“Now, then,” the Vulture said. “What waits for us on the other side?”
Carson talked.
When he finished, the Vulture turned to one of his lessers.
“Bring the hounds.”
Minutes later, a Leather emerged from the forest handling leashes connected to the collars of three mindless. The zombies’ hands were duct-taped into fossilized balls the size of grapefruits, and leather masks covered their faces, except for a hole for their noses.
The handler pulled back upon the leashes, forcing the three man-hounds to heel, which they did with excited jerks and grunts. More figures emerged from the forest.
The Vulture waved the handler forward.
The man-hounds were whipped into motion. They splashed into the water, hot on the scent of the fleeing islanders.
Dozens of the Leather followed.
21
Gus and the others marched.
They moved with exhausted urgency, stumbling, reaching out for balance, dripping sweat, eager to reach the waiting vehicles. The ground was rough. Uneven. Gus would call it a hard hike, but, in reality, it was a ball-breaker. His chest and hips ached. His calves burned as if his veins were pumping lit gasoline. He didn’t think there was a dry piece of cloth on him, and if he didn’t get a drink of water soon, the dehydration would drop him like a bullet to the head. Three klicks didn’t sound like much, until you actually marched it, and he knew if he lived to see tomorrow, it would be with one mighty sore ass.
Garrett and Sarah Burton had the foresight to hack out a cross-country path through a rolling wilderness using axes. Just in case. They also marked the path with those same beach rocks painted white. When they depleted their supply of those, they lashed a white bar of paint across a tree.
“Sweet Jesus,” Gus muttered yet again as he topped what was supposed to be the third hill, and yet, he could see nothing ahead except more goddamn forest. Dark clouds drifted overhead, and beneath that was an unbroken shag rug of backwoods as far as the eye could see. The afternoon was growing old, with only an hour or so left of daylight.
“Believe it or not,” Eva said, stopping beside him. “There’s a road down there.” She pointed. “Goes left to right and around that hill over there. Beyond that is a highway.”
“Thank Christ,” Gus said. “I could drop dead right here.”
Eva appeared genuinely amused by that. She didn’t look anywhere near as tired as Gus. None of the islanders did. He glanced around, hoping they’d reach the vehicles before dark, and settled upon Collie. She was forging down the slope, moving gracefully enough, but every now and again she would stop and arch her back.
Taking a breath, he lumbered his way through the crowd to meet her.
When he reached the operator, he greeted her with, “You okay?”
Collie turned her sunglasses upon him. “Yeah, why?”
“You looked like you got a stick in your spokes or something.”
“Ha! You wish. Just a little stiff is all. I’ll be good in the morning. I haven’t had to haul ass like this in a long time.”
“I never had to haul ass like this.”
“So you’re having a good time?”
Gus answered that with a good-natured scowl. They stopped talking then and settled into the grind of placing one foot in front of the other.
At the bottom of the hill, branches had been cut to create a wide corridor. They followed that across a shallow brook, where they stopped and splashed themselves with water. Gus dropped to his knees and, seeing Sarah Burton drink from cupped hands, sucked down his share.
A yell got his attention.
It was distant, ghostly even, and didn’t repeat. Water dripped from his beard as he strained to listen. Collie and Cory had also heard. The forest beyond the hills remained silent, but there was a growing sense of a secret just revealed.
“We better hurry,” Rich Trinidad said with a glare. “They’re coming.”
Gus sensed it as well. Whoever they were, they were running while the islanders were walking.
That lit a fire under their collective asses.
Sunlight flared briefly overhead as the small group double-timed it over uneven ground. Faces glanced back, scanning for pursuers and seeing none. Gus knew they were back there. The mindless had found their way across the lake depths. Perhaps they’d sunk to the bottom and just kept on walking, until they emerged wet and dripping on the other side. It wouldn’t be too hard for the creatures to find them, as the stubborn stink of old man donkey piss still hung off their clothing.
