Dead Eye Hunt (Book 2): Into The Rad Lands

by Meredith, Peter

  Quickly, he jammed his foot against the bottom of the gate and shoved the chain through and around. They tried to tear at his arm, but only managed to rip a sleeve from the rags he wore.

  For the moment, at least, the two were safe. Corrina slumped against the wall, sliding down it until her knees were at the level of her chin. “You know what? If I turn into one of them, the first thing I’m gonna do is bite Hamilton. McWiggy, too.”

  “Yeah?” Right at that moment, he couldn’t see anything wrong with that.

  “Oh yeah. I’d eat their faces off.”

  Now they were heading into dangerous waters. “We don’t know anything yet. You might not be infected. Remember how we all thought Phillips was infected? I bet that’ll be you. And we still have the booster.” Boosters didn’t work on zombies, but what about someone who was halfway in between the two worlds? He was willing to try anything at this point, and it wasn’t like he was a scientist.

  “We’ll rest once we’re in the city,” he said, putting his hands out to her. She grabbed his hands just as a series of rumbling echoes came down the side tunnel. They were gunshots. “That was from the inner works. How many shots was that?”

  “Four, I think. Maybe. They were all together.”

  One was too many. Had Hamilton and McGuigan just walked into a trap? With a sinking feeling, Cole checked how many rounds he had for his Riker. He had fourteen shots left. If there was trouble ahead, it wouldn’t be enough. Corrina slung an arm over his shoulder and they left the madness of the dead behind so they could face a new madness; that of the living.

  The Crag were nowhere to be seen. They had left their tunnels empty and unguarded. Cole and Corrina were able to hobble along, clutching each other tightly. Fear rode the air as they wound deep into the lair of the Crag. Although they expected anything but a warm reception, the last thing they expected to see was three hundred cheering Crag, standing in a deep circle around Bruce Hamilton who was crouched behind a spear. At first Cole thought he was defending himself against the crowd, then he saw a tall man across from Hamilton. It was not a Crag, but a man with a spear of his own. Was this Malachi Ewing? Had he come back at the worst possible time?

  Off to the side was Campana sitting on his throne, a greedy, happy expression on his warped face. In front of him were the bodies of the three Dead-eyes they had risked life and limb to bring back. One of the Crag was stealing their hoods and manacles. To Campana’s left was McGuigan kneeling with Hagy’s head in his lap. There was bright red blood pooling around her.

  There had been four shots, one each for the Dead-eyes and one for Hagy. “What the hell is going on?” Cole asked, speaking under his breath. “What did we miss?”

  “Justice,” Corrina growled. “Them fuckers screwed us over.”

  “Yeah, maybe. You know that whatever the Crag does to them, they’ll do to us, too. And Hagy never did anything to you.”

  The fierce look on her face vanished, replaced by a guilty one. “It don’t matter none. We’re all screwed. Our zombies are dead and that means we are, too. We can’t go back to the city and we can’t stay here.”

  “We’re not screwed yet. We both know where we can get plenty of zombies.” It took her a few seconds to realize what he meant and then she laughed and clapped her hands like a kid that was just told they were going for ice cream. It was an odd reaction and the hunter in Cole ticked off another box. He shook his head to clear it of the vision of a black-eyed Corrina. Pointing across the large room, he said, “You try to get around them to that tunnel. I think it’s the way we came in.”

  “I should be with you. You need me.”

  “No, what I need is speed. Trust me, I’ll catch up to you. Now, get going. I’ll be right back.”

  His plan was so bare-boned that it could hardly be called a plan at all. It had one working part: he was going to introduce a thousand zombies into the room. After that he’d have to figure the rest out as he went along. There was no time for anything more elaborate and even if there were, she could only hobble along. He gave her good arm a brief squeeze before jumping up and running back down the tunnel. Behind him the Crag let out a cheer and then a unified “Ooooh!” The fight had begun.

  Even without his broken ribs, Hamilton’s chances of winning some sort of barbaric battle to the death were slim. He was a big strapping man, strong, but not quick. He was also used to riding around all day in a squad car; he lacked endurance, and the brief glimpse Cole had of him showed that he was already worn and tired.

