As Marcus moved back a few more steps, Jeff could see George clearly. He had the other man dead to rights, the rifle pointed at Marcus’s chest. Jeff could also tell that his friend was shaking like a leaf. Apparently Marcus could see that as well.
“Now why in the world would I do something stupid like that, George?” Marcus asked as he continued to back away from Jeff. George backed up as well, and Marcus grinned again. The shotgun dropped a few inches, but was still pointed toward Jeff.
“I said drop the shotgun. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”
A full-on belly laugh burst forth from Marcus’s gut. He leaned forward and spat on the ground and then proceeded to dig the remaining tobacco out of his mouth. After shaking away the brown residue from his finger, he turned toward George.
“You know something, George? I don’t want you to have to shoot me either.” Marcus inched closer to the big man, but George stood his ground.
“Stop moving, damn it! I will shoot you if you don’t drop the shotgun!”
Marcus stopped where he was. He had turned his back completely on Jeff and Ray and was now toe to toe with George. His hand rose in a placating gesture, but the other remained wrapped around the trigger of the shotgun. His smiled widened, and all his darkly stained teeth were on display for George to see.
“Marcus. Please … I don’t want-”
“Don’t want to what?” Marcus squinted at George, waiting, as he moved the shotgun into position. “You don’t have the stones to do anything to me, George, you pathetic piece of shit.”
The big man’s eyes were glued to the shotgun as his hands quavered on the old Springfield rifle. Marcus shook his head in contempt as he took aim at George.
Jeff jumped, the explosion causing him to nearly trip over his own feet. He closed his eyes and dove to the ground. As he did, there was another explosion, much like the first. He covered his head, not sure who was shooting, but knowing for certain that he did not want to get caught in some sort of crossfire.
When the third shot came, Jeff realized it had come from behind him. He tried to get back up, but his legs felt like jelly. He lifted his hands off his face and looked in front of him. Marcus was face down on the asphalt, blood running out of his body in tiny rivers, the result of three holes in his back. Beyond him was George, standing stock still, eyes bulging, rifle still in his hands.
Jeff rolled over and looked back at the wall of the general store. Ray had moved slightly so he could fire around Jeff with the Beretta. The barrel was smoking, and the teen looked prepared to fire another round into Marcus if he got back up. While everyone else was paying attention to Marcus and George, Ray had been busy reloading his gun.
Ray looked at Jeff and spoke quietly. “I got the bastard.”
There was bitterness in the words, and his pale lips were pulled back in a snarl. It was as if all his pain and fear had disappeared, replaced by rage.
The next sound Jeff heard was the rifle clattering to the ground. He swung back around and saw George staring at Marcus’s body. Jeff also saw that Teddy was looking on in awe at his friend. He still looked wobbly, a clenched fist held over his gut where Marcus had kicked him, but he was getting up to move toward Ray.
“George? George!” Jeff said as he climbed to his feet. “Are you okay?”
Jeff felt like slapping the other man, but George was snapping out of his daze, his eyes blinking furiously.
“I couldn’t …” George paused, still trying to get his wits about him. He had a look of despair on his face. “God forgive me, but I couldn’t do it.”
Jeff touched his friend’s shoulder gently. “It’s okay, man. You distracted that prick long enough …” He hesitated, not willing to finish the sentence. As he did, the sound of moaning could be heard in the background. “But now it’s time to go.”
George nodded dully, a haunted look in his eyes. He reached down and ignored the rifle, picking up the bag filled with supplies from the store instead.
Jeff tightened his jaw and swallowed hard. Turning, he moved to Marcus’s cooling corpse and took a deep breath. Grabbing the dead man’s sweat-stained shirt, he rolled him over to gain access to Marcus’s front pants pockets. He ignored the man’s staring eyes and the ragged holes in his chest as he went about the task of searching for shotgun shells. He reached into a bulging pocket and pulled out several rounds for the Mossberg pump-action. Stuffing them in his pants pocket, Jeff grabbed the shotgun and looked at Ray.
