They lounged in the grass, leaning up against a thick tree trunk, cracking open bags and sharing the bottle of water as if it were chardonnay and smoked cheese. In the apocalypse, it almost was.
“Well, since there’s a good chance we’re not gonna live to see the sunrise, I gotta know…” Calvin trailed off around a mouthful of cheese puffs. “Are the rumors true? About all the gang shit?”
Zion swallowed his own mouthful and took a swig of water, contemplating. “Yeah,” he replied with a shrug. “Though I don’t know what the specifics of all of the rumors are.
But I was in a gang back on the west coast. And I did some pretty horrendous shit for them.”
“Why?” Calvin blurted, and then clamped his mouth shut as if he regretted asking anything.
Zion shook his head. “They were like my family, you know? I mean I’ve got Monique, and our ma was out there too, but I didn’t know any other life. They were my brothers, and they took care of me so that I could take care of my sister and ma.” He took a swig of water and then handed the bottle back to his companion. “And I guess there was a level of security that I couldn’t get anywhere else. I was an enforcer, which meant that I was the guy that went out to make sure people paid their dues and their respects. If somebody was fucking around, or doing something that offended the gang, I went to enforce the rules.”
“Wow,” Calvin breathed, and swallowed audibly. “That’s pretty badass.”
“I guess,” Zion replied with a shrug. “At the time I felt like hot shit, you know? Chest puffed out, gang at my back, workin’ hard to make ‘em proud. I didn’t have to worry about nothin’ or nobody. People fuckin’ cowered when I entered a room, and if they didn’t they would be by the time I was leavin’.
“Now, after the end of the world… I guess it all just seems so petty. I feel guilty for a lot of the shit I did. I disappointed my ma a lot of the time, and I tried to justify what I was doing because I was taking care of her. But when she put her foot down and told me she’d disown me if I didn’t get Monique the fuck outta L.A., well… family comes first.”
Calvin nodded. “I guess shit must have gotten pretty hairy for that to happen,” he replied, playing absentmindedly with the cap of the bottle. “But at least, even if you do feel guilty about some of the shit you did, it wasn’t totally petty. You got all kinds of fighting experience to use in the apocalypse.”
Zion chuckled. “That’s what I keep telling myself.” He shook his head, sobering a little and looking at the inky sky. “I just wish I knew if she was alive. I wish we’d have brought her with us. If I’d have known this shit was going to happen…”
“Ah, man, you couldn’t have predicted the zombie apocalypse, come on,” Calvin said.
His companion got to his feet. “Now you sound like my sister.”
“Speaking of your sister…”
“Don’t even fuckin’ say it,” Zion snapped good-naturedly, pointing a finger at his wiry friend. “If we live through the night and save our home, you can profess your undying love to her face, and then we’ll get to watch as she skins you.”
The blood drained from Calvin’s face and he nodded jerkily. “Deal.” He got up, stretching his back and slinging his new rifle over his shoulder. “So, what’s the plan?”
“At the back of the parking garage there’s an exit-only door that probably won’t be guarded,” Zion said as he began to trudge through the near blinding darkness of the forest.
Calvin followed the sound of his footsteps, brow furrowed. “Probably?”
“It’s our best chance to sneak inside,” came the reply. “We’ll get up to my apartment, and be able to get a lay of the land from there, since the window is pretty central. Then we’ll figure out a plan of attack based on where the enemies are.” The sound of his knuckles cracking echoed in the thick woods. “We show zero mercy. No fucking survivors. We’re going to make an example of these bastards.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“So if it’s exit-only, how the hell are we going to get it open?” Calvin hissed as the two approached the door, the prediction of it being unguarded having been a good one. Zion ducked around the corner where there was a barred window, still with the missing pane of glass that he remembered.
“Get ready,” he whispered. He slid his weapon through, managing to get his arm through the bars up to the elbow where his biceps were too wide to fit. He poked the release on the door, and then tightened his grip, giving a valiant jab and pushing it open just enough for Calvin to slip his fingers inside.
