by Brian Parker
“Oh my God!” a woman’s voice drifted up from below. “Oh thank, God! We’re saved.”
6
* * *
NEAR TYRONE, OKLAHOMA
SEPTEMBER 14TH
“Aww yeah! That’s the one we wanted, buddy!”
Tim glanced at his partner in crime as he pressed the button that led to his winch on the front bumper. The cable went up and over a large tree limb. The winch would pull their target off the ground up out of the way of the other loonies. He and Russ had secured a large rope noose on the other end of the cable and they’d caught their prey with their superior “fishing” skills.
A thin, mostly-nude woman thrashed wildly against the rope cinched tightly around her waist. Her body was covered in dozens of scrapes, cuts, and bruises, as well as months of piss and shit. She probably smelled awful. But underneath all that filth was their prize: A woman—and a pretty fine looking one to boot.
Now all they had to do was defend her.
“Alright, she’s up,” Tim grunted, pointing at the woman dangling above the crowd of crazies. “Time to earn her now.”
He stepped out of the truck and grabbed his homemade mace. When the infected trapped in the pit below saw him, they began to snarl wildly and started to scream, as they had when Russ honked the horn to lead them to the trap. They’d been fairly docile up until that point; the large hole they found themselves in was as good as any other place they’d wandered over the past several months. But now that an uninfected human was within their grasp, they began to tear at themselves and each other in an effort to reach him.
“Oh, calm down. Your turn’s coming,” Tim said, tugging off one of his Kevlar gloves and tucking it under his arm. Then he unzipped his pants and began to piss onto the pathetic creatures below. He angled his dick, laughing as he sprayed urine into the open mouth of an upturned face. It began to choke. “Hey. Hey, Russ. Look at that one. I filled its mouth with piss.”
His brother got a good laugh, and even took out his cell phone to snap a picture. “Oh man. I wish the Internet was still working. This sonofabitch would go viral.”
Tim grinned along, but found the other man’s longing for the Internet to be annoying. To be honest, he was happy that the old world was gone. All the drama and bullshit was in the past and every day he had to test himself to stay alive. This was living.
“Alright, the fun’s over,” Tim said, tucking his junk away and then scratching at his scraggly red beard. He didn’t know what his heritage was, but the red beard was sure a surprise when it grew out. Irish or some other shit, he’d thought.
“No way, buddy,” Russ said. “This is part of the fun.” Even through the face shield, Tim could see the excited gleam in his eye.
He pulled his remaining glove back onto his hand, clenching his fist and relishing the feel of the hard plastic knuckles integrated into it. Tim enjoyed the close-up work too, it didn’t matter that it was inherently more dangerous. But he was also smart. Trying to take on more than one or two loonies at a time and a guy could get fucked up quickly. It was best to use a standoff weapon in that case.
His weapon of choice was a five-foot length of rebar sharpened to a point on one end. On the other end, he’d welded a solid ball of metal that could be used as a long club if there was enough room to swing it. He hadn’t gotten to use it like that in combat yet, but he was sure the day would come. Russ just used a damn metal closet rod that he’d welded a bowie knife to. Tim loved his brother, but he had no imagination.
Tim poked idly toward the eye of a male infected, trying to see how much pressure it took to pop its eyeball, but the damn thing grabbed the rebar, trying to pull him down into the pit. “Ungh!” Tim grunted as he pushed hard to break the loony’s grasp. The rebar slid through the man’s hands and found a home through the eye socket into the brain. He dropped like a rock, reminding Tim that he needed to keep his wits about him and not let his guard down.
They spent the next five minutes poking and stabbing at the infected until the twenty or so they’d lured to the pit were dead. The two men grinned at each other and shook gloved hands. “Nice work, brother.”
“Same to you, Russ.” Tim looked up at the thrashing woman. “Got the chloroform ready?”
“Hold on. I gotta go get it from the Jeep.”
“Get my catching pole too, man. I’m gonna check to make sure the electric fence is holding.”
“Sure thing, hoss.”
