Dylan squared her feet and raised the gun. This was her chance to even the odds. She squeezed off two shots but missed. “Damn it!”
She tried and missed again, her vision wavering. A sob escaped her lips, but she refused to give up. One more bullet. That was all she had left. Better make it count, Dylan.
She focused on her target and gripped the gun with both hands to steady her aim. Blowing out a slow breath, she pulled the trigger. This time, she didn’t miss. Ray’s friend, whoever he was, slumped to the ground with only half a skull. “Yes!”
Dylan bared her teeth in a grin of triumph. Her blood was up, and rage flowed through her veins igniting every cell in her body. Feverish heat flushed her cheeks, and she strode forward with renewed strength. It didn’t matter that she was out of bullets. She didn’t care. All she cared about was killing.
She reached the truck and stared at the body on the ground without remorse. “You got what you deserved, asshole.”
Dylan stepped over the corpse and peered inside the cab still holding the Glock in her right hand. Ray was unconscious and lay slumped over the wheel, his limbs slack. It looked like he was pinned in place by crumpled metal, his legs broken and bleeding. Discounting him for the moment, she turned her attention to his buddy.
Ray’s friend was groaning with both hands pressed to a gash on his scalp. It bled profusely like head wounds tended to do, and the metallic taste of blood coated the inside of her mouth. Her nostrils flared as she relished the aroma, and her stomach clenched with sudden hunger.
Her vision darkened around the edges, and the world appeared washed in crimson. Before she could stop to think, Dylan dropped her gun and grabbed him with both hands. “Not so cocky now, are we?”
“Let go, you crazy bitch,” he mumbled, swatting at her with his fists
She didn’t feel a thing, his blows no more than the buzzing of insects. Her focus narrowed onto his face, and she sneered. “I thought you wanted to have a little bit of fun. Aren’t we having fun yet?”
He shook his head, eyes wide with fear when he looked into her eyes. Eyes that spelled out his death. “Lemme go, lemme go. Please!”
Dylan laughed, her gaze flickering to his throat. It looked soft and inviting. Vulnerable. With a growl, she lunged forward and sank her teeth deep into his jugular. Blood spurted into her mouth and washed across her tongue. Hot, fresh, and oh so delicious.
Her eyes drifted shut as ecstasy overcame her, and she sucked down deep mouthfuls of the warm fluid. Her victim thrashed beneath her, his horrified screams turning into gurgles as his life left him in a crimson stream.
Dylan’s eyes snapped open when he stilled, and his struggles grew weaker and weaker. She tossed him aside like a rag doll, one hand wiping away the blood that ran down her chin. It covered the front of her jersey in a red waterfall, and she sniffed at it with disgust. “Ugh. So messy.” She sighed. “And I just had a shower.”
A frightened voice drew her attention, and her gaze traveled to Ray. He stared at her with wide eyes, and his voice shook when he asked, “What the hell are you?”
“What am I?” Dylan asked. “I’m your worst nightmare.”
He attempted to pull his gun from its holster, but Dylan reacted in a flash. She leaned over and snatched it away.
Ray shook his head and pushed open his door. “You’re a monster.”
He struggled in his seat, attempting to climb out, but it was futile. He was pinned in place by the engine block.
“Oh, dear. It seems like you’re stuck,” Dylan said. “I’d help, but you know, I’m just a monster. Besides, I don’t think there’s much anybody could do for you now.”
Ray gaped down at his broken legs, aware of his awful injuries for the first time. “Oh, God. Help me, please. I don’t want to die.”
“You should’ve thought of that before,” Dylan said as she searched the cab for more weapons. Both his friends had been armed with handguns plus they’d brought along a rifle. “Nice stash. Thanks.”
Afterward, she fished inside her pockets for her cigarettes and lighter. She hadn’t had one in a long time.
Dylan lit one with relish and inhaled the acrid smoke deep into her lungs. Ray kept begging for help, but she ignored him as she searched the back of the truck until she found what she was looking for. A jerry can.