  Still, he was a mean son of a bitch who knew how to survive.

  But if he was dead before Cole could get back with the cavalry, that would be just fine, too. Corrina had been right; it would be justice. He didn’t believe the same for McGuigan. Whatever faults he had, the man didn’t deserve to be eaten alive.

  Whether he lives or dies is going to depend on him, Cole thought as he ran through the tunnels. Hagy was innocent in this as well and Cole hoped he’d be able to save her and bag a few Dead-eyes. If McGuigan left her to run away, Cole wasn’t going to try and hunt him down. But that was putting five or six carts before the horse. “First things first,” he muttered as he came to the gate where the dead were straining against unsullied metal. Even they could not break the thick chain.

  They had been letting out a long mournful moan, but at the sight of him the moans turned back to insane shrieks.

  “God,” he said and then immediately regretted blaspheming in the presence of demons. “God help me.”

  With their vile, diseased hands scraping at him, he undid the chain and then leapt back as the gate crashed open. The dead piled at his feet in a mass of black bodies. More poured over the top. Cole hesitated only a second before he turned and ran. He had to fight the desire to throw everything into a mad sprint; he was already tired and didn’t want to burn himself out. Even with the dead hot on his heels, he made sure to keep an even pace, keeping just ahead of the mob.

  If he tripped or took a wrong turn down a passage that dead-ended, he would be torn to pieces before he could scream. It was a risk, but after the day he’d had, it felt like nothing.

  Things would get really hairy when he made it to the atrium. Once there, he would have to run directly at three-hundred armed people with a horde right on his heels. He figured they would shoot him first. And what could he do about it? A hundred guns would be pointed right at him and he only had fourteen bullets. And it wasn’t as if he could duck or dodge or even hide behind cover—not with thousands of Dead-eyes right behind him.

  His only hope was to get in among the Crag.

  He burst into the atrium with the mob of Dead-eyes almost within reach, and no one noticed. They were watching Malachi Ewing put on a clinic of cruelty. He was like a matador before a spent and bloodied bull. On the ground before him, Hamilton was already bleeding from eight different cuts. His broken ribs had him wheezing and his legs had failed him.

  Like a dancer, moving with quick, almost delicate motions, Malachi lunged forward, his spear moving in a blur. With the last of his energy, Hamilton partially parried the thrust and had the spear’s edge slice through his left arm.

  The crowd jeered and hooted, making so much noise that they didn’t hear the Dead-eyes until they were almost on top of them. When someone finally saw the wave of black bodies, their scream was drowned out by a cheer—Hamilton had thrown his spear and missed.

  Then a second person saw the onrushing horde. “Dead-eyes!” a woman shrieked so loud that more than one head turned. This finally got the rest’s attention and sparked mayhem. The Crag closest to the wave of dead fled without firing a shot. The next closest were run over by the first. The rest began to back up, firing high.

  Bullets whizzed past Cole as he dodged through the Crag, who were going in every direction, fighting each other and the dead. It was exactly the sort of anarchy Cole needed to get close. He and a dozen Dead-eyes burst into the clearing where Hamilton was still kneeling. Guns were going off all around the clea
ring. The Crag were not particularly good shots and although they fired a wall of lead, it only slowed the beasts.

  Malachi was not one of the Crag. He was a slag as hideous as Hagy. If he’d had a gun on him, he would’ve been deadly to the zombies. He had only a spear and the hate in his heart. Ignoring the dead, he leveled the weapon and, with a scream of rage, he charged Cole.

  Cole was exhausted, bruised, and battered. His body thrummed with pain and his breath billowed in and out of him. For the average person, shooting took a steady hand, a calm heart and emotional control. For Cole, it was robotic and cold. He drew the Riker in one fluid motion and fired just as his arm unfurled. The bullet took Malachi high in the chest—a poor shot that dropped the slag but did not kill him.

  A second shot was needed but Cole was already spinning around. Hate was a powerful motivator and it was no great stretch of the imagination to guess that Campana would be even more filled with it than Malachi. After all, Cole had just turned his lair into a buffet for the dead.

