Blood Type Infected (Book 5): The Departed

by Marchon, Matthew

  We really shouldn’t be doing this. We should have let them assemble a search and rescue team, out of the twelve or so soldiers we saw, and let them handle it. We’re in no shape to be rescuing anyone. But Caylee’s on that chopper, so there isn’t a thing on this planet that could stop us.

  “Just to be clear,” Felecia says out of the blue, “I do not stink.”

  Sami leans over and gives her a sniff, wiggling her hand. “Angh, you kinda do. It’s not the worst, I mean, I’m sitting next to you and I’m not exactly gagging.”

  “That’s it, Marty, pull over, find me a house. I gotta shower. Felecia Harmon does not stink!”

  “Relax sweetheart,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure he meant it in an all of us, as a unit, kind of way, not you in particular. Just don’t go lifting your hands above your head.”

  She folds her arms across her chest in a huff, slamming back against the seat before jolting up just as quickly. “Holy shit, that’s them! Guys, to the left. Look, that’s a helicopter on the roof. They crashed!”

  There it is, dangling off a two story hangar beside some tiny desert airstrip. Half of its landing gear is hanging over the edge. The propellers are broken, all four of them, snapped right off. The entire tail is missing, probably somewhere on the roof. What the hell happened?

  Are they in there? I swear I see movement. No, wait, that’s them on the open roof. Right? Can they not get down? Or are they climbing down right now? Some of them are at the bottom… jumping. Trying to climb the wall. Shit!

  “They got attacked,” I blurt out, putting the pieces together in the dull glow of early morning’s first light.

  Marty hits the gas while we pull weapons from the bag. I can’t tell how many we have to contend with, there’s definitely a bunch on the ground, currently turning their attention towards the incoming vehicle.

  Maxwell reaches back for a grenade launcher before popping out of the machine gun manhole cover in our roof. That really would have come in handy these last few days. I think all cars should come equipped with those from now on, automatic locks, backup cam, machine gun turret.

  Barely taking the time to aim, she pulls the trigger, causing an explosion on the airstrip, sending infected body parts scattering.

  Our friends are still in there. They’re trapped inside the helicopter. Now that we’re getting closer, I can see them. And the infects banging on the glass, trying desperately to force their way inside. Am I seeing things, or is the broken chopper rocking back and forth every time their fists fall in unison?

  There’s Kristen, that’s her! And the scientists. Both pilots, they’re still in there. Paul. Motherfucking Paul Hopkins. I can’t even believe this. My mind refuses to process what he’s done. This isn’t some stranger I met in the apocalypse and took a liking to. This isn’t Maxwell or Sami, who were strangers when this all began.

  This is my best friend. Someone I ran back into hell for. I knew we’d been growing apart. Except we weren’t, it wasn’t all of us growing and changing and going our separate ways, it was me drifting away from them. Either they all changed and I didn’t, or I was slowly becoming someone else and they stayed the same. Maybe a little bit of both?

  How did growing apart become this? Friendships deteriorate, I know that, it’s a part of life. But we’ve done so much more than grow apart. We’ve become enemies. The kind that try to kill each other. I just can’t understand how it’s come to this.

  Shane’s beside him. I can tell it’s him, his leg’s wrapped up. Paul’s dad must have found some gauze onboard. It’s nowhere near close to what he needs for his shattered kneecap. I should have killed him when I had the chance. I thought I was, but then, Doug, and the kid who bit Felecia’s arm. Killing one of my best friends in the entire world kind of slipped my mind.

  Has their hatred towards me grown to such epic proportions that they would really align themselves with the sinister Joseph Buckley?

  A chill creeps up my spine when I realize who’s not onboard. Why isn’t Caylee in there? Or Scott? Where are they? I don’t see Tyrone or Sami’s brother either, but that makes sense, they’d still be strapped to gurneys. We can’t rule their presence out, but I should be able to see Caylee and Scott.

  Marty cuts the wheel as we make our rapid approach, spinning out, smacking into the group of infects running towards us. They bounce off the side of the Humvee before getting sucked under it and spit out while we skid to a stop.