Opening the nozzle, she poured gas over the truck with methodical care. Ray watched with growing fear and realization. “No! No, please.”
“Oh, yes.”
“You can’t do that. Please! I’ll do anything, I swear it,” he screamed. “Just name it, and I’ll do it.”
“The only thing I want from you is to die,” was her cold reply.
Dylan stepped back and flicked the remains of her cigarette onto the ground next to a puddle of gas. With a swoosh, the fumes caught alight, and flames raced along the path she’d laid.
Ray continued pleading, but his blubbering cries soon turned into agonized screams when the fire enveloped the cab. He twisted and turned as his flesh blackened in the searing heat, his clothes, and hair a blazing inferno.
Dylan watched for a couple of seconds before turning away. The fire was as hot on the outside as she felt on the inside. A boiling pit of lava sat inside her stomach, ready to erupt at any moment. It made her feel strong, invincible, and she liked it.
With determined strides, she walked back to her car, taking her new weapons with her. She tucked Ray’s fully loaded Beretta into her holster and stored the rest of the handguns in the glove compartment. The rifle she placed on the backseat. Then it was time to go.
As Dylan moved to start the engine, she caught sight of her reflection in the rearview mirror and froze. Her face was covered with drying blood, her teeth stained red, and her clothes soaked. The eyes of a stranger stared back at her, cold and callous.
In an instant, Dylan’s mind cleared, and the haze of blazing fury that had fueled her so far faded away. She pressed one hand against her lips and choked back a horrified sob. “Oh, my God. What have I done?”
The sensation of blood flowing down her throat returned with awful clarity, and her stomach rebelled. She pushed the car door open and fell onto her hands and knees, not caring when sharp stones cut into her palms. Her body heaved, and copious amounts of blood splashed onto the road, the congealing fluid as black as tar.
With a cry, Dylan got to her feet and ran to the trunk. Along the way, she ripped off her soaked jersey and tossed it aside. Grabbing a bottle of water from her precious supplies, she washed the blood from her hands and face. Every time she caught sight of Ray’s truck blazing in the distance, she retched. That carried on until she had nothing left in her stomach but bile and acid. Even then, the echo of his screams rang in her ears, over and over until she thought she’d go crazy.
Finally, she collapsed into a little ball. “I can’t believe I did that. How could I do that? I’m a monster. A cannibal.”
She stared at her hands, turning them this way and that. Her gaze traveled to the bandaged bite wound on her arm, and she traced the black veins to her chest. Realization dawned. “It’s the infection. It’s making me act all crazy. That’s what it is.”
Dylan checked the watch on her wrist. Forty-two hours remained. “I’m on the second day. From here on, it’ll just get worse and worse. The fever, the veins, the psychotic episodes. If I want the cure, I’d better get moving. I have to get there before I’m too far gone to act human anymore.”
She got to her feet, feeling weak and shaky. Her forehead burned, and her cheeks were flushed. The virus was progressing, working its way through her insides as her body attempted to fight it off.
From here, it was a straight shot to Louisville and then Fort Knox. She had a full tank, some supplies, and no one on her trail to stop. “I can do this. I have to. Louisville, here I come.”
Chapter 21 - Amy
Amy shifted in her seat as they got closer to the Robinson farm, impatient to get there. The longer it took, the more worried
she grew about Alex. He hadn’t complained once, but she could see what the effort of driving cost him. It was evident in the stark lines around his mouth and the pallor of his cheeks. If only he weren’t so stubborn. I can drive. Not very well, but well enough to get us there.
It was cold so early in the morning, and overcast. It would probably rain later on. She wondered how long they had left before winter hit them with its full force. Usually, the worst weather lasted from December to February, but this season promised to come early, and it was the beginning of November already.
Ordinarily, Amy loved winter, and some of her favorite memories stemmed from the season. In the evenings, they’d get together in the living room, each snuggled up underneath a fluffy blanket with a cup of steaming hot cocoa. Her father would read his latest book while she and her mom watched their favorite shows on television. All while a pot of soup bubbled on the stove, ready to be eaten with homemade crusty bread and real butter. A real treat.