Teddy was kneeling next to him, talking. Jeff walked up and gave them a few seconds before he spoke.
“We have to get out of here, guys.” They both looked up. Ray held the Beretta in his lap, as if he were too tired to lift it. Teddy looked star struck, as if Ray had become larger than life. Jeff brought his hand down on Teddy’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you go get your rifle? I need to talk to Ray for a second.” Teddy hesitated. He did not look so sure about leaving his friend, but Ray nodded, and the other boy relaxed and got up, moving toward George.
Jeff glanced down at Ray’s leg. He fought to keep the emotion off his face, but it was hard. The blood had soaked through most of the layers of shredded shirt he had wrapped around it. The bleeding might stop, but the virus was already racing through the kid’s system.
Hearing a new noise, Jeff lifted his head and noticed several shapes in the field behind the building. They were moving through the thick grass at a slow clip, but were only about a hundred yards away. He looked back down at Ray, who was pale but lucid. Ray feebly lifted his weapon, his hand flopping over on its side.
“I think you better take the gun. I don’t think I can fire too well anymore.” He held the Beretta out with a blood-drenched hand.
Jeff shook his head. “Nah, you keep it. I think you know how to handle it pretty well.” He stared at Ray, who had been trying to pull out the last clip from his pants pocket but stopped at Jeff’s response. “Besides, I have this.” He held the shotgun up next to him and smiled down at the teen.
Ray tried to return the smile, but instead, the arm holding the gun dropped into his lap, his eyelids fluttering as he nodded. He had no energy left to argue. Jeff worried that he was about to pass out.
“Ray?” The kid’s eyes opened again, a questioning look on his face. “You ready to go?” Jeff propped the shotgun on the wall as Ray nodded and reached for Jeff’s hand with his own. The boy’s hand was covered in blood, but Jeff didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Ray’s arm and wrapped it around his shoulder. Ray was heavy, but Jeff was able to carefully lift him to a standing position. Ray whimpered, and his head swayed, but he stayed conscious as he put his weight on his left foot and balanced himself. Jeff stood still for a few moments, half expecting the teen to collapse. When he didn’t, Jeff snatched up the shotgun and inched forward, testing Ray’s ability to move. Again, the boy seemed strong enough to handle the activity.
“Let me carry him,” George said as he moved up next to Jeff, sliding the pack off his arm.
Jeff shook his head firmly. “I’m taking him out of here.”
George began to protest, but Jeff cut him off. “I’m responsible for him, George. Get Teddy and move out.”
“Jeff, this is crazy! I’m stronger than you. Let me carry him!” George pleaded, but saw the look in Jeff’s eyes. It was clear that unless he wanted to waste precious seconds arguing, Jeff wasn’t letting Ray go. As the sounds of moaning grew louder all around them, George nodded, his shoulders slumping as he picked up the pack he had just dropped.
“Grab my bat, okay? Let the kid keep the rifle.” George looked down and spotted the bat where Jeff had dropped it. Teddy had already picked up his rifle and looked ready to move out.
The baseball bat seemed tiny in George’s oversized hands, and Jeff had to stifle a laugh as he issued another command.
“Get going. Get the hell out of here and head back to Michael and Frank. Ray and I are going to give you a head start.”
George and Teddy looked at Jeff sim
ultaneously. Ray was hanging on him, looking as pale as a giant blob of rice pudding. The strips of Jeff’s shirt on his ankle were drenched with blood, and his glasses were close to falling off his nose once again. His eyes were open, but looked hazy.
Teddy was the first to step forward. He was shaking his head, but Ray spoke before he could say anything.
“Teddy, you have to go.” His voice, stronger than expected, hit his friend like a Mack truck. “You have to get back. Jeff and I will be fine. I promise.”
Teddy looked at him, the tears flowing freely down his face. “I’m so sorry, Ray. I screwed up so bad. It should have been me who got attacked, not you. It should have been me …” He trailed off, giant sobs shaking his shoulders uncontrollably. George moved up and wrapped his arm around the boy.
