I shake my head. “Nope. That line was corny as hell.”
“Whatever. At least I held up my end of that promise. You better hold up yours.”
“You got it, old man. I mean, yes Sir!” I emphasize my answer with a smart salute.
He sighs again and points his cane at me, muttering “Such a brat,” before turning back to the group and becoming Captain Cooper again.
“Hunters, with me.” His commanding voice cuts through the morning stillness, calling an abrupt halt to the silliness and laughter. Everyone in the courtyard comes to attention.
“It's time to move out. All that must be said has already been said. Now choose a bike and get ready to have it become very familiar with your ass-cheeks.” A grin tugs at his lips at the laughter that accompanies the remark.
Luke and Mike's bikes are already assigned, but the one of my choosing is a purple mountain bike with the word Schwinn painted on the crossbar. I immediately nickname it Barney. Grabbing the bikes handlebars I give it a bounce, testing its durability. Okay, Barney. Me and you are going to get real familiar, real soon. Please be gentle on my lady parts.
“Good luck to you all and Godspeed on your mission. We will see you all back in a few weeks.”
Cooper’s eyes cut my way as he says this, letting me know he expects me to adhere to that command. I dip my chin and adjust the brim of my green army hat, telling him I intend to. He nods back before bellowing at the guards, “Open the gate.”
And we're off.
* * *
Walking through the city with the cumbersome bikes is not as bad as I thought it would be. There are blocks where we can actually ride for a distance before having to dismount and walk through the blockades of abandoned vehicles and fallen debris. Not much slows us down other than a couple of feral dogs on Wright Avenue and a small group of leeches catching us unaware as we stop to eat in Forrest Park. Aside from these minor inconveniences, we make good time and find ourselves outside the city limits and deep into Highway Seven only three days after leaving the Grand.
Cooper was right on his assumption of this route. The main artery leaving the city had been jam packed. Wrecks and piles of rusting metal and burnt out husks saturated the road, which was a testament to the heavy traffic flow the day of the invasion. But the sleepy, less populated Highway Seven is a virtual raceway. Nothing but farmland, distant mountains, and open highway. An invitation for speed.
After finally remembering how to keep myself upright on Barney, it actually feels good to have the wind blowing through my hair and the warm sun on my face. Even though the city is essentially empty, it still has a stale stink about it. The air outside the city is unspoiled like the earth had cleansed itself now that the polluting humans were gone.
The greenery of the lush surroundings is quite the change compared to the concrete jungle my eyes are accustomed to. Instead of crumbling ruins and broken asphalt, we're surrounded by rolling hills, fields of green grass, and vibrant wild flowers as far as the eye can see. Dotted patches of trees break up some of the open space, but it's actually kind of overwhelming. At times I have to stop scanning the horizon and just focus on the road in front of me. It's like I'm some caged animal that has suddenly been freed and let loose into the wild, and I'm not quite sure what to do with all the space.
The warmth of the sun and the beauty of our surroundings on this particular day must put my fellow travelers at ease however, because the sound of singing soon reaches my ears. I turn my head in surprise as Kelly pulls along side of me, belting out “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” from The Wizard of Oz with total abandon. It feels strange to hear the notes since we are so used to traveling in silence. In the city, any loud noise usually attracts the hungry bastards in droves. But out here—out here, it appears we can let down our guard for a bit. Being able to see around you for miles has its advantages. Other than the odd car or truck abandoned in the middle of the road, there doesn't appear to be too much to worry about. Or so it seems. After traveling in pretty much silence for days, the singing feels wrong and out of place. But my unease doesn't stop the stupid song from sticking in my head, and my lips start mumbling the lyrics almost against my will. Since The Wizard of Oz is one of the few movies we have at the Grand, we've watched it way too many times and I know every damned word.
I guess the others do as well because before I know it, we're all singing along. Well, those of us in the back. We kinda get funny, over-the-shoulder looks from Luke and Mike, who lead the pack, and the two docs riding in the center, but it doesn't deter us in the least. Kelly, Badger, and I belt out the tune like it's karaoke night at the local watering hole. Even Dom and Robyn join in, though her perfect pitch annoys me to no end since my own voice leaves a lot to be desired. Did the woman seriously not have any flaws?
