Laughter sputtered out of Michael’s mouth. It lasted a few moments before he looked up and saw the surprise on George’s face. He began to clap. His laughter grew stronger, like the uncontrollable giggles from earlier. It hurt his ribs, but he couldn’t resist the urge to mock the dumb bastard.
Michael knew he had lost his sense of reality. Sanity these days was a very subjective thing. You had to be at least a little bit ‘off’ to still be alive. Very few sane people had lasted past the first week after the dead had risen. But some of the survivors had lost all depth perception. That was George. He had no perspective on reality whatsoever.
When he could finally catch his breath and stop laughing, Michael tried to explain things to the puzzled man above him. “I know I said you were pathetic … but I didn’t realize how pathetic. You just don’t get it, do you, George? There isn’t going to be any war crime tribunal, and I’m not going to be sentenced to twenty-five to life, you dumb fuck!”
George grabbed Michael’s shoulders and shook him hard. “You’re the one who’s pathetic, Michael! I don’t give a shit what you think. You’re coming with me to face your punishment.”
Michael’s smile did not fade, despite the strong fingers digging through his jacket and into his skin.
“George, I’m kind of wondering where you plan on taking me. Don’t tell me someone else made it out of that busted-up bus alive? Pretty nifty trick. So where are they now? All shacked up at the Ritz-Carlton?”
George shook Michael again, eliciting a grimace as he snarled. “Shut up! You thought we all died back there, didn’t you? We didn’t! We got out of there in spite of what you did, you fucking coward! We made it out alive!”
Michael gawked at George, his mind swimming. He didn’t think the man was capable of bluffing about something like that, but what he said didn’t make sense. He shook his head.
“I don’t think so, George. Why would you be here alone if everyone else is alive? Why wouldn’t you be with them?”
“Shut up! It doesn’t matter what you think. What does matter is that I’m going to drag you out of here, by your hair if necessary!”
The pain in his back was acute, and the broken ribs were digging deeper into his lungs, but Michael fought through the pain and guessed at what must have happened after he fled the RV with Cindy and Frank.
“You ran away from them, didn’t you, George? You left them all to die somewhere, right? Those things were coming for you, they were closing in-”
George slammed him back again, and Michael’s head hit the glass, leaving his ears ringing. George was yelling at him, a string of curses flying from his mouth, but in his dazed condition, Michael couldn’t quite hear them all.
As George continued his denial about leaving the others behind, Michael’s head began to clear, and his eyes narrowed as he thought of something else.
“So you saw Cindy then?”
The words sliced through George’s rant with the precision of a scalpel. He cut off mid-word when he heard the woman’s name.
“What?” George’s brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out why Michael was asking about Cindy.
“Cindy, man! Cindy. Don’t you remember her? My mean-ass bitch of a girlfriend with all the freaky tattoos? She left the RV with Frank and me, but got some wild hair up her ass and decided to turn back.” Michael shifted his head thoughtfully, as if he had just recalled another critical detail. “I think it had something to do with taking care of some unfinished business with you fine upstanding folks.”
George’s mouth opened, shut, and opened again. Michael resisted the temptation to cackle. Instead, he knew he had to slip the knife in just a bit deeper. Twist it around a bit.
“Oh …” Michael took on a look of mock surprise. “So you didn’t see Cindy, huh? Well, she must have met up with the others after you abandoned them. I’m sure you juuust missed her.”
George still looked confused.
“George. George?” Michael snapped his fingers. George had been staring off into space as he tried to sort out what he was being told. “What does that matter anyway? Those people aren’t your responsibility, now are they?” George’s confused look changed slightly. Michael’s words were no longer harsh or snide. They sounded almost sympathetic.
“It really doesn’t matter what Cindy plans on doing to them, does it? What does matter is your family, right?”
The confusion in George’s eyes faded as his jaw clenched. He glared down at his prisoner.
Michael tsked again. “It’s a goddamned tragedy when a man can’t take care of his own. All this time spent tending to Jason and Megan when you should have been with your family, not a bunch of fucking worthless refugees. And now they’re probably dead because you fucked up. It’s a downright shame.”
The hands slammed into Michael’s throat before he could react. He brought his knee up, attempting to drive it into George’s groin. It missed as the big man shifted forward, and the blow glanced off of his leg instead. Michael brought his hands up at the same time, grabbing at the meaty paws wrapped around his neck.
He scratched at the tightening hands threatening to crush his windpipe, dragging his fingernails across the skin, leaving deep gouges in it. Michael pushed up on George’s face, scratching him there as well, trying to shove him away. Nothing seemed to work. The hands were too strong, and Michael’s airway was closing off. It was not long before his struggles slowed and spots wavered before his eyes.
Michael had been supremely confident that George was a gutless worm and would crumble when push came to shove, but as he started blacking out, it was painfully and belatedly obvious how wrong he was.
He didn’t feel the hands around his throat relax or the weight of George’s body disappear above him. All Michael knew was that he could breathe again. He coughed violently and sucked in huge gouts of air. The strangling victim’s vision swam back into focus, and he gingerly touched at the bruises around his throat.
