by JJ Zep
“Yeah, yeah. What’s this about anyway? Why didn’t you just go into the warehouse like we agreed.”
Charlie turned and started making his way down the corridor, trailing his hand along the wall. “The girl,” he said. “They forgot the girl.”
Up ahead, pallid light spilled from the infirmary’s open door into the darkened corridor. That door was usually kept closed. Now it was open, so perhaps they’d taken the girl after all. Charlie had probably gotten himself and Wackjob killed for nothing.
He snuck forward, paused at the door, peered in. The room was bathed in moonlight flooding in through its single window. Charlie could make out the three beds, the shape under the covers. From outside came a tortured, high-pitched screech.
“What the fuck was that?” Wackjob said. Charlie had never before heard fear in Wackjob’s voice. He heard it now.
Scccrrrreeeee! The sound came again
“Jesus!” Wackjob said. “It sounds like…”
He didn’t need to finish. Charlie understood what the sound was. The Z’s were ripping the corrugated iron sheeting from the walls of the warehouse. Opening it up like a sardine can, to get at the people inside.
thirty five
Charlie crossed to the bed, looked down on the pallid face of the girl lying there. “Skye,” he whispered, her name sounding good on his lips, even in the circumstances. “Skye, this is Lieutenant Charlie Collins of the Pendragon Corporation. I’ve come to get you out of here.”
The girl said nothing, made no movement. Was she even breathing? Charlie placed two fingers on the pulse of her neck, felt a momentary spark of static electricity as he touched her cool skin. Skye’s eyes fluttered open.
“You’re awake,” Charlie said, feeling slightly stupid at stating the obvious. “Look Skye, we’ve got to get you out of here. The Z’s –“
Another of those tortured screeches sounded from outside. If Skye heard it, she made no response. Was she catatonic? Was she in a coma? Charlie waved a hand in front of her face. Nothing.
Scccreeeee!
“Whatever you’re planning boss,” Wackjob said from the doorway, “I suggest you hurry. Sounds like they’re tearing the place up out there. You do have a plan right?”
The thing was, Charlie didn’t. Get the girl out of here and then what? Find a place to hide? Try to make a run for it? They wouldn’t get very far on foot and even if they managed to get to one of the Toyotas without being torn apart, they’d soon be swamped, pulled from the vehicle, eaten alive.
Scccreeeee!
One thing at a time, he told himself. He pulled the covers back, exposing Skye’s frail, childlike form. She was dressed only in a hospital gown. An IV line trailed down and entered the flesh in the crook of her arm, held in place by a strip of plaster. Charlie plied the plaster loose, then gently withdrew the needle. Dark blood immediately welled up and spilled over onto the sheet.
“Shit!” Charlie said. He scanned for something to stem the flow, saw a medicine cabinet affixed to a wall and crossed to it.
From outside, came the rattle of gunfire. That wasn’t good. That meant that the warehouse had been breached.
Snatching up a roll of gauze and another of sticky plaster, he returned to the bed. The flow of blood had slowed and now pooled along Skye’s side, soaking into the bed, into her gown. She seemed oblivious to it.
Working quickly, Charlie pulled a makeshift dressing around Skye’s arm. It wasn’t great, but it was going to have to do.
“Clock’s ticking,” Wackjob said from the door.
Charlie ignored him, crouched, and slid his left arm under the girl’s thighs, his right under her back. “I’m going to need you to wrap your hands around my neck,” he said. When she made no move to comply, he repeated, “I’m going to need you to –”
A shadow fell across the bed. Charlie looked up and saw Z’s at the window, lots of them, hungry, nightmare faces pushed to the glass.
“Skye, I’m going to need you to –”
Her arm snaked out and wrapped around his neck, grabbed a handful of his shirt in a surprisingly strong grip.
“Good,” he said and lifted her. She weighed almost nothing. Her breath against his cheek carried the sour aroma of a body that had begun to feed on itself. Charlie stepped towards the doorway, not even sure yet where he was going.
