by Tim Moon
Light filtered in from the vents along the eaves of the shed so she was able to see what was inside. Several tools stood in the corner, so she was careful not to bump them. An old, red lawn mower took up the most space and an electric weed whacker sat in the other corner.
She closed the door behind her and crouched down, taking a knee next to the lawn mower. Closing her eyes, and saying a prayer, Vanessa focused on controlling her breath. Deep breath in, hold for a second and slowly release, in through the nose and out through the mouth. After several repetitions, her panting reduced significantly. Sweat trickled down the side of her forehead, tickling her cheek. She rubbed it away with the back of her hand and strained to hear anything outside.
These bastards were out for blood. And not just the men in suits, the infected were out there too. She needed a weapon.
A grungy cardboard box sat on the floor under a small table. A rusty saw lay atop a chaotic assortment of nails, screws, and bolts. The saw was a possibility, its rusty teeth could do some damage, but it was also wobbly and would be difficult to use effectively.
With a finger, she slowly tilted the saw out of the way to see what was underneath. The first thing she saw was a Phillips screwdriver. Although it was short, it was long enough to fuck these guys up. She smirked at it, pulled it out and pocketed it. A weapon that didn’t require her to get so close would be nice, so she continued her search. Turning around carefully on the plastic floor, she looked at the stuff leaned in the corner. She saw a hoe, a rake, a spade, and a pitchfork. Why did these people have a pitchfork? They had a beautiful yard but seriously, they weren’t spreading hay.
Oh, right. Some people used a pitchfork to aerate their lawn, she thought.
Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it. Vanessa pulled it out of the corner carefully to avoid sending all the tools toppling and giving away her position.
A gun shot in the distance. She froze, holding her breath trying to figure out where it came from.
No voices, no screams. Maybe the man had shot another infected.
With a pitchfork in hand and the screwdriver in her pocket, Vanessa felt much more comfortable. The two weapons comprised a thin veil of security in this wild new world she found herself in, but it was better than bare-knuckled brawling.
She waited. And waited.
Minutes stretched on, slowly ticking by. Even in the dwindling sunlight, it was getting hot in the plastic shed. The ventilation was horrible and it stunk. She eased open the door just a crack so she could see outside. A tiny breeze slipped through the crack and brushed against her face.
She closed her eyes and just let it wash over her.
All was clear from what she could see, so she eased open the door a little more. She could see the back of the house. She stood slowly and pushed her head out peeking around the door so she could see along the side of the house. The fence and some shrubs blocked her view of the street, but the backyard was definitely empty.
She stepped out and walked toward the back of the house with the pitchfork held in front of her. If the door was open, she could hide inside and call the police. If nothing else, the police presence might scare off the attackers. No, not attackers. This wasn’t random. These were Black Tide hitmen out to kill her and Steve. They’d already scored one kill. Emotions threatened to overwhelm her as the sight of them executing Steve blurred her eyes.
The blinds on the back door and the windows were closed so she couldn’t see inside. It’d be impossible to tell if anyone was home unless they made some noise and she didn’t feel like waiting around. She felt it was too risky to smash the window and go in.
She jogged over to the edge of the house and looked out to the street. Nothing suspicious was visible from her small view of suburban America. She needed to see more, so Vanessa went to the fence at the back of the property to see what was next door. A hole in the fence gave her the perfect peephole to spy on the neighbors. When she looked through, all she could see were trees, a garden and the back of a house. She couldn’t see the street there either.
Either she risked going out onto the road in front of the house she hid behind, or climb over the fence and keep moving away from the house where Steve was murdered. Once she’d proposed the two options to herself, she shook her head.
Not a difficult decision, she thought. Looking through the hole again to make sure the backyard was clear, Vanessa tossed the pitchfork over. It landed in the grass with a thud.
Paranoia prompted her to look again before hauling herself up and over the fence. The rough wood at the top scraped against the soft skin on the inside of her thigh through her pants. She cursed and dropped down. She picked up the pitchfork and ran over to the house.
She could see inside this house. Unlike the other one, it had no blinds or curtains on the windows. Vanessa spotted movement and dropped into a crouch, hoping she wasn’t spotted.
Other than her heavy breathing she could hear moaning from inside. It stood at the window and clawed at the glass. Vanessa crouched down and looked up at it. A middle-aged man wearing a torn t-shirt stood inside. Black fluid dripped from his mouth, down his chin and splattered on the window when he clacked his teeth.
Damn, more infected, Vanessa thought. She couldn’t believe how horrifying they were, seeing the man chilled her to the bone.
How far would the infection spread before the authorities got it under control? If they arrested the crooks at Black Tide, could they end it before it was too late? Was it already too late?
Instead of waiting around for the infected inside to move away, she duck walked to the corner of the house. If the damn thing escaped the house, she would have to use her new weapons. The thought of stabbing someone, even infected, with a pitchfork was difficult to stomach, but she really had no choice.