“Teddy. TEDDY!” The younger boy looked up, his vision blurred as he stared at his friend. Ray looked mad and concerned for Teddy at the same time.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You watched out for me. You did everything you could. Now you have to go, bro. Go with George and get back to the van.” The anger was gone, and the smile crept back. “Don’t worry. We’ll be right behind you.” Jeff adjusted, and Ray moved slightly higher up on his shoulder.
Teddy shrugged out of George’s grasp and moved up to Ray. He sniffled and fought back more tears as he hugged his friend gently. The bigger boy awkwardly wrapped the hand holding the pistol around his friend. They embraced for a moment, and the tears came for Ray as well, but he blinked them away furiously.
Teddy turned and moved back toward George. Neither boy spoke further.
“You don’t have to do this.” It was George this time, submitting his last-ditch plea to Jeff. “The four of us might do better together instead of splitting up.”
Jeff ignored the offer. “Go behind the buildings on this side of the street. Keep running and don’t stop. You can cut back onto the street if you see it’s clear. Just get back to Michael and to the van. Don’t wait for us.” When George heard the last sentence, his eyes widened in shock.
Jeff smiled as he moved through the parking lot toward the street. “Don’t worry about Ray and me; we’ll be fine.” Then he winked.
Jeff glanced back and saw a crowd of walkers coming their way down the street before focusing on the direction he needed to head.
George studied the back of the building. The ghouls out in the field had closed the distance to about fifty yards, and more were strung out in a long line behind the first small group. He looked to his left and saw a clear path in the direction he and Teddy needed to go, but their window of opportunity was closing fast.
Jeff and Ray kept moving toward the street. As they did, Jeff looked back at George one last time.
“One more thing,” he shouted over the ever-increasing cacophony of moans. “Tell Michael that Marcus was bitten and turned. Tell him I had to put him down.” Jeff paused, letting the comment sink in. “Make sure you tell him it was me who did it.” He gave George a meaningful look and then turned back toward the street with Ray in tow.
“Go! Now!”
George sighed, feeling helpless as he looked over at Teddy. All the decisions had been taken out of his hands, so the only thing left was to do as Jeff suggested. He had to get Teddy to safety.
“Are you ready?”
The boy stared at him, his thin chest heaving. After a quick glance at the grassy field, he nodded. Teddy took a deep breath and bounced on his legs, getting into the starting position for a fast run. George gripped Jeff’s bat and surveyed their position relative to the nearest ghouls, who were already too close for comfort. They took off running, leaving several dismayed and puzzled-looking infected in their wake.
Undeterred, the decaying creatures followed, their stiff frames moving them forward at a slow but persistent pace. When they lost sight of the man and boy around the corner of a building, they sniffed the air and tasted it with their tongues, seeking out the stench of sweat, blood, and flesh. They plodded forward, tracking the scent as they marched onward on their endless quest.
Chapter 16
Megan was a nervous wreck, doing her best to avoid both Cindy and Jason as she waited for George and Jeff to return. Lydia had delicately suggested she give Jason some space for the time being. He would come around soon enough. Lydia promised that she would speak to the boy as a neutral party in the hope that he might actually listen to her. Megan agreed and steered clear of the RV after the men left.
It was fairly easy to avoid getting in Cindy’s way, because the skuzzy tart had no interest in guarding the camp like Michael had implied she would be doing. Instead, she had remained in her RV.
So for a while, Megan sat in one of the chairs in the courtyard and plotted an escape from the camp for her, Jeff, George, and Jason. She did so mostly to preoccupy her mind. Otherwise, all she could think about was the others who were outside, risking their lives for no good reason. Those thoughts were offset by a fantasy that itched and tickled her brain involving Michael and Frank being eaten alive by a pack of the infected.
The camp remained quiet after Lydia’s brief visit with Jason. She huddled with the children inside her RV, and Jason remained hidden away as well. Cindy didn’t show her face, but Megan set up her chair to face the punker girl’s trailer door so she would know if the psycho decided to step outside.
Megan was alone for the first time since leaving her house. It gave her time to think. It gave her time to plot.