When he could finally see clearly again, Michael looked at George, who was leaning against the wall with his face in his hands. He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought the big oaf was crying.
As he tried to breathe normally, or at least what passed for normally with broken ribs and a mangled throat, Michael hissed painfully and shifted his wrecked body. Reaching for the door handle for a third time, he began the arduous task of lifting himself off the ground once again.
He heard the hitching of George’s chest and couldn’t help but smile. The old man didn’t have the guts to kill him, just as he had suspected. The new bruises on his neck stung, though Michael knew he would be able to walk through the bank doors and George wouldn’t do anything more to stop him. The pathetic loser just didn’t have it in him.
Listening, Michael heard no nearby moaning—at least not any more than before. And after all he had been through, he was willing to take his chances outside once again. He’d been given a reprieve and intended to take full advantage of it. Limping over to the outer doors and putting his hands on them, he looked back at George one last time.
“Don’t let it stress you out, man. There are plenty of guys who don’t have the balls to kill someone. That doesn’t make you a pussy.” Michael paused, savoring the moment. “But not taking care of your family ... now that makes you a pussy.”
He turned, his evil grin growing even wider. He was ready to face the world again.
The grin faded as he pushed the doors open, contorting and twisting into a fearful grimace.
Jeff was standing outside with a gun in his hand. Michael stared at the weapon and didn’t recognize it. It was some sort of small semiautomatic.
Michael shook his head in disbelief. Jeff was supposed to be dead. That had been made obvious when it was George who came bursting through the door. Jeff had died back at the RV with all the others. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Michael’s lips moved, but he couldn’t do anything more than shape the word ‘No’ silently.
“George might not b
e able to kill you, but I sure as hell can.”
The first shot struck Michael’s cheek. He reached up to touch the spot where the hole was, not quite sure what had happened, his head still shaking in denial. The second shot tore through his throat, and the small bullet lodged in his spine, paralyzing him from the neck down. Before he fell, there was a third shot, which punched a hole in his upper dental plate, shattering two of his incisors as the bullet plowed at an upward trajectory through his sinus cavity. As Michael dipped toward the floor, the fourth shot struck him in the forehead, the bullet lodging in his brain and forcing all mental activity to cease. At the same time, Michael blinked twice, and his mouth remained open, shaped in a final ‘O’ of disbelief. The last two shots in the clip slammed into the dead man’s body as he lay on the ground.
Jeff didn’t realize the gun that had been buried in the front pocket of his jeans for the past few days was empty until he heard several dry clicks. When he did, he dropped the weapon on Michael’s motionless corpse. He continued to stare at the body for the next few seconds, trying to comprehend what he’d just done.
Several loud howls from outside put an end to his reverie. The infected army was on the move. They had a new direction to head after hearing the shots, which would lead them directly to the bank. He shifted his eyes away from the body, which was preventing the outer doors of the bank from closing.
“Come on, George. We have to get out of here.”
George looked at Jeff as if he didn’t recognize him.
“George! We have to leave, now!” Jeff glanced out the door and then at George. “They’re coming. Let’s move it!”
George continued gawking at Jeff. The man showed no signs of stress or trauma. In fact, he looked downright serene. His hands, which had gripped a pistol and pulled the trigger over and over again, sinking bullet after bullet into Michael, weren’t shaking.
“How could you do it? How could you kill him?” George’s eyes were red with grief, and his voice was tinged with wonder. Jeff could detect the revulsion underneath, and wiped the sweat away from his forehead before answering as best he could.
“It was better than he deserved.”
It was all he could say. He was too tired to argue, too exhausted to care what George thought of him at the moment. He knew exactly what he had done and was certain the guilt over his actions would gnaw at him plenty if he ever gave it a chance. But for now, all he wanted to focus on was finding the others, if they were still alive, and getting the hell out of this godforsaken town once and for all.
George hesitated a couple more seconds before taking Jeff’s hand and letting him pull him to his feet. He closed his eyes as he stepped over Michael’s body. For Jeff, George’s willingness to reach out to him after what he’d done wasn’t absolution for his sins, but it was close enough.
As they stepped out into the parking lot, Jeff asked the question whose answer he dreaded.
“What happened to the others?”
“Cindy is still alive.”
Jeff stopped and turned to face George. “What?”
There was despair in George’s eyes as he spoke. “Michael said Cindy is still alive. He said she doubled back to the RV after they left.” He paused, the words like lead in his mouth. “I had to leave the others behind. I tried to give them a chance to get away when we were attacked. And now Cindy is after them.”
“Do you think he was lying? George! Was he lying to you? Maybe just trying to fuck with your head?”
George shrugged, his eyes swimming in confusion. “I’m not … I’m not sure.” He looked at Jeff. “But I don’t think so.”
Jeff frowned as his mind raced with nightmarish possibilities. He had heard screams before—screams that came from the throat of someone dying. Now, after finding Michael and ending his miserable life, he had let himself believe for a moment that he was done with the man’s twisted entourage. Hearing that Cindy might still be alive was like taking a sucker punch to the gut.
