionless look remained on his face. She had to strike... she had to before he could alert the others.
The ice pick was frozen in the air. She stepped directly next to his head. Then she lowered her arm.
A pent-up ball of air exerted tremendous pressure on her lungs and she wanted to let it out. But she kept it in, knowing she had to be silent at all costs. Instead, she crouched down and looked at the green box sitting underneath the edge of his cot.
In the faint light coming through the window she could just make out what was written on the side of it in yellow stenciling: 7.62x39mm.
She wrapped her fingers around the box and quietly pulled it out. She carefully opened the lid, staring at the bandit's face the whole time. Inside the box was exactly what the stenciling stated and what she had hoped to find: it was filled with AK-47 ammo. There looked to be at least a few dozen cartridges, and they would do the job just fine.
Sarah closed the box and picked it up, propping it in the crook of her arm under the blanket. Before she turned to leave, the bandit's pistol caught her eye again. It was the only weapon out of the four of them that hadn't been secured.
It sat on the far side of him on his hip, and it glinted in the moonlight like a prize flashing and shining in front of a small child, begging to be taken.
She gulped and looked at his face again, then she decided to go for. She slipped the ice pick into her pants and leaned over his body and extended her arm, but the stretch was farther than she anticipated. She brought her shins right to the metal frame of the cot without touching it and stretched her arm out. She reached the central point in her balance where she had to choose between staying upright but not reaching the gun or reaching the gun but tipping over, needing to balance on the cot for support. She struggled with her situation as her fingers stretched out for it like a dandelion reaching out for the sun. The box of ammo tipped in her arm and some of the cartridges inside started to roll around.
The bandit cleared his throat very roughly and shifted around on the cot.
Sarah nearly had a heart attack as her hand snapped back like she touched something hot, pulling her arm under the blanket and grabbing the ice pick. She stood bolt upright and froze in horror, waiting to see what his reaction was.
But after readjusting with his eyes closed, he cleared his throat again, softer this time, then settled back into his slumber.
The fear slowly washed out of her lungs and loosened its icy grip around her heart, and she composed herself. Her skin tingled all over her body and paranoia set in, causing her to imagine that she heard sounds all around her as she glanced back at the other sleeping bandits. She decided to quit while she was ahead and quietly turned and headed out for the door. She made her way through the bandits just as carefully as before, but quicker this time. When she passed the last bandit, sidling against the wall, it took everything she had not to run through the door as fast as she could.
When the wind nipped at her face outside, she trotted back to the campfire and knelt down, laying out her stolen treasure. She inspected the fire and saw the hot embers still burning underneath the pile of charred wood. Smoke still came out of it, and it was a mercy that the fire hadn't gone out completely. She left the ammo in the circle between the cars and made her way over to the woods, collecting an armful of small branches and shavings. She placed them on the fire, using a thick branch to rearrange the wood and stoke it. The breeze became stronger and gusted through the cars like it was a wind tunnel. The smoke swirled furiously from underneath, and with more poking and prodding, Sarah saw tiny flames start to consume the wood. With a bit more effort, they climbed up the pile until they were greedily lapping up at the sky.
The fire roared and crackled and Sarah looked at the rest stop then at the woods behind her. She went over the rest of the plan in her head before she took action, imagining her leading the bandits through the woods to the house at the edge of the cliff. The ones in the mall hadn't done anything to stop the killer, but this time there were no zombies to distract them and this time the killer was weakened. She knew they wanted revenge on him and she would give it to them.
She opened the box of rifle cartridges and turned it upside down, letting them fall onto the fire in a clinking shower of gold.
Sarah dropped the box and picked up the crutches that she had left. She hurried away from the fire over to the woods. She wanted to keep up the proper illusion in front of the bandits, and she knew she would have to give up the crutches and make it the rest of the way on her own two feet. No sooner did she toss them away into the woods than the cartridges began to explode in the fire.
They went off like fireworks, splitting the silence of the night with loud cracks and bangs and sending small pieces of wood flying as a shower of sparks and embers followed.
Sarah stood at the edge of the woods, visible but ready to flee. She pulled the blanket up over h
er head and held the edges in front of her face, creating a hood that left her identity in shadow and cloaked the rest of her body.
Yells came from the rest stop and seconds later the bandits appeared, staring at the fire with looks of utter shock on their faces. They screamed out into the night, demanding answers and screaming at each other in their confusion. They started to move up to the campfire, then stumbled back and crouched down, trying to take cover, when a strong burst went off and blew large chunks of wood toward them.
The exploding stopped and the fire roared into a tall and twisting monster for a few seconds before settling down.
"That was the ammo!" one of the bandits yelled as he reemerged from the restroom. "Someone took it!"
"Over there!" another one of them yelled, pointing.
"Oh my God," one of them said. "Is that him?"
"Who?"
"The one from the mall! I think he's holding a knife!"
Sarah remained still for a moment, keeping the blanket held tightly around her to conceal her identity as she exaggeratedly held out her other arm to display the ice pick. In the next moment she was ducking and fleeing as bullets flew her way.
"After him!" a bandit yelled from behind.
Sarah tore through the woods, trying to concentrate, and followed the footsteps back to the house. The uneven ground was hell on her legs, but she ignored the pain in her ankle. She stayed low to the ground and never stopped moving forward, her hands and feet sometimes churning uselessly on the snow and slicked ground underneath every time she fell.
Bullets occasionally whizzed past her, disappearing into the forest or striking trees near her and sending showers of splintered wood in every direction. The bullets stopped before long as they lost sight of her, and they resorted to yelling to each other, informing each other about glimpses of her or the trail of footprints she left.
Zombie Apocalypse Series (Book 3): Ashes in the Mouth Page 19