Behind him, the infirmary window imploded. From outside, the screeching of metal was now supplemented by screams.
He stepped into the corridor after Wackjob, started along it.
A massive explosion shook the building, coaxing dust from the ceiling, causing Charlie to stagger on his feet, as the floor seemed to buckle under him. Charlie steadied himself against the wall as a number of smaller explosions sounded from outside.
“Fuck me,” Wackjob said out of the darkness. “Fuck me, he really did it.”
Charlie felt dust scratch at his throat. Felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes that had nothing to do with the dust. Morales had had the warehouse rigged. He’d sworn that he’d blow the place rather than let his family fall to the Z’s. He’d been as good as his word.
The door at the end of the corridor swung open offering a vision of hell, of flame and dust, twisted metal and broken bodies, of Z’s loping past in the direction of the warehouse. Then a man stood in the doorframe, the Z who talked, the abomination that Charlie still could not fully comprehend.
“The woman is mine,” the thing said. “Give her to me and you live.”
Charlie looked down the corridor to the shape filling the doorway. Behind him, he heard glass shattering, furniture pushed roughly aside. The Z’s were in the infirmary and would soon spill into the passage cutting off any chance of escape. He looked desperately in that direction anyway, knowing it was useless.
thirty six
Charlie had never felt so helpless in his life. He knew only one thing. That he wasn’t handing Skye over to this creature. He’d rather die. Rather die? He was going to die. There wasn’t much question about that. This was one scrape he wasn’t getting out of. So be it then, but he’d rather put a bullet in Skye’s brain than give her up.
Behind him he heard a door clatter open, the sound of footfalls.
“Here they come!” Wackjob shouted, simultaneously firing off a volley of closely spaced shots into the darkened corridor. The sound was deafening in the confined quarters.
Charlie shifted Skye’s weight in his arms, drew his 9-mil and turned awkwardly. A rapid flurry of clicks sounded from behind him, from the creature filling the doorway. To his amazement, the Z’s backed off, skulked back into the shadows like a pack of scolded dogs.
“The girl is mine.” Charlie's attention was drawn back towards the thing in the doorway. The creature made no effort to move, simply stood there, demanding compliance.
To his right, Charlie saw Wackjob slowly begin raising his carbine.
“Don’t,” he said. “This guy’s the only thing holding the Z’s in check. Kill him and they’ll be on us in a second.”
“What then?” Wackjob said. “You ain’t thinking of handing over the girl, are you? He’ll kill us anyway.”
That much was true. Charlie was certain of it. But the grain of an idea had begun to form in his mind. This thing said it wanted Skye. The question was, how badly did it want her?
“I’m sorry, Skye,” Charlie said under his breath.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his pistol and placed it to her temple.
“No!” the thing said immediately. Was that a note of panic in its voice? “Don’t do that!”
“Don’t do that or what?” Charlie said. “You’ll kill us? You’ll kill us anyway.”
“Give me the girl and you go free. You have my word.”
“Here’s a better idea,” Charlie said. “Back away from the door or I paint the walls with her pretty little brains.”
The thing stood its ground, but Charlie saw an expression that resembled doubt cross its destroyed face. “Do it now!” he barke
d.
“Back up motherfucker!” Wackjob shouted, and now the creature did retreat, a few backward paces that took it out into the yard.
Charlie stepped immediately after it, covering the twenty feet to the doorway, the pistol held firmly to Skye’s forehead. He stepped into the yard, circled away from the thing, maintaining contact with its dead eyes.
The yard was alive with flame, with the crackle of fire, the stench of broiling human flesh. In his peripheral vision Charlie could see the blackened, skeletal remains of what had been Morales’ warehouse. He saw bodies too, or at least what was left of them, lumps of seared flesh that were barely recognizable as human, here an arm, there a head, there a eviscerated torso, intestines spilling out like the innards of a gutted computer. Now came the Z’s, spewing from the darkness into the irregular light of the flames. They trampled over the rubble of the destroyed warehouse, rattled across the fallen fences, closed in like the hungry mouth of a predator.