While Russ went about the preparations for getting their prize home in one piece, Tim walked the perimeter of their capture cage. Outside, several infected lay on the ground, unmoving, while a woman held onto the fence, smoke pouring from her hairline as she cooked from the inside out.
“Stupid mother fucker,” Tim groaned. “You’re gonna short out the fence.”
He bent over and picked up several rocks, then walked to within three feet of the dead woman. After the fourth rock, hurled with all the might that a former high school pitcher could muster, he knocked the woman’s fingers away. She fell backward, separating the skin-to-fence contact and avoiding a potential short circuit of the system.
There weren’t any more of them milling around, so he returned to the pit, where Russ stood pouring a dark liquid onto a rag. “Soak it good this time,” Tim directed, picking up the dog catcher’s pole that he’d owned for years to help with livestock around the farm.
He started to maneuver the loop over the woman’s head and then remembered that he needed the winch controls. “Dammit,” he muttered, placing the pole on the ground. He went to the Jeep and grabbed the small control box, careful to feed it back through the window without damaging it.
Once he was ready to go again, he hooked the loop in place on her neck, then carefully choreographed pulling her toward the edge of the pit as he lowered the winch. “Watch out for her hands,” he warned.
“I know, dammit.” Russ grunted, working his way inside her grasp to place the rag against her mouth and nose. “Whew! This one smells awful.”
“It’s been six or seven months since this all started,” Tim replied, straining to keep her as still as possible. “We’ll get her cleaned up.”
The struggling stopped as Russ held the rag over her face and her body went limp. They knew from experience that the chloroform only lasted about ten to fifteen minutes on the infected before they were awake again, so they didn’t have a lot of time to work.
They tossed her unceremoniously to the ground and handcuffed her arms above her head to the grill of the Jeep. Russ jammed a hard piece of rubber into her mouth and Tim straddled her. It only took him eight minutes to pull out her rotting teeth with a pair of pliers as Tim assisted, moving the rubber around as needed.
Next, they slapped duct tape over her mouth and taped a pair of gloves onto her hands in case she woke up while they transported her. They weren’t entirely sure what part of the infected transferred the disease, but before the news went off the air permanently, they knew that scratches could transmit the deadly virus—although Tim suspected that it was when infected fluids got into those scratches, not the breaking of the skin itself.
“Alright, dose her again and let’s get out of here,” Tim directed.
Russ complied and then they removed one handcuff, dragging her to the back of the Jeep where Tim had a wire mesh rack attached to the trailer hitch. It was supposed to be for extra gas cans or coolers, but the men found that it worked nicely for securing an infected outside of the vehicle. They strapped her down using a variety of ratchet straps, bungee cords and the handcuffs themselves.
When they were satisfied that their prize wouldn’t bounce off, Tim started up the Jeep while Russ ran to the solar powered generator. He turned off the fence and then opened the gate for Tim. After the Jeep passed, he closed the gate and hopped inside.
Tim extended his fist to Russ with a wide grin. The younger man bumped it with his own. “Let’s go get this bitch cleaned up.”
“Dibs on first go round,” Russ ye
lled, slapping the dashboard.
“Whatever, dude. Just make sure you wear two or three condoms. Don’t want another scare like we had with the last one.”
7
* * *
SURVIVOR CAMP #3, EL PASO, TEXAS
SEPTEMBER 15TH
“Tell me the truth. Does my ass look big in these?” Sidney asked.
Rick James meowed in response from his perch on top of the two backpacks that she kept packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice.
“Ah, what do you know?” she said, waving her hand dismissively. She sat heavily onto her air mattress and looked at the haul that Caitlyn had helped her secure. She’d gotten two pairs of sweatpants, a legitimate pair of pregnancy jeans, three large tank tops, and even a pair of extra-large basketball shorts. None of it was fashionable, but by God, it was exactly what she needed.
