Pack Animals [An Undead Post-Apocalypse Thriller]

by Cain, Kenneth W.

  Sadness overcame Allen at the thought the girl would still see everything. “Landon, listen—”

  “Shut up, Forrester!” Landon nodded to one of his men, then hacked something up, which he spat in Allen’s direction. The wad of mucous landed three feet from a kneeling Allen.

  Landon’s man forced Allen down, until his face came within inches of the spit.

  “What are you—” Allen braced both hands on the ground and pushed back as hard as he could.

  The man at his left gave a swift kick into Allen’s side. While his ribcage did not crack, the air burst out of his lungs in a quick wheeze. “Stop fighting worm or I’ll break your ribs.”

  “You just had to interrupt my dinner, didn’t you Forrester?” He took a bold step toward Allen. The shadow of his fist rose into the air, and Allen readied for the blow. The fist only shook in the air. “How dare you bring my wife into this. My child, even!”

  Allen struggled through a collapsed airway, his words coming out raspy and wet. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Fuck if you didn’t! You think you’re so goddamned special—the general who would save the world from the likes of me.” Landon paced back and forth in front of Allen’s hunched body, wringing his hands together. He hummed an amusing little tune. “Well, you’re not going to save anything, you fuck. This nation was damned long before this war, and I have a plan to resuscitate the United States. Only we won’t call it that any more, will we?”

  The man at Landon’s right hand reached inside of his jacket pocket and produced something Allen couldn’t make out. He held it in front of Allen’s face. “Take it!”

  The man behind Allen bashed him in the back of his head. Allen’s vision went blurry as he reached for the thing, what he saw now was a small flask. The liquid inside sloshed about.

  “What...what’s in it?” Allen asked

  Landon rushed forward and drove a swift kick to Allen’s side. Pain rose in the same spot as before. “You know what it is.” Landon composed himself. “Now, empty it into the water.”

  “No, not that.” Bloodied, beaten, and all but passing out, Allen fought against it. A surge of strength found him with his determination to not give in. “Never!”

  “Fine, have it your way.” Landon walked away, as if remembering a forgotten detail. When he returned, he was laughing. “I feel bad for your Sydney.”

  “What does she have to do with any of this?”

  His laughter ended in an abrupt sneering tone. “Oh, dear boy, don’t you get it? Love and war?”

  “You touch her and I’ll—”

  Landon kicked Allen’s side again, silencing him.

  One of Landon’s goons landed a fist to the back of Allen’s head, a blow that dizzied him. “You’ll do what, big boy?”

  “Do it, Allen. Do it now and I’ll spare your wife.” Landon withdrew something from his jacket. He came forward and held it to Allen’s head. He could feel the cold steel of the barrel and found himself preparing for a bullet. “Do it or they both die.”

  Right then, Allen felt a gaping hole form in his chest. A black hole that devoured everything, all he cared about, everything that mattered.

  One of the goons seized Allen’s trembling hand and unscrewed the lid for him. That man took the arm holding the flask and another goon took Allen’s other arm. Together they dragged Allen to the water’s edge where Landon pressed his shoe into his back, grinding the heel into Allen’s spine.

  “Now, Forrester,” Landon said.

  Allen thought about Sydney, their young child. He wondered what the future would bring. It frightened him. This frightened him.

  With that fear emerging, Allen did as Landon commanded and dumped the small vial of liquid into the water.

  “Now you’re one of us,” Landon said, grinning. “Like it or not, you’re one of the damned.”

  His words were the last Allen heard before the onslaught began. They kicked Allen. Punched him in the head, the neck, the back. Why they didn’t shoot him was beyond his thinking, but they might as well have. Landon never had been very keen on showing anyone mercy, but now they were handing down a lesson. The message was clear, too: Do what you’re told, when you’re told, or else.

  Maybe I’ll die from the internal bleeding.

  While Allen had tried to avoid the attacks, thinking of what he had done, he found himself giving in to the relentless assault.

  I deserve it.