We're in the breathless throes of the last chorus as we crest a small, blind rise, and I almost rear end Dom when he stops unexpectedly in front of me. I swerve my bike to avoid him and skid along the gravel curb, stopping a little too close for comfort to the steep ditch.
“What the hell—” I start but clam up at Luke's raised fist. He stopped us for a reason.
Craning my neck, I finally see what he sees.
Unlike the random car or truck we’d past before on the road, what lies at the bottom of the rise is a virtual pileup. At least a dozen vehicles are heaped and crushed on top of each other and across the entire width of the two-lane highway. The main culprit appears to be a small school bus. The thought of what happened to the kids on the bus that day leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I hope those that had been infected had wandered off long ago. Infected children are a rare sight, probably because the smaller bodies are not equipped to handle the parasite. They seemed to prefer a bigger and stronger host. But just because it's rare doesn't mean it's impossible. I've seen it a couple of times, and trust me, putting down a leech-infected kid is not something you quickly forget.
The song disregarded, we study the pileup in silence, watching for any sign of infected or a trap. Ravagers revelled in setting up booby-traps in this kind of environment, but there's no movement of any kind. We'll have to get closer to check for trip wires and shit.
“Dismount,” Luke calls back softly, not wanting his voice to travel. “We'll want to proceed through here nice and slow. But before we do, let’s have a look see.”
He pulls his binoculars from his backpack and starts scanning the area. If it is a trap, the ravagers won't be far away just waiting to pounce.
Mike does the same, and it isn't long before I hear Luke's puzzled, “What the hell?” They both lower their glasses and exchange this weird look that piques my interest.
“Guys?” I question, my eyes focusing on the field that seems to fascinate them. I squint into the sun. Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or is there movement out there? Digging through my backpack, I yank out my own set of glasses. It takes a few seconds to zoom in, and I soon see what they see.
People moving through the field; their jerky and awkward movements telling me one thing. These people are infected. These are leeches, not humans. Good news, they're moving away from us. Bad news, they seem to be congregating around a huge mesh fence lining the middle of the field, stopping them from going any further and stranding them on our side of the fence.
I can't be certain, but I'd be willing to bet the infected from the massive pileup in front of us is mixed in among that throng as well. Question is what's attracting them to that fence? Maybe it's good we don't know. One thing I do know, we're going to stay away from that spot...and move through this area as quickly and quietly as we can.
“Okay,” Luke’s voice is low. “Obviously, stealth is our main objective here. Don't need to draw attention. Let’s circle around the vehicles on the left. The shoulder of the road looks wide enough to pull the carts through. Once we clear the pileup, ride like the hounds of hell are on your heels. We don't need any wind shifts carrying our scent or sound. Got it?”
We nod. None of us
want to be fighting that horde. There has to be at least seventy or more swarming that fence. And that's the ones we can see. No telling what’s lurking in the trees on either side of the field, and we don't want to know.
We walk our bikes around the labyrinth of twisted metal and rusting husks, careful not to bump against anything and make any sort of noise. Thankfully, whatever casualties occurred from the accident have long since disappeared. At least we don't have to deal with staring at piles of gnawed bones and tattered rags. I release the breath I didn't even know I was holding as I watch Luke and Mike get the wide wagons past the pileup without creating any distractions for the horde.
Doc Howarth walks single file in front of me, his head swiveling on his shoulders as he studies the wrecks. I can almost smell his fear.
“Doc, just keep walking,” I mutter. “As long as we don't draw attention, there's nothing to be scared of here. I got your back.”
He glances back at me with a look of gratitude.
We pass by the school bus and the crumpled combination of a blue Honda Civic and a white cargo van. A faded metallic roof sign had been dislocated during the collision and hangs precariously over the side of the van. I tilt my head to read it. It says “On The Go Care. Mobile Veterinary Service.” A mobile vet? That really was a thing? Can't say I've ever seen that before. Only out here in hillbilly country would you see such a thing, I guess.