Now, Amy wasn’t so sure. Surviving during the warm months would be difficult enough, but winter could be a killer. She sighed. That didn’t matter now. They’d figure all of that out later. All that mattered now was getting Alex well again. I hope Mr. and Mrs. Robinson can help him. I really do.
“The turn-off is right ahead,” Alex said, drawing Amy away from her morbid thoughts.
She craned her head and spotted the sign Alex referred to. It showed the way to the Robinson farm, a two-mile-long dirt road to the gates of their property.
On either side of the track, rows of tall trees loomed large above them. To Amy, they looked stark and foreboding, their naked branches twisting up to the gray clouds that covered the sky. A shiver worked down her spine despite the warm jacket she wore, and she wished the journey was over already. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Nerves. It must be nerves.
The dirt road wound through the woods for another mile before they reached the gates leading to the Robinson’s property. Amy frowned, and Alex came to an abrupt halt as they surveyed the wreckage of the once elegant, wrought-iron gates that swung inward at the push of a button. They’d been forced open, and the metal was bent and warped on the inner seam where the two gates met.
“This can’t be good,” Amy said, clutching her shotgun to her chest.
“No, it can’t,” Alex agreed.
“Look at that,” Amy said, pointing at the ground in front of them. The soil was churned up as if a hundred of pairs of feet had marched through it minutes before. “Those are prints. Footprints. And they’re fresh.”
“You’re right,” Alex said. “A whole lot of people came through here not long ago, and they must’ve forced open the gate.”
“People? Or zombies?” Amy asked.
Suddenly, she realized what had been bothering her all along. A nature lover, she was used to tracking animals in the wild, and her subconscious mind had spotted these prints from the moment they turned onto the track.
“It could be either. The Robinson’s are well off, and there are plenty of people who want what they have, but this…this was zombies. I’m sure of it,” Alex replied.
“How come?”
“Because they forced open the gates. Thieves would have climbed over.”
“So, what now?” Amy asked. “We can’t go back home. We need medicine for you.”
“It’s too risky. Ten to one, the zombies are still here, unless the Robinson’s managed to fight them off. But if that’s the case, why is the property still open and exposed?”
“Maybe they’re trapped and need our help,” Amy said.
“What can we do against a horde of the undead, Amy?” Alex asked.
“We can at least look,” Amy protested. “I mean, we’re safe inside the car.”
Alex stared ahead for a moment before nodding. “Fine. We can look, but at the first sign of trouble I’m getting us the hell out of here.”
“Deal,” Amy said.
Alex drove through the gates at a snail’s pace, the tires crunching on the gravel driveway that led to the house. Within seconds, it came into view — a grand, two-story mansion set on a vast swath of green lawn. The wrap-around porch commanded a panoramic view of the countryside around it, and Amy leaned forward in her seat with anticipation.
Within moments, her hopes of finding the Robinson’s alive and well were dashed. Mrs. Robinson’s award-winning rose bushes had been trampled to dust, the regal plants crushed into the earth beneath countless feet. The grounds were littered with corpses, and the front door hung loose on broken hinges. The lower level windows were all smashed, and blood stained the once pristine white walls. It was like something out of her worst nightmares.
Amy’s mouth dried up, and her heart was heavy in her chest. Tears pricked at her eyelids, but she dashed them away before Alex could see. She didn’t want him to think her weak. “It was zombies.”
Alex nodded, his face drawn. “They put up one helluva fight.”
Amy had nothing to say to that. What did it matter when they were all dead?
“We’d better go. There’s nothing here for us but death. Who knows where the rest of the horde is,” Alex said.
Amy swallowed hard on the bile that rose in her throat. She could guess where the infected were. They’d be after food. Fresh meat. “The stables.”
Alex glanced at her with a quizzical frown. “Stables?”