  Without a second wasted, we pile out. I feel like the gaggle of cheerleaders who always seem to clown car their way out of Neil’s backseat everywhere he goes, with that stupid souped up, two door, rich kid car. I suppose it’s time I stop being jealous of him. I got the girl. And our Humvee would run his Neil mobile over like a monster truck, after shooting out the tires with our machine gun first, of course.

  And we’ve got a shitload of zompires racing towards us.

  This should feel like the end of an era. This should be the final fight, but I know it isn’t. Not for us. Not without Caylee.

  Felecia breaks into a sprint beside me, running full force toward the approaching zombies, or vampires, or blood junkies, whatever they are, they’ll always be zombies to me. Two of them broke away from the pack, faster than the others, evening the odds.

  I can hear Maxwell behind us, chuckling to herself. “Fucking Nolecia, they only have one speed, don’t they?”

  I reach out my left hand, the one not currently clutching Doug’s dulled blade, and we give each other a fist bump while racing across the airfield. Even though he’s no longer here, Doug’s still with me, carrying me when I need it. Just like my mom, and Jenny.

  I can feel their essence flowing through me. I swear I can feel Norwood and Neil, cheering us on from their treetop hideout where they’re probably just waking up. I’m gonna picture them spooning for warmth, it makes me smile.

  I launch myself into the air because I never learn. I was really hoping I’d never get the chance to do this again. We’d be in the UK, training the next batch of soldiers to go out and fight for the survival of mankind, and I wouldn’t need to actually do my flying karate kick, I could just use them to demonstrate and claim I stuck the landing each and every time. Felecia and Caylee would have snorted beside me, counteracting my claim, but if anyone else laughed, I would have just failed them.

  Felecia follows my lead, leaping into the air, extending her leg straight out, slight bend in the knee. She’s seen me do it enough times.

  Our feet connect with their chests at the same time, sending them crashing to the tarmac, their bodies contorted into limp noodles. The brutal impact sends shockwaves throughout my body, the kind that fuel me and only make me stronger, an adrenaline that can’t be contained. I’ve been resting for hours. I’m rejuvenated and ready to kick some zombie ass. Or take a long nap, I could go for that as well.

  Thrown back from the collision, I manage to land on my feet in perfect squatting position. I mean perfect, it’s the type of squat that would have made Jennifer Watson proud.

  Felecia sticks the landing as well, crouched down, her knees almost touching the ground, but she’s Felecia freakin’ Harmon so of course she lands with grace in the most beautiful flying kick karate has ever seen.

  “Shut up,” I groan, pointing a stern finger at her smiling face before she can say it. “First try, I know.”

  “I was gonna say,” she brushes the hair from her face, revealing her gleaming eyes, “I shoulda been doing that all along.”

  We bring our swords down across the necks of our respective infects, but it’s not enough to cut through. My shot definitely drew blood though, and I don’t think hers did. There is a slight possibility mine was already bleeding from the teeth marks on her throat but we’re going to pretend it was all me.

  With matching growls, we spin around one another like this is a choreographed dance routine we’ve perfected, and swing our blunt blades at each other’s zombie, slicing through the other side of their weakened nec
ks. Nolecia, bitches!

  Heads roll as we catch our breath, eyeing the incoming batch of joggers making their way towards us. Five of them. They’ve got us outnumbered, but it doesn’t stop us from waving them in, inviting them to bring it on. Five, huh, this might be a little trickier, but hell, we’ve done it with one sword, so you know damn well we can do it with two.

  Make that four. We each pull out the katana from the sheaths strapped to our backs. With what we’ve been through, what’s a few middle aged men with beer guts hanging over their belts, even if our swords aren’t exactly the sharpest?

  An explosion tosses their unsuspecting bodies in the air, practically scaring the Neil out of me. Sorry, I gotta stop with these Neil jokes. He’s my friend, not a piece of shit, in fact, he’s technically become my brother if we’re calling ourselves family now. And just because we’ll be half a world apart, it doesn’t change the fact that Neil Buckley is my brother, my friend, and a hero. Don’t know why but I love the Neil out of that whining little piece of Neil.