As a bonus, she’d been able to get a four-pack of newborn onesies and three more 12-month old outfits. Plus, there was an infant car seat over in the corner by the bags. She’d questioned the seat initially, but Caitlyn had told her that it was a lifesaver instead of always carrying the baby. The seat was one of those that was supposed to fit onto a stroller, so she could always just snap it onto her shopping cart for long trips around the refugee camp.
Caitlyn had seemed genuinely happy to help her pick out all of the baby gear, and added pacifiers, diapers, and wipes to her list. The employees had long since abandoned their jobs, so the MPs watching the store had let her walk out with everything once the Staff Sergeant showed her ID card. No questions asked.
Last night had been the first truly restful night that Sidney had had in a long time. The new, better-fitting clothing, along with the baby essentials, made her feel like there really was some type of hope. Hope for herself and the baby, of course, but hope for humanity as well. The soldier hadn’t needed to take time out of her day to help, but she’d chosen to do so.
Sidney leaned back on her mattress and allowed herself a moment to forget about everything. The infected…the survivors…the lack of food… She allowed herself to think about Caitlyn, with her cute little upturned nose, those full lips. The soldier’s unprecedented kindness was incredibly sexy. Her hand started to inch downward as she wondered what her new friend would look like naked; better yet, what would the two of them look like naked together?
She wasn’t a lesbian—hell, she was pregnant with her former lover’s baby—but she’d been with women many times over the years, often preferring how soft and accommodating even the most forceful women could be behind closed doors. Her lips curved upward in pleasure as the images of Caitlyn that she’d conjured up responded to her direction.
It was over far sooner than it should have been and she lay, staring up at the seams of her tent above. She felt entirely relaxed—again, something that hadn’t happened since arriving at the refugee camp. She felt like she could take on the world. She felt like…
She felt like she could sleep.
Her alarm clock buzzed loudly and incessantly. She reached to her left and slapped at where the damn thing should have been, but it wasn’t and it kept wailing at her.
Wailing? That wasn’t right.
Sidney’s exhausted mind stirred slowly, unwilling to leave the blissful dream realm behind. As she emerged from sleep, she was assaulted by noise and light from the midday sun, shining directly down on her tent.
“…NOT A DRILL,” the camp’s Big Voice system echoed. “RESIDENTS OF REFUGEE CAMP NUMBER THREE ARE ORDERED TO CEASE ACTIVITIES AND RETURN TO YOUR BARRACKS IMMEDIATELY. IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY, YOU RISK BEING FIRED UPON.”
“What the hell?” she asked aloud.
Rick James hissed from behind the backpacks and the first noises from outside began to filter in between the announcements. People were shouting and feet scattered gravel in all directions nearby.
The alarms and instructions to cease continued to blare through the speakers as Sidney cautiously unzipped the top of her tent’s entry flap. Through the mesh, she could see people running toward the mess tents. For a moment, she panicked, remembering how the infected ran toward sounds, and she wondered if the soldier from the day before had been infected and spread the disease before getting shot.
Then, she relaxed slightly, realizing that no one that she saw was bleeding or screaming incoherently. Instead, there was a full-on riot occurring. It was a mile away, but her tent was on a rise near the wall so she could see that people were mobbing the trucks that brought food to the camp. They streamed from all over, thousands of them, headed toward the soldiers. The idiots were rioting over food shortages.
She grabbed the small pair of binoculars she’d picked up at REI and adjusted them as she watched what was happening. Almost immediately, she saw that it was going to get bad and grimaced as several arms at the back of the crowd reared back, holding bricks and rocks. They threw their makeshift projectiles at the soldiers. Most fell ineffectively into the crowd itself, or pelted harmlessly off the sides of the truck. One soldier, however, was hit and he slumped forward over the side of the truck. The hungry mob grabbed his clothing and pulled him down into the crowd.
Then, the worst thing imaginable that could have happened did. Someone—or several someones, she couldn’t tell—fired guns at the soldiers. The refugees had been allowed to keep their weapons as a means of defense against the infected, but no one had foreseen this extended period of detention. Several of the soldiers in the trucks, likely other refugees who’d joined the Civilian Division upon entering the camp, crumpled from the gunfire.