Moving along the edge of the house, she reached the corner and stood up. Vanessa peered around the edge, toward the front yard. A big white car sat in the driveway giving Vanessa some cover. She raced over and crouched behind it. Rising up to look over the back, she peered around.
Down the street to her right several people milled about. Their behavior and movements were odd, so she concluded that they were infected because they weren’t keeping to the sidewalks. After all, this was the kind of neighborhood where people stuck to the sidewalk, all proper and polite. She counted four, but it didn’t really matter since she wouldn’t be going that way.
This was an awful place to be stuck. She didn’t know anyone here, or directions, or potential safe locations, nothing. She was on her own and the sense of being alone really sank in for the first time.
She heard a car. It was difficult to pick out and something she’d overlook any other day, but the eerie silence of the town made it stick out. Her senses were on full alert. She moved around to the front of the car, away from the road and crouched down. She could just see over the hood.
It was the two men. They were in a mid-size sedan, which was very common and non-descript. No wonder they hadn’t noticed it before they’d tried leaving the house earlier.
Her heart pounded like the bass line at a dance club. She gripped the pitchfork tight and thought what a ridiculous weapon it was against two men armed with guns. Still, she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
The car moved slowly through the intersection and turned down the street. She could see them scanning the houses looking for her. She wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of finding her. Hugging the pavement, she laid down in front of the car in the driveway. She watched underneath the car as their car roll by slowly, quietly.
A twinge of fear made her pull out the phone that had likely brought the two assassins down on them. If they caught her, she’d lose her chance to share the video. That wasn’t going to happen. She’d get the video of them shooting Steve to go viral if it was the last thing she did. Exposing Black Tide’s evil deeds was critical to getting everything under control. Vanessa pulled out her phone and started uploading it to YouTube. It was the Eye
s of Truth account, which had huge following. She would leave a request in the video notes requesting that viewers download the video and share it, so even if the YouTube or Black Tide took it down, viewers could still spread it.
It loaded slowly, each percentage point clicking by like a timer counting down to her victory. Watching it was excruciating so, she turned away from the screen. The car with the two men had driven past but it was still on this block. All four of the infected, took off after the car with all the speed of residents from an old folk’s home.
While the video uploaded, she looked at the map on her phone. God, GPS was a glorious thing. Keeping the phone was risky, but until she figured out where to go and published the video on YouTube, she needed it.
“Turn you bastards,” she whispered. If they turned, then she could make a dash across the street without being seen. She figured out a route on her phone. She’d go over one more block, turn left and head east to the highway. Once she was along the highway, she could try to catch a ride.
The car didn’t turn. The two men kept driving straight, continuing down the next block, which meant that they could see this street in their mirrors. She couldn’t risk trying to run with the possibility of them spotting her. Glancing down at her phone, she exited the map, went back to the video app, and saw that the video was done uploading. Success!
It was a small win, but it felt so satisfying that she had to fight the urge to shout with joy. Vanessa just hoped people were still paying attention online. With so much shit happening in real life, the video might spread much slower than usual.
Then an idea struck her, why the hell hadn’t she called 9-1-1? Even if she didn’t wait around to meet the cops their presence in this area could help deter the hitmen.
She dialed the three-digit number, but no one answered. All she received was a voice recording that the lines were overwhelmed and she could leave a message. There was no time for that.
She locked the phone’s screen and slipped it back into her pocket, time to go. She duck walked around the car keeping it between her and the car down the block. The street looked much wider when the risk of…
“Shit!”
One infected, probably following the car down the street, was right there. It was a young man, only twenty feet away and closing. Several more infected were close behind him: two women and a small boy.
Without hesitation, Vanessa sprinted across the road. The pitchfork was slightly awkward to run with, but with the infected closing in, she was going to keep it with her. It was too important to drop.
Tires screeched and she cursed her luck. The driver gunned the engine and she heard several thuds as they slammed into bodies. Vanessa kept running even as she cleared the edge of the house. Just before she turned to go across the backyard, a gunshot went off and another round flew past her. Luck must be on her side.
She came around the back of the house and a large dog launched itself at her, barking up a storm. A scream escaped her lips and she dodged sideways. Thankfully, a thick chain held it firmly to a post on the back of the house.
The hesitation cost her precious time though. The car had sped into the driveway following her. She ran through the yard, using the garage as cover and hopped the fence in the back. She found herself in a tacky-looking backyard. Pink flamingos with spinning legs assaulted her eyes.
She continued running and realized that heavy breathing behind her belonged to the short man. He’d resumed the chase.
The man didn’t say a word, but she could hear his footsteps behind her. He wasn’t as winded as she was. Vanessa worried that he might catch her.
Emerging onto the next street, she nearly collided with an infected man. She hadn’t seen him step out from the corner of the house. His hands brushed her arm. Cringing back out of his reach, she stumbled on the ground. The short man was almost on her.
She stood and ran behind the infected guy, shoving him at the short man chasing her. The infected man latched on to the man in the suit.
“Fucking bitch,” he screamed at her. His sunglasses slipped off his face as he struggled with the infected man.