  Laughter accompanied the last blow. The gun struck his head, causing his ears to ring. He tried to see them, but the sky wouldn’t stop spinning. The goons hooted and snorted laughter. Then came the darkness.

  A strange sensation came at Allen’s head. All he felt was the bleeding.

  Allen opened his eyes and saw nothing but the side of the waterworks access he had poured the vial into moments earlier. The poke came again, and this world started to dissolve.

  “Wake up,” the woman said.

  Allen shook his head, the pain still ringing in his ears.

  The goons were gone. Landon, too. Allen scanned his surroundings for them.

  “Wake up, Allen.”

  His eyes sprung open, struggling upon the darkest of night skies. The pain and stuffiness in his blood-filled sinuses dissolved. The waterworks vanished, but the memory of what happened that night lingered like a water stain on a wooden table.

  Allen looked up; saw her straddling him, pinning him to the ground. “Syd?”

  “Shut up. Now, listen. Tell me the truth! Tell me everything.”

  CHAPTER 25

  She felt heavier than he remembered. He hadn’t been under her for a long time, but somehow, she seemed weightier—not because she had gained weight, but as if the heavens assisted her in pinning him against the ground. Allen gave into it completely, wanting for her to punish him. This had gone on too long, him carrying a weight he could no longer shoulder.

  “Tell me, Allen,” she said.

  “What do you want to hear? That I’m the one who poisoned the water?”

  His words sounded distant, the voice of a man he no longer recognized. His prior self was an image he could no longer bring into focus as he was stuck back there at the waterworks, still caught up in that nightmare. This new Allen proved to be more of a calloused man, one who had come to grips with his sins. He gave in to the kill or be killed methodology of this post-war life. Nothing could hurt him anymore. He’d become hardened to it all. A shell had formed over his soul; one nobody could break through ever again.

  Except Syd.

  With that thought Allen broke into a hard fit of weeping. This, he could not control.

  “Allen!” She shook his shoulders and stared deep into his eyes. “Tell me?”

  Through his crying, her voice sounded like a whisper.

  Before he could answer, Dale pulled her off. But even with him free of her weight, no longer there to hold him accountable, he remained pinned to the ground, weighed down by the past.

  Dale rolled on top of Syd and tried to pin her to the earth.

  She spun free and drew her sword. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  Allen’s voice crackled, weakened by his tears. “Stop!”

  Sydney’s sword flashed at Dale. He lifted his gun in retaliation. His eyes narrowed on Allen’s wife. “Oh, that’ll do fine by me, ma’am. We’ll have us a real good showdown.”

  This time Allen’s voice came out in a wheezy burst of air. “I said, stop!”

  Both Dale and Sydney eyed him up from the corner of their eyes, never letting the other out of sight.

  Allen got to his feet and moved between them with some difficulty. Even once he got there, his legs felt so much heavier than before. Could he ever escape this weight? He thought not. Realizing that gave him an opportunity to accept his fate.

  “Is this the kind of degenerate you run around with these days, Allen?”

  Dale’s face flushed, his mounting anger obvious. Despite the visual show, Syd stood her ground.

  All
en patted the air weakly. “Syd, please.”

  “Who is this gal, Allen?” Dale still had his gun aimed at her. “Want me to put a bullet in her skull?”

  “No.” Allen wiped the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. He could barely support himself, let alone find the strength to stop them from killing each other. “She’s my wife.”

  Sydney sheathed her sword with reluctance, perhaps realizing Allen was ready to talk. He was, maybe too much so.

  Dale lowered his gun, but didn’t let his guard down. He kept the rifle shouldered around his neck in case he needed it.

  From out of nowhere, a large dark-skinned man came up behind Dale, and, with one large arm, pinned Dale’s arms across his chest.

  “Let me go—” Dale writhed in the big man’s arms.

  Sydney had drawn her sword, but eased it back into the sheath upon seeing who it was.

  All of this was too exhausting for Allen. He could only watch.

