The Infected_Torn Apart_Book Six

by Joseph Zuko

  “I’ll take all the help I can get,” said Doctor Bryant as she readjusted her backpack. She quietly asked Paul, “How are the locals?”

  Paul spoke softly, “So far, quite friendly. They are grateful we brought food and extra bodies to patrol the fence. I think we will make a good fit.” Paul pointed to his skull. “I know I declined before, but I need to take something for this migraine.”

  Lindsey dropped her bag to the floor, unzipped the top and dug through its contents. She produced a bottle of aspirin. “This will have to do until we can raid a local pharmacy for something stronger.” She handed the bottle to Paul.

  He cracked the top, extracted four pills, popped them in his mouth and handed them to her as she headed toward the hallway. “Thank you.”

  Lindsey stuffed the bottle in her bag and said, “I’ll gather a list of medical supplies we’ll need to replenish what was left behind.”

  Michael reached for a Bible tucked in the back of a pew. He asked with sorrow in his heart, “Perhaps, a memorial for everyone lost today would be in order?”

  Paul glanced at the raised stage at the end of the great hall. “I will leave it in your hands.”

  Michael’s eyes twinkled. He opened the Bible and thumbed through pages as he followed Lindsey.

  Paul grumbled, “He can’t wait to get on that stage.”

  Scott was quick to fire a counterpoint. “That’s why we hired him, isn’t it?”

  Paul huffed, “True.”

  “Where should I set up?” Scott tapped his bag full of electronics. “The Wi-Fi password was posted at the front door. Before the internet is shut off I can locate the bus again.”

  Paul’s features stiffened at the mention of Jim Blackmore and his murderous crew. On the drive out of Vancouver, Paul pondered what he might do if he was lucky enough to have another run-in with the man responsible for wiping out two of their teams, stealing a fortified bus and kidnapping a vital member of their congregation.

  Can I forgive him?

  Eye for an eye or turn the other cheek?

  Which one am I? Thought Paul, but no answer could be found.

  Scott continued and snapped Paul out of his moral dilemma. “Shawna might still be in the area. We could try and work out a trade or an agreement to get her back.”

  “Let us attempt to locate the bus and retrieve her.” Paul motioned for Scott to follow him. They headed for the stage and took a seat away from the commotion of the people loading in supplies.

  Scott produced his laptop, fired up the machine, entered the password.

  PRAISE-HIM.

  Scott’s web browser loaded a map. He found the blue dot and zoomed in. “That’s the bus. It’s only a few miles away” He adjusted his glasses. “It’s not moving.”

  Paul studied the screen and memorized the location. “Find an office, continue to monitor their position and if there are any changes, radio Cooper.”

  “You’re heading out, right now?”

  “Yes!” Paul stood. He rested his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Keep me informed. I will return shortly.” He spun on his heels and made for the exit.

  Paul emerged from the building. The warm sun recharged him like he was built out of solar panels. He headed straight for Cooper.

  Paul found him unloading boxes from the trailer.

  Cooper handed a case of baked beans to a woman standing at the end of the rig.

  Paul took her place and said, “I need your help.”

  This intrigued Cooper. He jumped down to the asphalt and grabbed his rifle from the deck of the trailer.

  Brother Paul moved with haste as he headed straight toward their military grade Hummer in the center of the lot.

  Cooper jogged to catch up with him and asked, “What are we doing?”

  “I’ll explain it to the group.”

  Lisa, the Hummer’s driver, found a garden hose attached to the building and was using it to blast chunks of gore, flesh, and blood from the Hummer’s windshield. Once it was clear she aimed the water at the grill. Hunks of muscle and bones fell to the asphalt.

  Lisa kicked off the hose once she spotted Brother Paul and Cooper heading her way. She grimaced at the red puddle she created around the vehicle. “I wanted to keep this beast ship shape and battle ready.” She explained as they approached.

  Brother Paul stopped a few feet away and said, “That’s good. We have a job to do and I need your help.” Paul circled the rig. It was his first time seeing the heavy-duty vehicle up close. The machine was impressive. “As far as field experience, you two have the most.”