Gus knew he was on the verge of dropping any second. He thought he’d been tired before but that was a lie. That was only the borderline of a very real red zone, and his inner needle was edging closer to scarlet. When he reached the end of the meter, his internal engine would explode—just burst asunder from the pressure—and crimple into an ugly rose with dripping petals. When that happened, he’d simply collapse, face-down and ass-up, and snort dirt until whatever was chasing them caught up and—
The woods opened into a narrow clearing shaded by tall maples, where two long-bed pickups waited. One red, one black, the paint shiny and surprisingly clean. The tailgates were already lowered, and red gas cans had been stashed and secured by rope. The trucks were parked on the shoulder of a single-lane dirt road.
The sight of the vehicles gave Gus a badly needed shot of energy. Cries of relief erupted from the rest of the group as well. The islanders flung open doors and lurched inside, squeezing themselves into the plush interiors. The remainder climbed into the rear. Gus located Collie, who lay on her belly in a box bed, her rifle aimed at the treeline. Gus hopped aboard, placed his back up against the left side and flopped his legs over hers. He drew his gun and held it to his chest.
“See anything?” he gasped.
“Not yet.”
The trucks started up, and Gus knew, just knew, the whole fucking forest was about to be crawling. The undead would leap out as the trucks pulled away, their fingers hooked and seeking to latch onto the sides. Some would be screaming, some wouldn’t have the capacity to scream, but all would be ravenous. His mind’s eye already glimpsed those warped faces with glazed but starving eyes.
Except nothing of the sort happened.
The black truck tore off with an eight-cylinder growl and a spray of dirt, and then bounced over the knobby landscape. Two long seconds later, the red truck followed.
The road unspooled behind them in a great earth-colored ribbon, rolling left and right then back again, sometimes straightening out before disappearing behind a curtain of branches. The truck jostled Gus, but he held onto his Glock, eyes narrowed, waiting, his finger resting against the guard. Collie was splayed out underneath him, poised and ready. He watched the road as it rolled away, the gloom pierced by occasional shots of daylight.
There was a peal of tire on asphalt, a screeching of rubber, and then the box bed jumped a foot. Gus landed hard, scraping his spine and shoulders against the box wall. The pain took a long time to ebb away. Evening sky loomed overhead, and it took him that long to realize they were on the open road, racing toward wherever.
The important thing was that they had escaped the mindless unscathed.
They were free and clear.
As if thinking the same thing, Collie rolled onto her side and placed her rifle on the flat bed. She relaxed next to the weapon and glanced over her shoulder. A relieved smirk hung off one corner of her mouth.
Gus smiled back.
The little convoy streaked along a two-lane road, the countryside buzzing by in a scream of wind. All the while, Gus watched the highway behind them, waiting to see some sign of pursuit. There was none. And as the distance widened between them and their attackers, Gus’s vibe of being hunted slipped away, slowly replaced by a bone-deep weariness. Their escape had been the most physically taxing thing he’d done in… well… forever.
Day faded to evening. The clouds parted, revealing broad strokes of pink.
; The metal floor rattled against his arm, which served as his pillow. Gus rocked into a doze, the truck bed alive underneath him. Dreamy sequences scrolled though his sleep-loopy mind, of screaming runners thundering across the bridge’s roof. Collie firing her rifle in slow-motion. Things exploding in grainy red detail.
When the machine stopped, Gus’s eyes snapped open.
“We’re here,” Collie whispered, softly singing the words.
He pawed at his face. “Where’s that? Everything’s dark.”
And it was. There was no moon, and the stars were only just beginning to flicker to life. There were shapes, however, lines in the surrounding void that took on greater meaning. Houses. Or buildings. Large ones across a single street. Then a door opened somewhere behind him, cracking him into alertness.
Sarah Burton appeared alongside the truck, her face barely visible in the dark.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” she told them.
“Where’s here?” Collie asked.
“Place called Short Bow. In between Driftwood and Smooth Rock Falls.”
“And we stopped because…?”