  We spin around at the same time to see Maxwell shrugging, smiling at us. “Sorry, your blades are dull. What can I say? I felt bad for those poor bastards. They clearly didn’t know who they were messing with.” She stops smiling abruptly, her eyes trained behind us. “That son of a bitch, there he is.”

  Our eyes follow her finger to the top of a steel building, maybe some kind of miniature hangar. Joseph fucking Buckley. His arm is clearly popped out of place, dangling behind him like it grew out of his back, twisted and mangled.

  Scott! Scott’s on the building beside him. There must be small planes inside. I think they said this was a private airport. Single engines, the ones they use for crop dusting. And not the kind Marty was opening the windows for on our way here. Nervous farts my ass, those were intentional.

  How the hell did Buckley get up there? Scott’s hangar has some crates beside it that he must have climbed, and judging by the bodies scattered at their base, he wasn’t the only one. But Buckley’s got nothing, I can tell because he’s desperately looking for a way down. I can hear his panicked string of curses from halfway across the landing strip. He knows we’ve come for him.

  CHAPTER 41

  Scott climbs down the stack of crates and rushes over to us, stopping to pick something up along the way. Caylee’s crutch. That’s one of Caylee’s crutches.

  “Where is she?” Felecia asks, looking around frantically, squinting into the sun.

  Scott shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes before he can get the words out of his trembling lips. “Guys…”

  “No,” Felecia mutters, surveying our surroundings even more frantically than she already was, spinning in circles, desperately scanning rooftops like we might have somehow missed her.

  “She tackled him out of the helicopter, while we were taking off. They landed up there,” he says pointing towards his father, contemplating jumping, knowing he’s too high to make it. “But she fell. They were everywhere. I tried. I swear to you, I tried, but it was too late.”

  Felecia falls into me, burying her face in my chest, swords clanging off the pavement. I’m so numb I can hardly feel her fingers digging into me.

  Marty drops to his knees beside us, shaking his head in disbelief, biting his fist to stop himself from crying. “Gone?”

  “No,” Sami whines, wrapping her arms around Felecia. “No, no that can’t be right. Are you sure? She’s Caylee. She has to come to England with us. We were gonna be roommates. She didn’t know it yet, but it was happening.”

  “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, turning away from us, clawing at his shaggy hair, face aimed at the heavens. “We had this stupid plan. I shoulda never let her do it, but we knew this was it. Dad was gonna leave her here. So I went along with it. I’m so sorry.”

  “Scott, what happened?” I manage to murmur, shock and grief at war with one another in the pit of my stomach.

  “We were refueling, he made us clear the area first. Those doors over there, to the inside, they were blocked with pipes. Someone wrote ‘dead, don’t open’ across them. We had to stop my dad. He was taking credit for everything, making himself out to be the hero you guys are. We pulled the pipes and all hell broke loose. They swarmed the helicopter. But he made it on in time, and she jumped on after him. There were just too many, they were dangling from the landing gear, it was rocking all over the place. She threw herself into him and they both went over.”

  “Crazy bitch,” Maxwell sighs, rubbing her hands across her face so hard she might pull it off, and I certainly do not need to see another faceless woman, one was more than enough. “She gave her life to take him out. Caylee, why? What the hell were you thinking?”

  “She knew he was leaving her here to die, now that he was done with her.” Scott finally turns to face us, clearly hating himself, despite knowing it was Caylee’s choice. “Tyrone and Sami’s brother too. Anyone he didn’t need. I told her I’d stay behind with her but she said no, this was something she had to do.”

  “It won’t be in vain,” Maxwell whispers with an intensity that makes her eyes quiver. They lock on Buckley, still trying to find a way off the hangar with his dislocated arm dangling loosely. “This son of a bitch is going down.”

  “He broke his arm in the fall,” Scott sniffles, wiping it on his sleeve. “She landed right on top of him before going over the edge of the building. With the bullet Neil put in his other hand, he can’t use either one. He’s trapped up there. Hey, where is Neil?”