  “You followed me?” Sydney waved him off. “It’s okay, Isaac. They’re fine.”

  Despite how he felt, thoughts of what Sydney might be doing with such a man poisoned Allen’s mind. It wasn’t fair for him to feel this way, but he couldn’t help it. Syd was still his wife. He regretted abandoning his feelings for her long ago, to protect her and Orson. And for what? A sense of duty to a party he wasn’t even in total agreement with? Even when they were together, he’d lied to her and kept her in the dark through the worst of those days. He’d brought this on himself, having forced her to hate him.

  Allen dragged his feet to Syd, finding her shoulder, wanting to cry there. That would relieve him of some of the weight.

  No, I won’t allow it.

  He had never planned for her to have any role in this. His only desire was to protect his family. Doing so came with consequences, though, and the very dangers he strived to keep away found their way right to their doorstep.

  Syd didn’t care for Allen’s dramatics. That showed in her expression. He knew then if he wronged her, she would use her sword to take his hand, maybe worse. For all Allen cared, she could run him right through. He almost welcomed such an end given the guilt he endured.

  Allen turned toward this new man, Isaac. Then to Dale. He felt like he was going to fall, and stumbled away from Syd. Somehow, he righted himself, trying to stay afoot a little longer. He had to get this out, now.

  “I was a Captain for the Democratic National Party, and all of this—” His voice crackled, his throat feeling so dry. That made him wish Dale would break out some alcohol. Anything. Even tequila. Allen raised a hand, leveling it across the horizon of devastation. “All of this happened because of me. This is all my fault.” The tears came again. He struggled to see Dillon and Clyde. He pointed at them and looked Dale straight in the eyes. “They are my fault. I’m a bad man. Do you hear me! I’m a bad man! I destroyed the United States of America!”

  He had no idea how his words would be received. Then again, he didn’t care. The time had come for reckoning. He was long overdue this debt.

  The world began to spin. He collapsed on the ground, not even bothering to try to brace himself for the fall. Somehow, he ended up on his knees.

  How convenient.

  There, he said a silent prayer, praying for justice. For a swift death that would end his torment.

  CHAPTER 26

  Dale couldn’t wrap his head around what Allen said. Not at first. So he let his emotions rule the moment.

  Allen gestured to the world, then his wife, and he crumpled on the ground, defeated.

  Dale had never been a smart man. A lot of people he knew back home weren’t so book smart. But they were all resourceful. His kind knew how to do things no book taught. The sort of things you didn’t find on the Internet, not unless you looked a lot deeper. If someone crossed him or his people, they would take your life, and no one would be the wiser as to what happened or why. They could make anyone disappear.

  Allen’s words jumbled in his head. He tried to iron them out, replaying the moment in his head like a tiny movie. There, he saw Allen cry. Then he reheard everything Allen had said and they stabbed at his heart like an angry little elf, brandishing a knife. Everything began to make sense.

  The pain spread fast, leaving all rationality behind as Dale’s numb fingers found the gun strapped around his neck. Before he knew what he was doing, he had the gun out in front of him and moved in on Allen. He pressed the end of the barrel to Allen’s head. All Allen did was sway back and forth, moaning some annoying apology through his tears.

  It occurred to Dale he’d forgotten about the other two. But he no longer cared what consequences might come of his actions. He drilled the end of the gun into Allen’s temple, expecting the man to cry out in pain. Only Allen didn’t. Allen wobbled like a bobber in a lake as a fish took the bait.

  Then, Dale felt a hand urging his gun down. Dale refused, correcting the angle, forcing himself to keep it pressed to Allen’s head. Gritting his teeth, he planned to eliminate this man, one he had in some ways come to know as a friend.

  Another hand fell on his shoulder. Bigger, stronger, this hand felt warm. Isaac whispered, demanding only one thing of Dale. “Not here.”

  Dale didn’t lower the gun. All he wanted right then was to blow one big hole through Allen’s head. To kill the very man Dale had shared spirits with while waiting for his brother to die. A man he’d learned to trust, a thing he most despised now that the man had revealed who he really was and what that had cost Dale.