“Back them off!” Charlie screamed. “Back them off or she dies.”
The trace of a smile danced across the creature’s face and for a moment Charlie thought he wasn’t going to comply. Then that curious clucking sound issued from his mouth and the horde stopped in its tracks, even backed off a few paces.
Charlie scanned around the tight circle formed by the dead things and felt like a guppy, facing down a Great White shark. He took in a slow breath between gritted teeth, focused on steadying the quiver in the hand holding the pistol. Despite the noxious odors of fire and blood and dead flesh he could actually smell the acrid tang of his own sweat.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, as though originating from somewhere outside his body. “First you’re going to back your people off. Back them up right to the perimeter fence. Do it now!”
The creature again gave him that semi-amused smile. Then it languidly clucked its tongue to the roof of its mouth. Instantly, the Z’s backed off and kept backing off until Charlie saw what he’d been hoping would still be there. One of the Toyotas standing askew in the yard, near the main gate, askew but still in tact as far as he could tell.
thirty seven
The thirty or so yards he had to cover to the Toyota felt like the longest walk of his life. For every step he retreated, the creature took one forward, tracking him, its dead eyes never leaving his, the half-smile never leaving its lips. On one or two occasions it clucked its tongue in that peculiar sound, backing the Z’s away from them. Charlie still hadn’t figured what manner of creature it was, or what its interest was in the girl. All he knew was that his plan seemed to be working. Were they really going to be allowed to drive out of here? He was about to find out. His butt bumped up against the tailgate of the Toyota.
“Wackjob,” he said, speaking over his shoulder, “See if this crate will start.”
“Hell yeah,” Wackjob said. He scurried around to the front of the truck. Charlie heard the key grind in the ignition, the engine turn and take, to the accompaniment of Wackjob’s rebel yell.
Charlie looked back across the twenty feet separating him from the creature, backlit by the flames from the warehouse, backdropped by his zombie army of thousands, waiting, watching. A cluck of the tongue would send them surging forward to tear him and Skye apart. If that happened, would he have the balls to pull the trigger? Would he be able to destroy this woman who he hardly knew, but thought he might love? He was about to find out. The next thirty seconds would decide their fate.
He cleared his throat of the saliva that had become backlogged there, sucked in a mouthful of smoke-polluted air. The creature looked back at him, a silhouette framed by flame, its features now hidden in shadow, only eyes that seemed to glow red in the dark, visible.
“Here’s what happens next,” Charlie said. “I’m getting into the truck, taking Skye with me. Me and my friend and Skye are going to drive out of here. You will tell your people to clear a path and let us pass. They will not obstruct us in any way. You got that? Any attempt to stop us, and the lady dies. I’m going to need you to clear that path now.”
The creature stood silent, unmoving.
“Do it,” Charlie persisted. “Do it or she dies.”
“You won’t kill her,” came the creature’s voice. “I sense that you won’t.”
“You willing to bet her life on that, friend? Because I wouldn’t. The first bullet pulps her brain, the second turns yours to jello. Your choice.”
The creature seemed to contemplate a moment. “You’ll never escape me. I will find you.”
“Yeah?” Charlie said. “Well how about we cross that particular bridge when the river’s in flood. Right now I need you to open a path behind us. Do it!”
He shifted Skye’s weight in his arms, made a big show of holding the pistol to her brow.
“The girl…Skye…belongs to me,” the creature said. “When, in time, I come to reclaim her, I expect to find her unmolested.” He clucked his lips and Charlie heard movement behind him, the shuffling of thousands of feet. He worked his way along the back of the truck, along the side towards where the door stood open. Leaning into the cab he placed Skye gently on the seat. Then he stepped back, still holding the gun on her. He turned towards the creature.
“Any attempt to follow us, to hinder us in any way, and she dies. You got that?”