“It’s night, girl,” Sarah snapped, as if the answer was obvious. “And this is was our escape plan. To loop around and go north if we were ever driven off the island.”
“I like plans,” Collie said calmly. “What’s the rest of yours?”
“We bunk down here for the night and decide on things in the morning.”
“Gotta backup place to go?” Gus asked.
Sarah faced him. “No. Matter of fact we don’t. But we got this place. And some things stashed away in case we had to make use of them.”
“Hope you got a bed, then,” Gus said.
“Your lucky day, sailor,” Sarah said and walked away, her feet clicking on pavement.
“My lucky day,” Gus repeated. “You hear that?”
“Oh yeah,” Collie said.
“You agree with her?”
“To a point. I do know where we are, however.”
That was interesting. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. We’re close to where we want to be.”
“How close?”
“Thirty klicks close. As the crow flies.”
“I’ve seen some fucked-up crows.”
“In a straight line, then. Okay?”
That interested him, until he realized people were moving around the pickup. The headlights were off, but someone switched on a flashlight, revealing parking lanes laid out across a vast sheet of concrete. A mighty wall of glass appeared, set upon a brick foundation and stretched out on either side of what looked like a warehouse. An awesome display of—of all things—bedroom furniture was tastefully arranged behind the intact glass. Beds and mattresses, night tables, lamps, and matching chests of drawers were all on sale, with prices printed upon white cardboard cut-outs of exploding balloons.
Large lettering was fixed above the main entrance.
Lazy Lou’s Mattress Heaven. Your One Stop For All Things Bedroom.
“Oh my,” Gus said to himself, taking in the impressive storefront. “Lazy Lou. I like you already.”
“Damn impressive,” Collie said. “About the size of a small stadium.”
Gus saw that. “Lou’s been busy.”
“I remember this place, actually. Drove by it a few times.”
“Never went in?”
“No need to,” Collie replied.
Sarah inserted a key into the main entrance door and opened it, ushering the islanders inside.
“Go on in,” Sarah told them. “We’ll lock up once we’re all in. We’ll park the trucks out back, in the loading zone. There’s a rear door there.”
Gus nodded, and with Collie at his side, they walked into Lazy Lou’s Mattress Heaven. With a name like ‘Lazy Lou’, Gus really wasn’t expected much.
He was wrong.
He was so spectacularly wrong.
Someone flicked on a second flashlight, its beam weaving through the various displays of furniture before finally settling down. That, combined with the first flashlight, revealed a showroom the size of an aircraft hangar, containing a veritable dreamscape of bedroom décor. White lanes guided shoppers through a display wonderland of bed sets, complete with tasteful comforters and luxurious satins. Night tables stood as sentries, and upon every one was a matching lamp and price tag. Mantels were covered with assorted books. Snow-white canopies were tied back with braided rope. Someone had even placed tasteful sets of nefarious tea candles throughout, highlighting the possibilities of cozy home décor even more. Not only was there a reserved showroom displaying all manner of potential room configurations, there were whole sections of individual items as well. Mattresses of all sizes. Quilts and comforters for all seasons. Pillow cases and sheets made of Egyptian cotton and possessing thread counts in the tantalizing thousands. Bedside furniture ranged from Kids to Adults, Art Déco to Rustic, Retro to Contemporary, and all priced to sell, individually or in complete sets.
Taking in that vast cavern of nocturnal delights, the first thought to enter Gus’s mind was that Lazy Lou had a serious fucking hard-on for bedroom furnishings. A serious fucking hard-on.
“Goddammit Lou,” Gus said under his breath.
“Nothing lazy about him,” Collie added.
“No ma’am. This is unchecked insanity. The hell is this place, anyway? And it’s out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Lazy Lou’s pretty big west of Ontario,” Bruno said nearby.
“Bought my bedroom set from him,” someone said.
“I think he’s in BC,” added another voice.
“Chain of twenty or thirty. With one in Hawaii, I think,” said yet another.