The sun was heading west in the sky. It would be dusk in an hour or so, and then they would be blind until morning … if they managed to survive until then. Somehow, Jeff doubted Megan and the others would be able to make it that long if they didn’t find them … especially before Cindy did.
He took off at a fast trot with George following, sliding between the bank and the hair salon, moving to the back of the buildings. Their first priority was to get as far away from the bank as possible.
“We have to find them. Take me to where you split up.”
George hesitated and then nodded. He wasn’t sure if he could remember where he’d pushed Megan away as he did battle with that wretched pack of ghouls. Even if he could, it wouldn’t lead them to where the other survivors were now. That could be almost anywhere.
He prayed silently as he took the lead. He wasn’t quite sure where they were going, but they had to find the others, and quick. It would be getting dark soon, and Cindy was still out there, somewhere, and she was on the hunt.
***
Not too long after the two men left the bank, others came. They crept clumsily up to the building, where they smelled fresh meat.
The body lying near the entrance still had the delicate aroma of warm flesh, though the heat was dissipating. They pushed and snapped at each other as they reached down toward Michael’s corpse. Little of his skin was exposed, though there was a pool of blood beneath his head. A young boy pulled at the flesh of the handsome man’s face while two bloated adults clawed and ripped at the clothing blocking their access to his torso and legs. They didn’t fight with the boy for the spoils as he pulled and tore at Michael’s lower lip and dipped his fingers into the already emptied left eye socket. Others joined them, and Michael’s clothes were torn away and his flesh along with it. The tender organs under the skin were yanked free, along with the thick meaty muscles from his legs and arms. The crowd of ravenous creatures scooped out his brains, chewed through his intestines and sucked the marrow from his bones.
In the end, nothing but his shredded clothing and boots marked Michael’s passing. Not even the blood, which had dripped thickly onto the pavement. It was licked clean by those who came too late to the feast.
Chapter 13
“Get upstairs with the kids. Teddy, help me move this desk in front of the office door.”
Lydia rushed to the back of the musty insurance office, ushering the children in front of her as they moved toward the stairs. The area was dark, but clear of danger. The dust was thick and covered a loveseat and the small receptionist’s desk that had a grimy monitor, keyboard, and business telephone on top of it. A calendar showing July hung on the half wall behind it next to a defunct fax machine sitting on a credenza.
Megan couldn’t believe their good fortune when she found the door to the insurance office unlocked. The office had been untouched by pillagers who had ransacked many of the stores and other businesses in town. Then again, there was nothing of real value in the place. Besides brochures explaining the benefits of auto, home, and life insurance, and the agent’s customer files, there was little to tempt someone.
A small utility closet and washroom sat at the back of the room, and stairs led to a second-floor storage area with a small window and several filing cabinets. More important, as far as Megan was concerned, was the door at the rear of the building that would serve as a quick escape route if needed.
She ushered Jason up the stairs with Lydia and the children. Megan was stern with him when he protested that he wanted to stay below and help. His elbow had swollen up, and he could only do so much with his one working arm. It was clear he was having a hard time coming to grips with losing George, but refused to admit it.
Megan and Teddy worked quietly in the shadows. The door that led to the street was made of steel, and she thought it would hold up fairly well under attack, but that wasn’t the access point into the building that worried her most.
There were two small rooms off the entry area: the insurance agent’s priva
te office and a conference room, both with large picture windows facing the street. Megan and Teddy had already dragged the loveseat in front of the conference room door and were now sliding the desk in front of the office. If the windows were smashed in, neither piece of furniture would buy them much time, but the obstacles might give them the few precious seconds needed to make their escape out the back.
Thoughts of panic crowded Megan’s head as they maneuvered the desk into place. She had resisted the urge to break down crying, but it was becoming ever more difficult to hold back the scream that threatened to burst free from her lungs.
“Thank you.”
Megan looked over at Teddy. The teenager was wrung out, and his eyes were dull, but he made an effort to smile at her as he spoke.
She shook her head, feeling wretched about herself. “What are you thanking me for? I haven’t done anything worth being grateful for lately.”
Megan regretted the words as they came out, hearing the bitterness in her tone. She knew she sounded whiny and defensive, as if daring the kid to disagree with her. Teddy’s eyes focused a bit as he responded.
“Don’t say that! If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead.” He paused, considering. “We’d all be dead. Don’t you know that?”
The force of the words surprised Megan. Her chest hitched as she studied the boy who was barely taller than she was. For the first time, she realized how handsome he was. Despite his diminutive stature, she guessed Teddy had gotten plenty of attention from the girls at school. She smiled at him.
“Thank you.” It was a whisper as she moved her hand to the teenager’s face and caressed his cheek. His skin was hot, and there was a layer of moisture on it. They were both drenched after moving the furniture around the room. Teddy blinked and seemed to lean into her hand, relishing the human contact.
The Dark Trilogy Page 42