  Still running on “automatic,” Cole spun and fired at the same time that Campana pulled his own trigger. The bullets screamed past each other. Campana’s ripped through Cole’s rags and tore across his thigh, the same thigh he’d been shot in two days before. They both went down to one knee. Cole’s bullet had gone through Campana’s expansive gut.

  Again, a second shot was called for, but once more, Cole’s reflexes had him turning in a blur. Black bodies came flying at him. The Riker seemed to be a part of him as he fired, hitting three in mid-air. Another of the Dead-eyes charged over the sprawled bodies. Cole’s fourth shot blasted its ear off as it tripped and fell into Cole’s legs. Its mouth came down on his thigh and it took a colossal bite—of the holster for the Riker.

  Cole twisted so that when he fired again, the bullet wouldn’t end up in his leg. The Riker went off. Black blood exploded up in a strange misting cloud. Instinctively, he threw an arm up to keep the blood out of his face, and just as he did, he saw another creature charging down on him, and another, and another. The Riker roared and he blasted the creatures, but there were too many, and Cole saw he was going to be a fraction of a second too slow. He spun and fired wildly. The bullet missed as hideous teeth came slashing in at his face, going for the white of his eye, just as he saw yet another racing in at a blur.

  To Cole’s amazement, the two creatures crashed into each other and went rolling in a flailing ball of thrashing limbs and dreadful snarls. At first Cole thought it was another Dead-eye. Then he saw that in a way it was. It was Corrina, fighting tooth and nail.

  Chapter 34

  Cole aimed the gun, but had to wait to fire, afraid he would hit Corrina as the two went rolling back and forth. He didn’t have to wait long until the creature got the upper hand. In seconds, it pinned Corrina but instead of driving its teeth down into her, it ignored the child and went after Cole—if Cole needed another sign that Corrina was turning, this would’ve been it. A Dead-eye hungered for fresh clean blood.

  When it charged this time, Cole was ready. The Riker seemed almost soundless as it bucked in his hand and let loose a small slug of lead. He did not miss his target. The Dead-eye took the bullet through its scaly forehead, jerked in mid-stride and then went loose as hot rubber, and fell.

  Slowly, Cole stared all around him as the battle raged. Guns were going off so quickly that it sounded like machine gun fire. Dead-eyes screamed in fury while men and women screamed in ultimate pain. A few feet away Corrina was picking herself up when her leg buckled. Cole started toward her but she pointed past him.

  Her finger was aimed at Campana who had just shoved aside the great chair he was using as a throne. Beneath it was a round metal trapdoor that Campana pushed inward. He dropped down into darkness.

  “Crap!” Cole snarled, as he ran for the trapdoor, getting to it a moment before it closed for good. He smashed down on it with his boot and it swung inward, cracking Campana full in the face. Cole then jumped down on top of the Crag. On the way down, he hit his elbow on the edge of the trapdoor and his Riker tumbled away. By the time he was able to grab it, Campana had a gun pointed at his face.

  Campana didn’t shoot, which Cole thought was strange. Slowly Cole lifted his gun and pointed it at the Crag. They faced each other in silence. For Cole it was a confused silence. Campana could have killed him and was in a position to kill anyone that came down the ladder, but he didn’t.

  “Look out,” Corrina called from above. Gingerly, she came down the ladder. Pain marring her tatted features. She limped to Cole’s right before collapsing in a heap. Behind her came Hamilton and he too was gimpy and curled in on himself as he moved.

  “Help me!” It was McGuigan, panic in his voice. He was trying to help Hagy down. It was the bravest, most selfless thing he had ever done, and he paid for it seconds later. He had just lowered her down to Cole when one of the Dead-eyes caught sight of him. The beast was wiry and small, but so vicious that it took McGuigan by surprise with its ferocity. Before he knew it, it was on him, tearing at his face, biting his arm, his ear, the side of his head. He screamed.

  Cole shoved the gun at Hamilton and raced up the ladder in time to see McGuigan go down under the thing’s onslaught. Without thinking of the danger, Cole ran up to it and kicked its head as if he was kicking a soccer ball. The blow was hard enough to rattle the thing’s black brain and at the same time it caused Cole to stumble. For a moment, it gazed stupidly at Cole, and then the copper scent of blood took over its mind and it took another bite out of McGuigan, who screamed.