“All right,” Gus groaned. “He’s the king of bedrooms. I’m not gonna argue the point. Obviously, he had something on the go.”
“Lie awhile,” a voice sang softly. “Lie awhile, and if you’re gonna lie, lie in style.”
Gus frowned. He didn’t know Lazy Lou from an asshole in the ground, but he sure as hell knew he could come up with a more imaginative jingle than that.
“Sleep anywhere,” Sarah Burton said to the group. “Maybe back from the windows. There’s plenty of partitions to give you privacy if you want it, but don’t go too far. Lots of pillows and blankets, comforters. Grab anything you want. Sleep and we’ll have a group huddle in the morning. Talk about where to go from here.”
“You posting guards?” Collie asked.
Sarah traded looks with Rich Trinidad.
“I’ll watch the front,” the gunslinger said. “Until I get tired. Then I’ll swap out with whoever’s willing.”
“I’m willing,” Collie said.
“Yeah, me too,” Gus threw in, although he was eyeing one contemporary bed set, complete with what looked like a propane fireplace. The whole thing radiated an alpine ambience that made him think of winters and season-long hibernations.
“Good,” Sarah said. “That’s good. Get some sleep then. I’ll get someone to watch the rear doors.”
Eva had a chat with Bruno, and the man walked away with her and Monica. Cory had already found a corner of his own and was taking his shoes off. Gus continued sizing up his chosen bed, a silky, midnight black affair that would definitely have been out of his paygrade once upon a time. Yet, there he was, about to pass out on one. The notion put a smile on his hairy face. Every now and again, the apocalypse would do you a favor. Collie placed a hand upon his shoulder then, the contact electric, and led him over to that Swiss dream.
“You read my mind,” he whispered.
“More like I saw you drool.”
“It’s a dream,” Gus said, stopping at the base, and focusing solely upon the bed. “An alpine dream. I mean, I ain’t ever getting over to the Alps, but if I did… I’d want my hotel room to have furniture like this.”
“See the price?” She pointed.
He did a double take. “Jesus Christ. How the hell do they justify that? Swiss elves make that thing or somet
hing?”
Collie glanced around, eyeing the rest of the group. Some wandered around back corners, but most stayed well within sight. She went to one side of the bed—a sizeable queen—and perched herself on the edge.
“Oh my,” she said, running a hand over the comforter.
“Nice?”
“Try it.”
Gus sat down. “Oh my sweet Jesus. I can feel a smile across my ass. Right across my ass. Both cheeks.”
“Keep your voice down, people are going to sleep.”
Gus supposed so. If they were camping out on such comfortable islands like the one he was planted on, they’d be asleep in no time.
He swung his legs onto the bed, boots still on, and stretched out.
“Goddamn. This is coming with me. Wherever we go. I’m taking it.”
“Beats sleeping on the ground.”
“And shitty-assed motels.”
Collie lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. Around them, the group was settling in with sighs and similar whispers of disbelief. Someone farted. A goose shot prompting a giggle that Gus knew belonged to little Monica. He realized then that he hadn’t checked on her or Bruno, to see if she could say anything more than ‘mindless’. And how it was she came to call the undead that name.
“Well,” he whispered. “Thus ends a fucked-up day.”
“Ended pretty damn well if you ask me,” Collie whispered back.
“Not for some of those campers.”
“Well, you’re right there.”
“You got time to talk?”
Silence then. “Sure. For a bit. Until I start snoring, anyway. What’s on your mind?”
Gus turned onto his side to face her, adjusting his junk as he did so. “Just wanted to continue that conversation we started. Back in the woods there.”
“Go ahead.”
“Who are they, Collie?”
“The pricks with the masks? Who knows? Never saw them before. Another bunch of road crazies. Maybe looking for others. Like us.”
“Not like us if they’re using deadheads.”
“Suppose not. I just hope they’re not religious. Those bunnies give me the creeps.”
Mountain Man (Book 5): Make Me King Page 19