Her head was still swimming with secretive plans when she heard the first gunshot. Megan stood up so quickly that she knocked over the lawn chair. With fists clenched and teeth gritted in fear, she looked around, trying to get a fix on which direction the noise had come from. There were several more shots and then a pause. Megan looked over at the ladder leaning against Ben’s RV and ran to it.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Megan whipped around. Cindy carried one of the rifles Michael had commandeered as she walked into the courtyard. There was a smile on her face that stopped Megan dead in her tracks. It was the predatory smile that had terrified Megan earlier. She resisted the urge to run screaming as Cindy walked up to her.
When Cindy got close and moved to put her hand on Megan’s shoulder, the older woman couldn’t avoid flinching. Cindy hesitated, but her grin grew wider. To Megan, it almost looked like the girl was snarling at her—baring her teeth like some rabid animal. She dropped her hand on Megan’s slender shoulder and massaged it, almost like a man might do.
“It’s my job to climb up top and check things out. You need to stay out of sight.”
Cindy’s voice was smooth and did not match the look on her face. Her hand felt like a talon. She directed Megan back toward the chairs. Megan felt powerless to resist, her legs like rubber as she plopped down.
There was more gunfire, and they both looked up. Megan tried to stand, but Cindy’s hand was still on her shoulder. She winced as Cindy squeezed harder, holding her in place.
The hand finally left her shoulder, and Cindy looked down at her. More shots were fired in rapid succession. Megan still wanted to bolt, but Cindy’s eyes held her in place.
For a second, Megan thought she saw concern surface in Cindy’s violet eyes. Before she could be certain, it was gone and Cindy had composed herself. “I’ll go check things out. Don’t move.”
Just then, Lydia burst free of her trailer. She turned and spoke to someone inside—a reprimand or command of some sort as she slammed the door behind her. She saw Megan and Cindy and ran to them. Cindy’s smile went dark as she turned to face Lydia. She hefted the rifle, and although Megan could not see her face, she could guess at her expression as Lydia stopped short, eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t screw with anything, Lydia. I’ll deal with this. Just keep those fucking brats in line.”
Cindy slung the rifle and moved to the ladder. She did not look back as she climbed up the RV, leaving the two stunned women to watch as she reached the top and disappeared
over the edge. Lydia moved to Megan, who stood up slowly. They glanced at each other and clasped hands.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” Megan responded. It was a lie. She knew exactly what was happening. Jeff only had a baseball bat, and George had nothing. The others were firing in a panic. It was just like the sounds she remembered when she was trapped in her house. First there was gunfire. Soon there would be screams, breaking glass, and doors being smashed open. And then moans … always the moans.
Megan glanced over at the door to Cindy’s RV and then back at Cindy. The young woman was up on top of Ben’s RV, her back to the camp. She would be busy trying to figure out what was happening for a while. There was another rifle. Perhaps hidden, but definitely in Michael’s RV.
Megan walked toward the door. Lydia looked up when Megan relinquished the hold on her hands. As the diminutive woman moved farther away, Lydia followed.
“Megan, what are you doing?”
Lydia scurried to Megan, but was ignored when she repeated the question. Instead, Megan reached Cindy’s door and tried turning the knob.
Lydia reached out and spun Megan around. “Megan! What the hell is going on, and why are you trying to break into Michael’s RV?”
“I’m getting the other rifle. If something is happening out there, I want to be prepared.”
Comprehension dawned in Lydia’s eyes.
“The door is locked, though,” Megan continued. “We need that rifle.”
Lydia nodded thoughtfully. “We’re going to have to wait and see what happened out there when the men get back.”
Megan’s eyes widened. It was not the response she had hoped for. “No! We have to get the rifle out and go out there to help them! We can’t just-”
“Can’t just what?” Lydia moved up close, reached for Megan’s hand and gripped it tightly. “We can’t go out there, Megan. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. The men knew that when they left.” She overrode Megan’s protests. “We have to sit tight. I know you don’t want to do that, but it’s our only choice!”
The Dark Trilogy Page 30