  “He’s alive,” Felecia assures him, pulling herself off my chest to put her hand on Scott’s cheek. “But… he’s not making it to England with us.”

  “But he’s okay?”

  “He will be,” I say with a shake of my head. “He’s got Dustin by his side. They’re gonna be alright. But he wanted us to tell you he loves you, and to not let your father win. He also wanted us to look out for you, but, you don’t need it. You already turned into the person your brother’s trying to become. Thank you, for being there for Cayles.”

  He tries to smile but can’t do it through his tears. All I can do is brush his fluffy head and hope it makes him feel like his big brother is here with us. That mop he calls his hair looks ridiculous without any product in it. Lucky for him, we’re heading back to civilization, where little girls will swoon over him everywhere he goes. I wonder if they dig American accents in the UK.

  “Must be something in the Leyland water,” Maxwell chuckles. “I didn’t think they made ’em like you guys. Despite the influence of some parents,” she shouts, aiming her words in Buckley’s direction. “Your sorry ass better be as proud as you are ashamed right now! Those two boys you tried to ruin, you failed.”

  “I raised them to be warriors,” he screams, holding his arm in agony as it flops against his side. There’s no way down, no matter how hard he tries.

  “You raised them to be cowards,” she says, inching her way closer, pulling a grenade from her vest, “like you. But they didn’t turn out like you, did they? No, they became something greater. Both of them, greater than you could have imagined, because you didn’t have what it takes to get there.”

  “You are a member of the Armed Forces, you will not do what you’re thinking about doing right now!”

  “Ridding the world of evil? That’s kinda half the reason I signed up for this gig.”

  “Evil?” he snorts, incredulously. “I’m trying to restore this country to its former greatness. Before they let people like you ruin it.”

  She pulls the pin and tosses the grenade, no words needed. With it, she throws all the old prejudices and unwarranted hatred. The stereotypes we’ve forced people to comply with, refusing to see anything else. The heroes of today don’t look like they used to. But that’s never really how they looked anyway, is it?

  History’s written by the victors, and winning doesn’t make you right. Men like Joseph Buckley are a dime a dozen. They’re the old guard, desperately clinging to what little control they still have
over the world. Using every underhanded tactic in the book to sustain their inherited dominance. They’ve been running this world since the beginning of civilization.

  Kings weren’t made, they were born. Positions of power aren’t earned, they’re bestowed. Wealth isn’t won, it’s passed down. The same lineages have had the control for far too long, clinging to the last shreds of their falling empires. In this past week, they’ve perished in their fall from grace.

  A new world is upon us. A world of survivors. Where it doesn’t take a dick to be a hero. A world where women are allowed to rule. Where men are allowed to cry. Where race is nothing but the pigment of our skin because, race is nothing but the pigment of our skin. Everything else is man made. And in these last days, it’s what man destroyed.

  Age, race, gender, none of it matters. Your religion, your upbringing, your social status, when it comes down to it, we’re all human. We created these rules and set expectations that should have no bearing on anything. But because they’re our rules and expectations, we follow them. We cherish them. They’ve become tradition. When what they needed to do was become obsolete.

  This is our world now. And we can be whoever we want to be. We can finally be who we are, who we’ve always been, who we weren’t allowed to be before. We can finally be proud to be ourselves. We were always good enough, whether they acknowledged it in their world or not.

  Buckley lets out a pained howl as the roof of his hangar is blown to bits…

  But not him. The bastard jumped. He’s clutching the railing on the second story of the main building, his dislocated arm dangling freely as he tries to scurry over the balcony before Maxwell can drop another bomb on him. Inadvertent howls make him easy to follow, his bullet riddled hand all he has to hold himself up.

  That had to be a ten foot leap. A testament to those in power, and the lengths in which they’ll go to keep it. Clinging to every last shred he possibly can, knowing it’s over, but not willing to admit it. Denial. Unable to accept defeat at the hands of those he’s been at war with his entire life. I doubt he even remembers why we’re enemies, at this point, it’s just become tradition for those like him.