After that, everything was a blur of sights and sounds. The Army returned fire, blasting the crowd at point-blank range with machine guns. Sidney watched for a moment in horror until a round tore through the tent’s fabric, only a few feet from her.
“Shit!” she yelped, jumping back from the front of the tent. She looked around her small space for any type of cover. All she came up with was the backpacks. Rick James hissed at her as she moved the packs so they covered her upper body; her legs were exposed, but there was nothing to be done about that.
The firing continued, even intensified as more of the refugees joined the fight with actual weapons instead of just rocks and sticks. It went on for what seemed like forever, neither side gaining the upper hand, while women and children were caught in the crossfire.
Her tent rattled and then the zipper jerked violently downward. Sidney recoiled in terror as the sneering face of a man appeared in the opening. It took her a moment to recognize that it was a man she hadn’t seen since her first day at the camp, since the incident.
It was him. It was the man who’d tried to molest her. The one that she’d stabbed. His face was much thinner and more tan, but there was no mistaking him. It was the same guy.
“You home, bitch?” he asked, wildly working the zipper. It stuck on the fabric, like it sometimes did when she tried to unzip it too fast. He cursed and yanked on the small metal tab, trying to break it free. “I’m gonna make you pay, cunt.”
The zipper stoppage gave Sidney time to fumble in the backpack for the large kitchen knife hidden there. It was the same one that she’d used to defend herself against the hotel clerk in eastern Texas. She bore the scar across her chest to match the width of the blade as well.
The zipper tore free from the fabric and it slid the rest of the way without protest. The man stepped through, glancing left and right, and then back at her. “Nice place. I see you’ve been hoarding shit.”
“I’m not hoarding any—”
“Save it, bitch,” he said, cutting her off. “We saw you with that soldier bitch, bringing bags of food and boxes of stuff back here to your tent.”
“Baby clothes!” she screeched, standing and holding the knife unsteadily in front of her with both hands.
“What the fuck do you think you’re going to do with that?”
“Whatever I have to,” she replied coolly, feeling oddly calm. The knife stopped wavering.
“All this
is your fault,” the man said, jerking his head toward the riot outside. “Now that we know they’re keeping stuff from us, we want more.”
His words startled her. The riot was because they’d seen her with a car seat and diapers? Was everyone insane? “It’s some goddamned baby clothes and sweat pants, you fucking psychopath.”
He used her confusion to his advantage and lunged across the small tent, grabbing her by the wrist. She punched at him with her left hand, but he easily blocked the blows with his forearm. He squeezed her wrist and the knife fell away.
“You’ve got some spunk in you,” he said, leering at her. “When I’m done, you’ll have a lot of my spunk in you.” He laughed, obviously thinking his joke was clever.
“You won’t get away with rape, asshole. They’ll fry your ass.”
Ignoring her, he continued. “Then, I’ll cut that precious baby from your stomach and roast it like a chicken over the campfire. So juicy. You ever wonder…”
He continued to talk, but his words were drowned out by the swarm of bees buzzing in her head. The idea that he’d dare to threaten her baby enraged her beyond the capacity to think. Her vision turned red, there was no way that she’d let anyone harm her child. Ever.
She rammed her head forward, hitting the man in the bridge of his nose, shattering the cartilage and unleashing a torrent of blood. He released her wrist to grab at his ruined nose and she pounced forward, clawing at his eyes. Her body felt the edge of her fingertip sink into the man’s soft eye socket, but her mind didn’t process it. She dug deeper, and animalistic screams rose above the chaos outside—both from her and from her would-be attacker.
Sidney yanked her hand free, the gelatinous orb came with it and she kicked him in the groin. When he doubled over, his optical nerve snapped wetly, leaving her with his eyeball grasped in her hand. He fell away, clutching at his ruined face and she advanced forward, kicking him in the throat. All those years of kickboxing technique were thrown out the window as she simply drew her foot back and kicked repeatedly, crushing his larynx.