  Sucking in a breath, Cole lashed out with another kick, this time he put everything he had into it. His boot struck the thing’s temple where the skull was thinnest, and crushed the bone, sending fragments deep into its brain and yet, somehow, it was still alive and still moving. Sluggishly, it again turned to look at Cole, whose leg was now too gimpy for another kick. In desperation, he shoved the creature as hard as he could with both hands and knocked it off McGuigan.

  “Come on!” Cole yelled, grabbing his old boss. The battle was ending and the Crag had lost. Hundreds of Dead-eyes were roaming the atrium, chasing the last of the Crag or huddled in groups over screaming men and women. Unless the victim voluntarily gave up their throat, being eaten alive was a long, torturous affair. Human mouths could only tear off so much meat at a time.

  Cole dragged McGuigan to the hole and, unceremoniously, threw him down headfirst. There was no time for anything gentler. Cole jumped down on top of him, turned and shut the door just as more of the black-skinned beasts attacked.

  “There is lock,” Campana grunted through his shaggy beard.

  The lock consisted of a clasp with a dangling railroad spike. Cole spiked it and then turned to look at the group as fists and claws banged above him. They were a doomed lot. Certainly Hagy and Campana were going to die from their wounds. Both were bleeding too heavily. Vital organs had been destroyed. It was only a matter of time for them. Still, they had more time than Corrina. She was turning fast. Her eyes were dark grey and she was leering at McGuigan, hungrily.

  On the floor at Cole’s feet, McGuigan was a bloody mess. His face was torn up. He had lost one eye and most of his nose. He wept into a dirty rag he had found in the litter of trash around them.

  Hamilton was still alive because he was too much of a son of a bitch to give in to death. He glared at Campana. Pointing at the bloody wound in his gut, he said, “You deserve that.”

  “The shit I done, I deserve more’n a little scrape,” he snarled. It was weak as far as snarls went. “I was king. I did what I want and fuck everyone else. It was good while it lasted.”

  There was a rough-cut tunnel behind him. “Where’s that lead?” Cole asked. He didn’t think Campana would answer, but in this, he was wrong.

  “Out. Out to building.” Slowly, he eased himself down, one hand clutching his gut. “It’s a straight go. No turns, no climbs.”

  “Alright,” Cole said, uncertainly. He was glad that it was a straig
ht shot, but how many of them would be able to make it to this building? Hagy certainly wouldn’t be able to. He and Hamilton were too done in to carry the woman more than a few hundred yards, and even if they got her back to the city she would still die. Only vamps could afford proper surgeons. Hagy would be butchered by the docs she could afford. The right thing to do was to put her out of her misery. It was the right thing but also one of the hardest things.

  It was hard to even consider and he put it on the back burner for the moment. “You’re going to let us just pass? Why do I doubt that? Is there a trap down that way?”

  “No. No trap. You can go if you do one thing for me. Turn me into one of them.” He pointed at the rough ceiling of the room.

  Cole’s eyes shot to Corrina, who wore a little smirk. He then looked to Hamilton, who was as clearly confused as he was. Hamilton began shaking his head, asking, “You want us to turn you into one of them? What the fuck for?”

  “So I can live. So I can live forever.” He grinned, blood in his rotted teeth. “The dead ones are never really dead. They never die. Did you know that? They live on and on. I want that.”

  “You’re fucked in the head,” Hamilton grunted. He then shrugged and said, “But why not? We were here for Dead-eyes and you’ll do.”

  Hagy, sucked in a breath and said, “Me too.”

  Cole leaned back from her, his mouth coming open. “W-why? Do you know what you’re asking?”

  “I do,” she answered without looking up. “I don’t get paid unless you come through with your end of things.”

  “What good is a little cash if you’re one of…”

  “It’s for my children,” she answered, softly. She looked up at Cole. “My deal with the lady was that I get paid one way or another if you bring back the dead. You will take my money to my family. Not him.” She shot Hamilton a hard look. “I’m not crazy. I know what I’m doing. I just need your help.” She paused, her eyes dropping. “Just…just make sure you kill me when it’s all over. I don’t want to be one of them any longer than I have to. Living forever like that is an abomination.”