  Lisa’s eyes darted from Cooper, back to Paul and she asked, “What’s the target?”

  “You both know Shawna?”

  They nodded.

  “She was kidnapped this morning by a group of people.”

  Lisa’s jaw hit the ground, “What?”

  Cooper lowered his brow. “How did that happen?”

  Paul rested his hand on the handle to the backseat of the Hummer. “We don’t know, but the group that has her…” He opened the door. “… is responsible for the deaths of Eric, Blaine, Dallas plus others…” His features were carved out of marble. Rigid and unforgiving. “… and I intend to get her back.” Paul climbed into the Hummer and slammed the door shut.

  Chapter 8

  Shawna grabbed her backpack, a utility knife, food, extra ammo for her rifle and a small med kit were all crammed in the one bag. She caught a glimpse at the approaching horde of zombies charging toward the bus.

  I’ve got sixty seconds.

  Move! Move! Move! She barked at herself.

  Shawna lifted her rifle, punched the release, and let the empty mag fall to the floor. Her nervous fingers fumbled to get the fresh magazine into the base of her gun. Finally, she got it to click. Shawna slung the bag and her rifle to her back. She dropped to her knees and stared at the two sniffling faces under the bench seat.

  “Girls, we’ve got to go!” She reached for them, but they didn’t budge. “I want to help you, but you have to climb out. Right now.”

  They shook their heads.

  She slapped her hands together and screamed, “Move it or we die!”

  That got their attention and the little ones scrambled from under the seat. Shawna hoisted the toddler onto her hip and held Valerie’s hand as they raced for the door.

  Shawna’s boots crashed onto the pavement. She scanned the horizon. In the distance, she spotted the peak of a roof just above the tree line. Any further away and she wouldn’t have noticed the building. A mile and a half stood between her and what she hoped would be sanctuary.

  On a good day, if she was rested and ready for a workout, she could run a mile on her treadmill in seven and a half minutes. On this blacktop, in the warm spring sun with a full backpack, rifle, toddler and five-year-old all in tow, she would be lucky to get there in fifteen.

  Shawna bent at her waist and lifted Valerie onto her other hip. The weight was already killing the muscles along her vertebrae. She took off at the fastest pace she could manage. All the hours she spent in the gym preparing for a moment like this were paying off. Running on a treadmill and lifting weights wasn’t the only way she forged her muscular body. She loved combining the two. She would often grab a heavy sandbag and run stairs with it draped over her shoulders. It was brutal. The weight compressed her lungs making it difficult to breathe. Running with two children in her arms was far worse. Her shoulders and biceps burned within twenty yards.

  Shawna marched along the edge of the highway and came into view of the ravenous horde. She glanced at the monsters. They altered their course and were now after her instead of the bus.

  Seeing their delicious meal running in the opposite direction got their dead legs turning faster. They were gaining on her.

  At this speed I won’t make it...

  …but if I drop the girls…

  …I’ll have a chance to survive!

  Sara wailed like a warrior as she lashed out with her boot. She m
issed her target and instead of his crotch, she caught Ryder in the upper thigh. He reached for his sore limb as she swung her makeshift claw at his face. The sharp edges of the hanger’s hooks carved a thin gash in his wide forehead. He flinched, ducked, covered his eyes, and ripped out a scream.

  She had nothing to land a knockout blow with, so she bolted for the front door.

  Ryder regained his footing and bellowed, “Where are you going, Red?” He fast pitched one of the Berettas at her.

  The pistol tagged her in the center of her spine as she crested the front door.

  Pain exploded through her back. Her legs went limp and she tumbled face first to the porch. She gasped. Unable to breathe. Ryder’s boots stomped after her. The pistol that caused the damage lay on the ground next to her. An extra mag for the gun hung from her shoulder harness. She reached for the pistol, but it was too late, Ryder was already hovering above her.

  He hissed at her, “God, you’re asking for it!”