“At the back of the house, there’s a row of stables for the racehorses. Mr. Robinson breeds them for the Kentucky Derby. There’s a duck pond too. It used to be very pretty.”
“Oh, God. Those poor animals.”
Amy nodded, and her voice was faint when she spoke. “Let’s go.”
Alex reached over to squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry, Amy. I really am.”
“I know.”
As Alex prepared to make a U-turn, Amy stared at the house, grief for the Robinson family weighing heavily on her heart. Suddenly, she spotted something in one of the upper-story windows, and cried, “Wait, I saw something!”
“What?” Alex slammed on the brakes.
“Up there, in the window,” Amy said, narrowing her eyes for a better look.
As she watched, the curtain twitched before it was swept aside to reveal a frightened face. It was a little girl, waving frantically at Amy and Alex.
Amy gasped. “It’s Laura.”
“Laura?” Alex asked.
“The Robinson’s granddaughter,” Amy cried out. “We have to rescue her!”
Before she could stop to think, Amy was out of the car and running toward the house. The only thought in her mind was to save that poor little girl before she could get eaten.
“Amy, no!” Alex shouted behind her, but she barely heard him. Instead, she dodged the bodies that littered the lawn and dashed into the house. Inside, it was chaos. Broken glass, furniture, and more bodies lay strewn about. Bullet holes graffitied the walls, and blood soaked the carpets.
Amy clapped one horrified hand to her mouth, but she didn’t stop. She’d only been inside the house once, but she still remembered where the stairs were. She crossed the foyer and living room in a mad dash to the steps, taking them two at a time.
On the second floor, she paused, heaving for breath. On either side stretched a long hallway filled with doors. Taking a chance, she shouted, “Laura?”
One of the doors cracked open, and a pair of frightened blue eyes stared at her. Amy almost fainted with relief. “Laura, it’s me, Amy. You don’t know me very well, but I’m here to help you.”
Laura stared at her for a second before nodding. “Okay.”
Amy reached out one trembling hand. “Come with me, sweetie. We have to leave before more zombies come.”
Behind her sounded Alex’s heavy tread on the stairs, his angry grunts harsh to her ears. She shot him a glance and pressed one finger to her lips. “Shh, you’ll scare her.”
He shot her a murderous look. “When we get out of here…”
“Yeah,
yeah. You can do whatever you want then,” Amy said, turning back to Laura, who’d inched her way outside the room she’d been hiding in. “Come on, sweetie. Time to go.”
“What about Momma? And everyone else?” Laura asked.
“We’ll look for them later, okay? But right now, we need to get out of here,” Amy said.
“Alright.” Laura ran to Amy and slipped her tiny hand into hers. “I’m ready.”
“Thank God,” Alex exclaimed with one last hard look at Amy. “I hope she’s got better sense than you do.”
“She’s made it this far,” Amy said, flashing him a cheeky grin. “Lead the way, big brother.”
***
At the back of the house, an infected woman raised her head from the delicious feast before her. Blood dripped down her chin, rich and vital. Horse blood. It smeared across the name tag still affixed to her shirt, obliterating her name.
Anne.
That was who she used to be, back in the day when she still wore court shoes, painted her nails, and curled her hair. Back when she hated her job in telesales, counting the days until she could resign and marry a wealthy landowner. She’d even picked out her dream wedding dress already. The venue too. Everything was ready. She just had to meet her future husband-to-be and reel him in.
But now, Anne no longer cared about weddings or riches. Nor did she wear shoes anymore. They’d fallen along the wayside. A nuisance that slowed her down. Her hair hung lank and stringy against her decaying scalp, and her nails were broken to the quick.
Her head twitched as she listened for a repeat of the sound she’d just heard. Nothing. All she heard was her fellow zombies crunching on animal carcasses. Just when she was about to take another bite of horse entrails, she heard it again. “Amy, wait!”
Growling in anticipation, she pushed away from the already cooling flesh of the horse beneath her. Sound meant life, and life meant food. It was what she lived. Craved for. Died for.
Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z Page 12