She couldn’t help watching. He fumbled for his gun but dropped it when the infected man bit him on the shoulder.
The gun slid on the pavement toward her. Without hesitating, she ran over and grabbed it.
“Help me,” he begged. “Shoot him.”
“Fuck you,” she said. She aimed the gun at him. Her finger twitched, wanting so badly to pull the trigger, but this bastard didn’t deserve an easy death. She lowered the gun, stuck it in her pocket and stabbed his thigh with the pitchfork. He howled in pain and collapsed to the ground with the infected guy on him.
“That,” she said, pointing to his leg. “…is for Steve.”
The car sped around the street corner. She pulled out the pistol, turned and fired two shots at the car.
Vanessa learned how to shoot from her father, an old U.S. Marine, but her experience shooting moving targets with a pistol was nonexistent. Her shots missed the driver. Regardless the guy swerved and slammed into a telephone pole.
Vanessa had the break she needed. She spun the other way and ran, gripping the gun in one hand and the pitchfork in the other.
She came to a main road, or what should have been a main road. It was practically barren; only a few abandoned cars sat in the street creating a maze. A few doors were open and no one was around. She ran to the closest car and looked inside. No keys. She sprinted to the next car. This one had blood smeared on the window and some cracks in the windshield, but Vanessa wasn’t feeling too picky. In any case, she still had no keys.
“C’mon, c’mon,” she said.
A sound caught her ear. It was faint. What she heard sounded like radio news broadcasting. She turned her head trying to locate the origin of the sound. It came from her left somewhere on the far side of the road around the corner. Closing in on the sound, she realized it came from a new Mustang. She couldn’t help smiling like she’d won the lottery.
She came around the car - no infected, open door, and…yes, keys! The keys were in the ignition and whoever had left it, turned the engine off, but failed to turn the power off. Hence, the reason the radio continued playing news. She wasn’t listening though her only thought was getting the fuck away from the men chasing her.
With a quick turn of the keys, the car rumbled to life. She let out a breath, grateful that it had enough power to start without hesitation. The Mustang purred like a happy cat getting its back scratched. She shifted into reverse and maneuvered so she could turn down a side street. There were a few infected, but she swerved around them. In a sweet ride like the Mustang it’d take more than a few stumbling idiots to stop her.
She whooped with glee and stomped on the gas.
57
Ben carried a couple boxes of MREs along the pier. A small walkway connected the pier with the ship. Chadwick stood on the walkway. She took the boxes from Ben then walked them across to Ty who set them on the ship’s deck.
Oliver stood on the deck of the Kiska, eying the ship in amazement. They made him wear an orange life vest just in case; it would be too easy for him to fall overboard.
Ben understood the boy’s feelings. The idea of sailing across the ocean, even if it involved no sails, was a boyhood dream come true. After reading books such as Robinson Crusoe and Treasure Island, he had always had an interest in an ocean-faring adventure.
Not exactly the circumstances I imagined though, he thought.
Chadwick carried a case of water and a bag of groceries. Anuhea carried ammo from the truck, while Charlotte had her hands full with bags of groceries they pilfered from the store.
Kaholo was on the bridge and Keanu was below deck in the engine room, preparing the ship for departure. Ben had no idea what that entailed and was glad he didn’t have to worry about it.
All he knew was that when unloaded the vehicles they were supposed to let Kaholo know. He would help them with ammo for the ship’s we
apons, which included two .50 caliber machine guns and a single, large 25mm chain gun.
Ben hoped they could fire it at least once. He’d never seen such a large gun fire in-person. A chain gun was probably the closest thing to a pirate’s cannon he’d ever have a chance to see fire. He imagined how much it damage it could do to a crowd of infected.
Enough to have turned the tide at Kona airport? he wondered.
“Stop gawking at the ship, we’re almost done packing. You can stare at it when we’re out of here,” Anuhea said behind him.
Ben was startled, but he played it off.
“You’re right,” he said.
They walked together back to the vehicles. She went for the truck, while he grabbed the last two boxes of MREs. A few bags of chips, a jug of pineapple juice and a case of juice bottles had exploded when the truck was hit by the SUV, but other than that, the rest of their supplies survived. A few cans were dented and some boxes were torn, not a big deal though.
“What do you think it will be like?” Ben asked.
Anuhea looked over the bed of the truck at him. “What do you mean?” she asked as she fished out a few bags to carry.
“When we get to the mainland, what do you think it’ll be like?”
“It’s been years since I visited, so your guess is better than mine.” She shrugged her rifle back in place behind her shoulder.
“I hope the military has a better hold on things there than they did here,” Ben said.
They walked back toward the ship. Kaholo was back on the dock, striding toward them, with the shotgun slung across his broad back.
“Is everything okay?” Anuhea asked.
“Yeah, we’re basically all set. I’m just going to help move supplies,” Kaholo said.
His face looked strained and Ben couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t happy about what was essentially stealing the ship.
“Thanks for the help,” Ben said.