  Sara fought through the pain and twisted her torso. She swung that claw at him again. He blocked the strike with his hands. A hook sliced the back of his knuckles.

  He recoiled, clutched the wound and yipped like someone stepped on a puppy’s tail.

  She had only a second to make her move. The man’s groin was within reach. She flung her boot up where his legs intersected.

  Direct hit!

  His twice destroyed balls bent him at the waist and he fell forward. Both hands gripped at his testicles as he tumbled. The full weight of his limp body came crashing onto her. The pressure was crushing. Blood and sweat smeared from his face to hers. Their limbs were tangled together. She was trapped. His face buried in the crook of her neck. His hot breath sickened her as he wheezed.

  Sara reached for the gun. Her fingertips brushed the cold textured steel of the pistol’s grip, but it was just out of reach. She pushed against the bulk of his heavy torso and wiggled under him.

  He attempted to speak, but words were outside of his abilities for the moment.

  Frustration mounted. She panicked under the stress.

  She couldn’t take his face being pressed against her neck anymore. Sara reached with both arms and grabbed his big noggin. She hooked three fingers into his mouth and yanked on his cheek as the other hand pushed his jaw away from her. Sara cranked on his neck. The sting of his stretched skin around his mouth forced him to roll off her. He dropped to his back as she released her grip. The handle of the kitchen knife Ryder had taken poked from his belt.

  Knife or the gun!

  One took extra time to load. Time, she didn’t have. The knife wasn’t a guaranteed kill either. She’d heard stories about someone being stabbed multiple times and surviving.

  The familiar snap of teeth slamming shut ripped her attention toward the steps of the porch.

  A friendly zombie waiting to tag into their wrestling match.

  Karen peeled the last of the bandage off Jim’s shoulder. The knife wound measured less than two inches in length, but the tear in the stitches made the slice appear jagged. It wasn’t just a tear in his skin. The cut went through the muscle, into his deltoid and out the other side. She inspected the exit wound. It was in better shape but would need something to keep it shut.

  Playing nurse helped her keep her fractured mind from completely falling apart.

  Karen cracked open a bottle of ibuprofen. She fed three into Jim’s pale face.

  Her next move was going to be based on rumors she had heard, and a story Jim’s grandfather once told. The Patriarch of Jim’s family had a very distinctive scar that ran down his chin. A few Christmas’s back they were visiting, and Valerie asked about the white line in his skin. Papa said, ‘I fell off my bike when I was a boy and my parents didn’t have money for a doctor, so they put scotch tape on the wound to keep it shut.’

  Karen also heard about doctor’s using super glue to close wounds. This was foreign territory for her, but she was desperate to close Jim’s injuries.

  Jim muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t! I can’t hear that now. We will find them!” Karen tossed the pills to Troy. “I’m sure you guys could use these, too.”

  She looked again at the cut on Jim’s shoulder. The string that held it together was no longer functional. It would need to go before she could apply any glue.

  “Where’s your Swiss Army knife?” Karen’s hand dug into Jim’s front pockets.

  He groaned “On the left.”

  She fished out the little red knife and flicked open the scissors. She grunted, “Hold still,” as she moved toward the red slit.

  She snipped at the knot and tugged the thread through the remaining holes. Jim hissed.

  “I need to make sure it’s clean.” Karen grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and poured it onto his shoulder. The wound became white and bubbly as the cleaning agent did its job.

  Karen found the bottle with the gorilla on it and twisted off its lid. She grabbed a towel and dabbed at the blood oozing from the cut. “I’m gonna glue it shut, but I’ll have to hold it together until it dries with my fingers. It’s gonna fucking hurt. Don’t squirm too much or we’ll have to do it again. Ready?”

  Jim nodded at her.

  Karen laid a thick bead of glue next to the cut. Once she had enough, she pinched the two sides of the wound together. Jim grunted and moaned. He punched at the seat next to him and focused on the dome light above.