I grin to myself, taking my attention off of Doc Howarth for a split second as I glance toward the field. The horde still seems to be unaware of us. Let’s keep it that way. Unfortunately I forget about checking on the other doc behind me.
“Oh, this was a vet van.” His excited whisper takes a moment to register. “Maybe there are still supplies inside that we can use...”
“Doc, don't!”
I whirl in panic, but my warning comes too late. As soon as he unlatches the door, it flies out of his grip and smashes against the side of the van, tearing loose from its rusty hinges. The leech that had laid dormant inside for years awakens with frenzy at the smell of our pounding blood and leaps out at the doc, sending his body flying one way and his bike the other. It takes him down to the ground with an unholy sound of keening hunger. Doc Roger has enough sense to at least try and hold the thing at arm's length, but I can see the worm-like abomination already slithering its way past the dried, cracked lips of its host and aiming for the pulsating lifeline in the doc's neck.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dom fumbling for his weapon. “No,” I hiss, pushing his arm down. We can't risk the shots attracting the attention of the horde. Without wasting another moment, I drop my bike and run at the struggling duo.
Raising my heavy boot, I kick the thing hard in the ribs, hearing the brittle bones snap at the contact. It flips off of the doc and tumbles head over heels before rebounding and leaping to its feet, oblivious to the jagged ribs that must be sticking into its internal organs. No matter how much damage you did to its host, these things never showed pain. Death is the only thing that stops them, so I ready myself. In an instant, my knives are in my hands and I wait for the attack.
The leech comes at me with ever increasing speed, resembling a ghoul in its soiled white uniform, complete with name tag and all. “Matt” looks like some deranged, mummified medic, and I kind of expect him to crumble to dust right in front of my eyes.
The snapping teeth close in, but my arm swiftly arcs up, impaling the leech on my knife and preventing it from getting any closer. My second knife finds its mark and sinks with ease into the dried out husk of a chest, straight into the heart. The thing gives a couple wet gurgling sounds as the life slowly fades from its stolen eyes. Its teeth snap at me one final time. The host body sinks to its knees, pulling me with it. Only when I know it's truly dead do I remove my knives and watch as it sprawls across the broken asphalt.
I lean over and wipe the bloodied blades on Matt's pant leg, observing the field for any change in movement. Did any sound of this fight carry? No. The leeches continue to move away from us. We were lucky...this time.
“You fucking idiot,” Dom spits.
At first I think Dom is speaking to me, and I whirl in defense, an angry retort on my lips. But he’s facing Doc Roger who is now back on his feet. The doc looks rattled; his pale face and trembling shoulders acknowledge his close call.
“How stupid can you be? Even a fucking kid knows not to pull open a door without knowing what's on the other side,” Dom says.
Even though I want to say the exact same thing to Roger, I can't be agreeing with Dom because...well, it's Dom. So I defend the idiotic doctor.
“Back off, Dom,” I whisper. “The Doc here didn't know. Now he does. He won't make that mistake again, will you Doc?”
He shakes his head at me as he wipes the sweat from his upper lip with an unsteady hand.
“Guys? Everything okay?” Luke and Mike are on the other side of the wall of cars and finally realize something has gone wrong. The big guy is poised like he's about to rush back, but I hold my thumb and finger up in an okay gesture, putting him at ease.
“Now pick up your bike and let’s move out. It could have been worse. At least the Doc managed to keep from screaming his fool head off and alerting the horde to our presence. Crisis averted.”
And as if Karma overhears and decides she hasn't quite reached her bitch quota yet today, the hanging metal vet sign knocked loose by the flailing door finally falls with an agonizing screech of metal. It topples in slow motion and lands with an echoing crash on top of the Honda's roof. It then proceeds to roll down the cracked windshield, across the hood of the car, and crash land again on the ground at our feet. The crescendo echoes across the open field with the magnitude of a bullhorn and freezes us all in place. That didn't really fucking happen, did it? But a quick glance at the field tells me otherwise.