The creature said nothing for a moment. When he spoke his voice carried the undertone of repressed rage. “There are worse things than death,” he said. “In time you will come to know that.”
thirty eight
Jojo woke with a start and for a moment was uncertain of where he was. Then the shadow of the bars across the cell clued him in and he sat up on the bunk with a feeling of dread weighing heavily on his shoulders. From outside he heard again the sound that had woken him. The diesel grumble, the metallic clank, of heavy machinery on the move. The bulldozers were being maneuvered into position for the assault.
Was it morning already? He’d completely lost track of time, hadn’t even been aware that he’d dozed off, hadn’t thought he was capable of sleep. How long before Harrow launched his attack?
The answer came in the next moment. Jojo heard the deadly whisper of mortars, one after the other in a sequence that seemed to last a full thirty seconds before being eventually displaced by an expectant silence. Now a muted series of explosions ripped through the night.
Jojo stood on the cot and peered through the bars. The sky above the shantytown was already aglow with ochre light. Jesus! How had the fire spread so quickly? Jojo thought he knew and the realization filled him with impotent rage.
“No!” he shouted into the darkness. “You son of a bitch, Harrow! No!”
As if in reply, the next bombardment was launched. The first volley had been incendiary, designed to get a fire going. This next barrage would be high explosive and the gusts created by the detonations would quickly spread the blaze. Anyone caught in the crossfire was going to be cooked alive.
The rolling thunder of the second flight tore at the darkness. One-twenties, the son of a bitch was using one-twenties against targets that would barely withstand a stiff breeze.
Even as those percussions faded Jojo heard the rumble of the bulldozers revving up, the typewriter clatter of small arms fire. Now came the whoosh of the wind-driven inferno and the smell of smoke and seared flesh. He fancied too that he heard screams, although at this distance that was unlikely.
Out east the blackness was being displaced by an inky blue. Jojo’s hands tightened on the bars in a grip that felt like it might crush the very steel under his palms. He felt hot tears spill from his eyes and cascade down his cheeks.
thirty nine
The Toyota quit on them just north of Indio. They were on a stretch of four-lane highway, relatively free of obstacles. This section of the 1-10 had been a regular patrol route for the Corporation back in the day. Obstructing vehicles had long since been pushed to the shoulder. It was still dark, but Char
lie could make out a graying of the sky to the east. Dawn would be upon them soon.
“Quit that,” he said as Wackjob tried for the umpteenth time to get the truck started.
“Son of a bitch piece of Jap crap,” Wackjob spat, pounding his palms against the steering wheel.
“Even Jap crap needs diesel to run,” Charlie said. He eased Skye’s head away from his shoulder and slid out of the cab, stood on the blacktop and looked back down the road. Nothing moved out there in the darkness. He did a scan of the area, turning in a slow circle. The road stretched endlessly in either direction north to south; east lay open scrubland just becoming visible in the graying dawn; to the west the horizon was framed by a range of jagged hills. They were out in the open with very little cover. If they were caught out here, they’d be in trouble.
“What’s the deal, boss?” Wackjob said, making him start. “I hope you’re not planning on heading for Pendleton, because if you are –”
“We’re not going to Pendleton,” Charlie said. That much he’d already decided on the drive north. Wackjob would be shot as a deserter at Pendleton, probably Charlie too, for abandoning his post.
“We’re going to Big Bear,” he said.
“Big Bear?”
“Yeah, my family is up there.”
“I know, but that takes us right through Palm Desert and Palm Springs. That’s Z Central and in case you haven’t noticed we ain’t exactly loaded for bear.”
He was right, of course. Charlie had left his rifle and the M-60 at the compound. He had maybe half a clip left in his 9-mil. Wackjob still had his AR-15 but was likely to be low on ammo.
“And then there’s the girl. She don’t look like she weighs much but carrying her 50 miles in this heat with no supplies –”
“Never figured you for such a pissy bitch.”
“Just saying is all,” Wackjob said sulkily.