  Since he would be unable to interject, Karen took this moment to speak. “I know you’re sorry, but I don’t want to talk about it. We didn’t have a clue that Shawna was about to make her move and go for the keys.”

  His focus flicked from the dome to her pale blue eyes.

  “Jim, just so we are clear. If we don’t find them today. I’m gone.” Tears trickled off her cheeks. “And I don’t mean I’m heading to Hawaii.”

  The searing anguish at his shoulder was intense. Through it all he managed to nod at her.

  The soles of Shawna’s boots slapped against the asphalt. Her ankles, knees and hips were getting punished by the merciless surface of the highway. The extra weight of the girls made every step a nightmare. She could tell her heartrate was around one-seventy and climbing. This was when she normally stopped whatever workout she was trying to accomplish.

  She huffed, “Are they close?”

  Valerie checked, “Yes!”

  The house was still a mile away.

  Shawna snorted a few words at a time. “Can you… count for me? How… many are… close?”

  “One, two, three, hum, four?” Valerie readjusted her grip on Shawna’s neck. “Four. The others are back there.”

  “Tell me… how far… One car or two cars?”

  Valerie thought about the question. It took a little for the kindergartener to understand the woman’s words.

  “Two cars.”

  “When they… get to one… tell me.” Shawna pulled the girls from her hips to her chest and locked her hands together at the wrists. This was what made her a tremendous athlete. Getting to a point of incredible suffering where you can’t imagine going any farther, yet you keep moving. Every fiber of her body screamed for her to stop. To quit and take a short break. Her lungs begged for a chance to recover and suck in one good lungful.

  Keep going! Said the tiny little voice in her head. She could barely hear it above the toddler crying in her ears.

  I’ve got to put them down. Said her body.

  Don’t you dare. Her brain fired back.

  They’re not your kids. The body responded.

  But they are children. You’d never forgive yourself if any harm came to them. Her brain cut right to a nerve. She couldn’t stand it when people were in pain. That’s why she became an EMT. To help people when they were at their most desperate.

  If I don’t put them down, we’ll all be dead. The body had a point.

  “They are one car away!” shouted Valerie.

  Shawna made her choice. She stopped and set the girls
to the highway. Their shrieks went supersonic.

  No time to load the gun. Sara reached for the knife in Ryder’s belt. The monster crested the last step. Sara sprang into action and launched herself at the beast. The thing was a man in its late sixties. It had a barrel chest, beer belly and thick arms. Bitemarks cascaded from his forehead to its jaw and a flap of skin jiggled from its wrinkled neck.

  Sara aimed the blade at its bloated jowls.

  Its hands pawed at Sara’s thin arms, but her trajectory couldn’t be altered. The tip of the knife slid into its soft skin just under its nonexistent jawline.

  Sara’s momentum carried them both to the front yard. Her weight kept the blade moving through its old skull and when they crashed to the ground the sudden stop allowed the knife to penetrate to the hilt.

  The zombie’s body went limp. Sara wiggled and yanked the handle around and made the corpse look like a bobble head doll. The knife was stuck.

  “Red?”

  Sara released the handle and jumped to her feet. The world was upside down when she approached this house before and her bearings were off.

  Left, or right? Sara tried to recall which direction was Desiree’s home.

  Ryder got to his knees and yelled, “You bitch!” He kept one hand on his nuts as he lumbered to his feet. He lifted the empty pistol as he regained his balance.

  Sara guessed which way they came from and ran. The tossed gun gave her a limp and she hobbled along the sidewalk.

  Ryder was a tad slower as he descended the steps. Once he hit the yard he charged after her like a bull and Sara was the red cape. His speed increased as he called to her. “I’m gaining on ya, Red.”

  Sara’s gait was out of whack. It was as if she had one short leg. She was defenseless. No gun. No knife. No real sense of direction. She felt completely naked. The man after her wasn’t going to just take a bite. Well, maybe he would, Sara had no clue to what depths Ryder’s sick fantasies would go. Fear squeezed at her soul and threatened to never release her.

  You escaped the closet!

  You can do this! Sara championed herself.