Zion pulled himself back through the window and they slipped into the dimly lit parking garage, shutting the door quietly behind them. They stayed low behind the row of cars, though they didn’t hear any movement echoing about. They scurried over to the door leading to the main stairwell for the building, but Zion shoved Calvin out of the way at the sound of somebody coming downstairs.
Thankfully it was just one man, and he burst into the parking garage, whistling a jaunty tune and not even paying attention to his surroundings. Zion wasted no time whacking him in the back of the knees with his bat-sword, dropping him easily.
Calvin pointed his rifle at the kneeling man, who put his hands up over his head obediently.
“You,” he spat, clearly remembering them. His face clenched with anger, but he didn’t make a move against them. Zion checked the stairwell for anyone else, but it was clear.
“Where are all of your men posted?” he demanded as he walked back over to their prisoner, tightening his grip on his weapon.
The military grunt looked curiously at the weapon that had caused the current throbbing in his legs, and wrinkled his nose. “Everyone’s in the courtyard eating,” he said with a sneer. “Your people are compliant as kittens. They know they have to cook and entertain us, or they die.”
“Entertain?” Zion’s eyes blazed as he imagined exactly what that meant.
“Don’t worry, the prettier ones are locked away for safekeeping,” the man said, licking his lips lewdly. “We don’t want them to get loose too fast.”
Zion growled, smashing the blunt end of his weapon into the guy’s stomach, winding him. “Where are they?” he demanded.
“Room 2145,” the guy wheezed, doubled over and gasping for air. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”
Zion snarled. “Not a fucking chance.” before slamming the heavy makeshift weapon down onto the bridge of his nose. The soldier convulsed violently before falling silent. “Let’s go get em.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Zion used his key to silently open the door to his old apartment, and Calvin carefully closed the door behind them. They did a quick sweep, but found nobody inside, just the mess from the earlier fight. It didn’t look like anyone had bothered to stay in here since then, and he was glad that the fuckers at least hadn’t defiled his personal space.
They moved over to the large window. Thankfully it was already open, so they could hear everything that was going on outside without drawing attention to themselves. Calvin removed the scope from his rifle and peered out into the courtyard to get a good lay of the land.
“What have you got?” Zion whispered.
“Nine troops by the fire, four roaming around that I can see,” he reported, jaw clenching at the whimpering woman between two of the fire-dwellers. He couldn’t tell who she was, but it churned his guts. These bastards all had to die.
Zion retreated to his bedroom, digging around in the back of his closet for a duffel bag. He pulled out a pair of trusty gloves, homemade out of leather with four long nails jutting out of the knuckles. He exited the bedroom as Calvin snapped his scope back onto his gun, and raised his eyebrows at the new digs.
“What the fuck are those?” he blurted.
Zion held up a fist. “Made these back in my enforcer days. Effective, but easy to dismantle if the cops were around.”
“Fair enough,” Calvin replied with a nod. “So, where to first?”
“2145,” his companion s
aid immediately. He slung his weapon over his shoulder and cracked open the apartment door, peering through the slit to make sure they didn’t have company in the hallway. It was empty, and they crept out, quietly making their way to the corner at the end.
Zion peeked slightly around it, seeing a guard lounging on a folding chair just outside of the door to 2145. He lazily flipped the page of a magazine, not really paying attention to his surroundings.
Zion held up a hand, palm out, to Calvin, to motion for him to stay put. The sharpshooter nodded, watching as his companion fell into a loose crouch, silently moving forward on the balls of his feet. Seeing such a burly man move with such grace was mind blowing.
Zion soundlessly crept up the hallway towards the guard, and was able to make it about eight feet away before he was in the guy’s periphery, causing him to leap up. The magazine hadn’t even hit the ground before his attacker reached him, a sharp uppercut tearing his jaw apart with the nails, puncturing his throat in the process.
Calvin came around the corner just in time to see the last breath leave the gurgling man, and Zion turned to open the door to the apartment.