  “Not yet, bro.” Isaac said.

  Dale lowered the gun with reluctance, put off by this guy calling him a brother. But Isaac didn’t know about Clyde. How could he?

  Sydney moved in between he and Allen. She didn’t touch Allen, but knelt in front of him tried to look into his eyes. “Allen? What is it?”

  Allen struggled to speak. “I didn’t want to, you know?”

  “I know. Melanie told me.”

  Allen’s eyes darted up, found Sydney. “The girl?”

  “Yes.”

  That was all she offered, seeming to forgive her husband of his failures.

  “They beat me that night.” Allen hung his head. “I tried to stop them, but they just kept beating me. And they threatened to—”

  “Who did?” Sydney asked.

  “Landon and his men. They beat me until—”

  Allen’s eyes turned up until all Dale could see was the whites of his eyeballs. Then Allen fell flat to the ground. Not long ago, Dale would have hurried to help the man, but not anymore. Though Dale didn’t think he fully understood any of this, what he did know was that Allen had claimed responsibility. For that, Dale would make sure he paid—maybe not now, but someday soon.

  CHAPTER 27

  Sydney kind of enjoyed watching Chris make such a spectacle of the situation. He paced back and forth, his injuries somehow magically healed. The fact Chris was displaying his jealousy made it all worthwhile.

  “Who is he?” Chris looked at her. She couldn’t help but grin. “You have a husband?”

  “Shut up, Chris” Isaac said. “You gonna say something you regret.”

  Chris stared at Isaac. She could see how afraid he was of Isaac. Too bad that apprehension he felt did nothing to shut the guy up. He turned his attention to the carriage.

  “Seriously? We’re going to take these two—” Chris thrust his hands at the monsters, an act that warranted a nervous look from the one Dale called Dillon. “Whatever the hell they are?”

  Dale crossed to Chris with a frown pressed upon his face. “They’s my family is what they are. You got that, son?”

  If looks could kill.

  Sydney felt no remorse for Dale’s loss. Everyone had lost something, and this man would need to come to grips with that sooner or later. Toting around a couple of undead people like this did nothing to help anyone. Especially if the guy meant to tag along with them.

  “I’m sorry.” Chris backed off, clearly as intimidated by Dale as he was Is
aac. “It’s just—”

  Dale rested his hand on his gun, letting it be known what he thought of Chris’s apology.

  “Well, how about this guy then? Are we just supposed to take him in, as well?” Chris asked. His face became animated. “The man who poisoned us?”

  Sydney wished they hadn’t shared those details, but she doubted she could have prevented Dale from mentioning it. He had bitched about it the entire way back to the others. She thought it would have been better received if it had come from her mouth instead. So, if she meant to keep Allen alive, she would have to keep watch over Dale in case he tried something. Despite their travels together, Dale seemed to be looking for an excuse—any excuse—just to off Allen.

  Why am I bothering to stop him?

  Maybe those men had forced Allen to pour the contents of some vial into the water, but how had he gotten tied up in all of that to begin with? Why had he knowing how dangerous it could be for his family? As a result, anyone out there had a right to pin whatever they wanted on Allen whether he accepted blame for it or not. And truth told, she still despised him for all of it.

  Yet you brought him back here, didn’t you?

  She had even insisted on it.

  Why?

  “I kinda have to go with Chris on this one,” Allison said. “I mean, he did what he did, so why wouldn’t we just leave him behind?”

  Isaac shushed Allison.

  “It’s okay.” Sydney regarded Allison, then Isaac, and finally Chris. “We all have our doubts. But we need to hear him out. He might know something.” She considered this last part, doubting he would share it if he did. Of this next part, though, she was even more uncertain. “It might not be his fault.”

  “Oh, come on Sydney! That’s bullshit!” Chris stormed away. “You’re only saying that because he’s your husband.”

  Is that true?