“Holy shit,” Robyn breathes, her eyes glued to the same sight as mine. It snagged the leeches attention alright, and they hover in the field with noses in the air like a pack of wolves trying to locate a scent.
“MOVE IT NOW!” Luke doesn't even try to hold back on the volume of his command and we don't hesitate. It won't take them long to smell us, and we need to be already moving by then, else we're in shit up to our eyeballs.
“Go,” I snap at Doc Roger as he struggles to upright his bike. Grabbing Barney from where I dropped it earlier, I boogie behind the docs as we hurry past the pileup of vehicles to the open road on the other side.
“Ride and don't look back,” I yell, hopping onto the bike and pedaling hard, trying to build momentum. The road lies flat in front of us for about 500 yards but then turns into a steep downgrade. If we can hit that and build some speed, we may stand a chance to escape. Hell, maybe if lady luck decides to smile on us, the horde may even lose interest and not chase us at all. Wouldn't that be a fucking nice surprise of rainbow-colored unicorn farts.
I take a quick glance back over my shoulder, hoping my recent thought will take fruition. I'm so wrong. The horde hasn't lost interest at all. In fact they have our scent. I can tell by the way they run through the field, aiming for us with laser like precision. Shit.
“GO FASTER!” The fear in my voice causes the two docs to wobble a bit in front of me, but they get the gist. They know exactly what it means. Go faster or kiss your ass goodbye.
My legs pump the pedals hard, burning with the effort. Two hundred and fifty yards. Halfway there. We can make it. Make the hill. Make the hill. It echoes in my head like a mantra, and I focus on the hill instead of the beasts rampaging across the field. We can do this.
“Fuck!” Dom and I scream in unison as a leech stumbles out of the trees along the shoulder of the road and nearly collides with us in its haste. Where the hell did that come from? There's no possible way those things have caught up with us already.
It overshoots its target and misses us as we swerve. It tries to stop and turn, but its momentum sends it skidding on the pavement and it tumbles over itself, leaving a tr
ail of bloated, torn flesh in its wake. As soon as it stops rolling it's back on its feet and running after us. Only now it’s hunting the docs in front of us, aiming straight for them. The serious case of road rash down the bloody arm and side of its face isn’t slowing it down in the least. Before I even stop to think of what a stupid idea it is, I start screaming at the horror movie reject. Distracting it from the easier targets.
“Hey! Hey, shit for brains. I'm over here.”
It works. Its mangled head turns my way, and it changes course.
Maybe I should have pulled my gun first. I did not think this through. Fuck.
I scramble to pull the weapon strapped at my back and try to keep control of the bike with the other hand
Shit! Shit! Shit!
The gun doesn't give, and I pull harder, nearly losing control of the bike. I start wobbling, panic setting in as I realize I'm about to wipe out. The leech is almost on top of me now. It's so close I can see the movement in the host's neck. The squirming underneath the skin as the parasitic worm demands release. The skin around the lips splits open as the thing erupts and I start gagging, my own throat pulling tight at the sight.
I lose my balance. Planting my feet on the ground to catch myself, I let the bike drop and get ready to run.
Move. Move. The voice in my head yells, and I leap away from the bike at the same time the leech leaps toward me. I actually hear the snapping of the blade-like teeth as they go for my throat, and I can't help the small scream that passes my lips.
Two things happen at once. I hit the ground hard, jarring my shoulder as I roll into the fall and get showered by hot splatters of goo as the leech-host's head explodes in a torrent of crimson gore above me. The second shot tears through the thing’s chest, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. It finally collapses just inches from my face, and I close my eyes in relief.
“Bix?” Luke's worried voice reaches my ears, but he sounds far off. I stumble to my feet to find him just circling back, looking shell shocked at my appearance. Obviously he wasn't the one who took out the leech. Then who did?
Strain of Defiance (Bixby Series Book 2) Page 6