There were four women huddled together on the couch, dressed only in lingerie, eyes wide and fearful. They immediately recognized Zion and Calvin, and one of them pointed to the bathroom, where the light was on and the door was ajar.
There was an echo of a toilet flush and the sink running, and Zion stood in front of the door, waiting for it to open. When it did, it revealed a man wearing only a towel around his waist, and he froze, eyes the size of saucers at the sight of the intruder standing before him.
Zion attacked him immediately, ferocity in his fists as he tackled the man into the room. Calvin stood with the women, the five of them collectively wincing at the sounds of screams and flesh tearing echoing in the tiled space. A few moments later, Zion calmly emerged, covered in blood. He casually flicked a hunk of skin from one of his claws, and it smacked into the wall, sliding down slowly and leaving a crimson smear on the drywall.
One of the girls scurried to the kitchen and came back with a towel, stepping forward to wipe his face.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice thick.
He took the towel and offered her a smile, careful not to touch her after everything she’d probably been through. “We’re gonna take care of this,” he promised. “You all hunker down until it’s over.” He turned to Calvin. “Can you get a good vantage point from the balcony here?”
His wiry friend peered out of the sliding door and nodded. “Yessir.”
“Wait five minutes,” Zion instructed. “Then shoot the soldier on the farthest to the right, and work your way back to the left. I’ll come in on that side and tear these fuckers a new one.
One of the girls who he knew as Abby, stood up, opening the door to the apartment, and glanced down at the fallen soldier there. She wrestled the assault rifle from his cold dead fingers and stepped back inside, checking and cocking it.
“I want to help,” she declared.
Zion nodded. “Sure thing,” he motioned to the hallway. “I’ll take you down to one of the apartments flanking the courtyard.”
Abby put a hand on her hip, resting the gun on her shoulder, not even fazed by her mostly-nakedness. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Zion stayed low to the ground, pressed up against the far wall of the building, waiting for the firefight to start. He leaned his bat-sword against the wall and flexed his knuckles, readying his gloves.
Calvin shot first, taking out one of the soldiers on the far side. This spurred a flurry of action, Abby firing from the other end of the building. Somebody had the foresight to snuff out the fire, plunging the courtyard into moonlight and obstructing the view of the shooters. It didn’t take them long to figure out where to fire back at, and once their attention was drawn, Zion leapt from the shadows.
He stabbed his claws into the back of one guy’s throat, tearing up and bringing his vocal chords up into his gurgling mouth. Zion put his foot into the guy’s back, kicking the corpse off of his hand. He leapt up off of the guy’s back, landing on a bench and springing off into the air, swinging the bat-sword on the way down.
He caught a soldier in the jaw, and the guy staggered backwards in shock, grunting, but raised his gun instinctively. Zion kicked up, catching the barrel with his boot just as it fired, and jammed his weapon into the guy’s stomach. He doubled over and received a swift knee to the nose, his attacker reveling in the sound of cartilage shattering against his kneecap.
A nearby soldier cried out in anger at the sight of his bleeding comrade, and barreled forwards. Zion clotheslined him with the bat-sword and leapt backwards to avoid the blind swinging of the broken-nosed soldier. He jabbed forward, catching the barrel of a gun with his claws and then shoved forward, pinning the guy’s arms into his chest by stabbing him. The soldier screamed in pain as his wrists were pierced into his chest with the blades and Zion swung his body around as a shield.
The soldier he’d clotheslined leapt to his feet and fired, peppering his friend with bullets, and Zion shoved forward, using the sufficiently bloody body as a battering ram into the shooter. The soldier staggered backwards and hit the ground hard, and only then did Zion remove his claws, splattering blood everywhere. He took up the bat-sword once again and brought it down hard, caving the two heads together into a mushy pulp that made both indistinguishable to one another.
He quickly rolled to the side to avoid a chair being flung in anger, and barreled into the back of an unaware soldier. His opponent went chest-first into the still-hot embers of the fire, and tried to push himself back up as his clothes began to smoke. Zion put his full weight into his knees on the guy’s back, grinning maniacally as his victim screamed, his shirt catching on fire and his skin melting, bubbling, fusing into the pit.
This was how Holcomb found his enemy as the gunfire died. He stared, jaw clenched, at a blood-soaked Zion, standing triumphantly atop the charred body of his last soldier. The clawed man raised his chin, extended a hand, and waved his primary target forward.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Holcomb raised his weapon immediately, aiming for Zion’s kneecaps, but his opponent was too fast. Zion rolled to the left and swung out with the bat-sword, the bright moonlight giving the area an ethereal glow after the tungsten of the smoldering soldier wore down. The Sergeant leapt back, and jutted the butt of his gun forward, catching his opponent in the jaw.
Zion simply laughed, spitting a stream of blood to the ground, feinting left and then dropkicking to the right, catching Holcomb’s arm. He followed that with three quick jabs of his claws, hitting nothing vital but doing enough damage to cause the Sergeant to lose his weapon. He gave Holcomb a mighty kick in the chest, sending him back onto his ass in the grass.
“How the fuck are you still alive?!” the Sergeant wheezed through his pain.
Zion brought his weapon down hard on his victim’s ankle, the shattering of bone drowned out by the bloodcurdling scream from the bastard’s mouth. “I told you, I wasn’t done with this life yet,” he said. “You fucked with the wrong people.”
“Fuck you…” Holcomb groaned between ragged breaths, holding his battered leg. “You’re making a big fucking mistake…”
Zion barked a laugh. “No, it’s you that made the mistake.” He sneered. “You left me alive.” He jabbed his weapon into the bastard’s gut, winding him once again. Civilians walked out of the shadows, fearful relief on their faces at the sight of their returning savior and the bodies of their captors littering the ground.
“At least make it quick,” Holcomb moaned.
“No, but thank you for asking,” Zion replied, as brightly as if he were declining an extra helping of ice cream. “Calvin, you still up there?” he called up to the balcony.
“Down here now,” his wiry companion said from the front steps of the building, jogging down. He had his rifle in his hands, and pointed it at Holcomb as he approached, keepi
ng his eye on the Sergeant.
Zion rubbed his chin. “Do you still have that spool of chain with your greenhouse supplies?” he asked, and his comrade nodded. “Jeff, head on over to the supply area and grab that for me will ya,” Zion instructed a nearby dweller, and the man scurried off to complete his instructions.
Holcomb hissed as his would-be executioner leaned forward, pressing his foot down on his busted one. He leaned his elbow on his knee, his blood-spattered body looking like a slasher film crossed with an after-school special.
“I t-took this place, fair and square,” the Sergeant stammered petulantly.
Zion raised an eyebrow. “Fair and square? There weren’t nothin’ fair about it,” he snapped. “You fuckers snuck in at night and surprise attacked us, beating and raping innocent people.” He extended his hand to Jeff, who had returned with a length of chain clinking in his hands. “Now we’re takin’ it back. Fair and fuckin’ square.”
He leaned over and wrapped the chain around his prisoner’s neck, tightening it before securing the links together. Holcomb let go of his leg to grasp at the metal now tight around his throat, eyes widening in terror.
“Get up, cocksucker,” Zion demanded, straightening up to his full height. “We’re takin’ a walk.” He jerked on the chain as if to accentuate his point.
The Sergeant cried out as he fell forward onto his hands. “I can’t fucking walk, you broke my ankle!”
“Guess I’m draggin’ you, then,” Zion replied with a wistful sigh, as if this were a great inconvenience to him. He jerked on the chain again, reveling in the strangled gag that came from Holcomb as he did so.
The Sergeant scrambled to get to his one good leg, not wanting to be dragged by the neck, and hobbled after Zion as best he could. Calvin followed, rifle still trained on him, and the apartment dwellers made a path for the procession as the trio headed inside.
Dead America The First Week (Book 7): Portland Page 5