Blood Type Infected (Book 4): Betrayal of Hope

by Marchon, Matthew

  “Everybody relax,” Marty yells, emerging from his high tech cubicle. “I know tensions are high right now, tempers are flaring. I get it, I do, but we got a long way to go before we’re in the clear. If we wanna make it to that helicopter, we’ve got to work together. No two ways about it. Let’s get our heads out of our asses, we can fight it out when we touch down on European soil. Kid, if you don’t have the cojones, put the sword down and let the lady handle it.”

  “Just open the freakin’ door and let’s get this over with.” Paul bangs his fist off the wall with rage in his eyes. I don’t know who he is but he’s not the kid I grew up with.

  I’ve been ignoring it for weeks, but this transition didn’t begin when the world ended, it’s been coming for a while now. This dissension between us, it was happening, apocalypse or not.

  The storm clouds have been brewing since, well, since the night Felecia was raped. Before that even, I could sense his anger. Anger over nothing, at least, to me it seemed like nothing. I know a lot of it has to do with his father. But this paranoia, thinking Jenny cheated on him with me. Relentless in his claims that his father likes me more than him. He’s been losing it for a while, cracking under the pressure that I’m convinced he places on himself. Yes, his dad wants him to succeed. What father doesn’t? But above all else, I get the impression he just wants his son to be happy. And to be better than he is as a man.

  “Paul, you don’t have to do this,” I say, gearing up beside him.

  “Go to hell.”

  The reinforced door begins its slow descent. I can’t help but squint into the sunlight as it enters the dark confines of our armored bunker on wheels. I hope he can’t see it and if he does, please let him think it’s because of the sudden burst of sunlight, but I’m pretty sure my eyes are misting up right now.

  I get that we have to say goodbye to our old lives, I’ve come to terms with that. We’ve lost so much and it’s all been out of our control. But this, losing this friendship, this is by choice. I’m not sure if it’s his or mine or if the blame falls somewhere in between, but we’re choosing to throw out a lifetime of friendship at a time we should be grateful to have each other. With so little left in this world, how many people get to say their best friend is still alive? We do. And what do we do with that gift?

  A hand strokes my back and I know without looking, it’s Felecia comforting me. I guess it doesn’t take a genius to figure out, I mean it’d be kinda weird if it was Norwood.

  She doesn’t need to see the water in my eyes to know it’s there. She gets me, in the way my friends are supposed to. The people I grew up with. I’m sure I could patch things up between me and Paul if I turned on Felecia, but I’m more than willing to sacrifice it all for a girl I hated just one week ago.

  What does that say about our friendship? Rather than stand by Paul’s side, I’m willing to fight my way onto an island that almost killed me with the girl I’m supposed to hate, all to rescue my mortal enemy and his little brother. I’d say this relationship is dead, and I don’t care enough to pour saltwater on it.

  The sunlight brings with it the sound of gunfire. Marty and Rodriguez are mowing them down, but we know by now, that’s not enough. They walk into bullets like they’re raindrops, barely fazed by the rounds of ammunition being pumped into their reanimated bodies.

  I don’t know what made us believe these machine guns mounted on top of the armored transport would be any different than every other gun that didn’t do a god damn thing. But for some reason, we thought they would. Maybe it’s because grenades and missiles had the desired effect in this war to end all wars, but bullets are as useless as they’ve ever been.

  “Hold on,” Caylee commands before kissing me on the cheek. “Wait. Don’t go out there until I’m in position. Got it? Grenade launcher will clear the path. Make sure you come back to me, both of you, without any holes that don’t belong there.” She gives Felecia a kiss on the cheek before taking the bandana headband out of her hair and wrapping it around the bandage covered bite mark. “There, it’s more stylish, plus it makes you look like a total badass. Okay, good luck, I gotta get to my hatch.” She turns and hobbles off on her walking cast, down to just one crutch because she couldn’t fit through the small space with two.

  “I love that girl,” Felecia laughs, a genuine smile spreading across her face in spite of what we’re about to walk into. Me and Paul hate each other. Felecia and Caylee are besties. Even without the zombies, what in the hell is this world coming to?

  A sudden explosion pulls our attention outside. Bullet riddled corpses burst into the air, limbs flying free from bodies. A leg snaps in half when it slams against the edge of the Stryker door being lowered like a drawbridge. Which makes us the knights racing into battle.

  I reposition my sword, in my right hand, where it belongs, ready to maim everything in my path. If I’m going to be on the frontlines, yeah, looking around me, these are the people I want by my side.

  “Okay,” Caylee shouts. “Now you can go.”

  My feet hit the ground before the door’s fully lowered. I don’t care how far-fetched or impossible any of this is. We’re making it, I don’t give a shit. With what we’ve been through, and endured, what’s another battle? Or another one after that?

  We do the impossible every single day and today is no different. I will continue to do the impossible if it means we get to live. I will do this for the rest of my life if it means I get to have Felecia and my friends by my side. Even if my friends include a psychopath, a crazy bus driver, my arch nemesis and my amazing sort of ex-girlfriend I still have feelings for despite our confusing breakup. But hey, at least Tyrone, Kristen and Scott are pretty normal. We’ll throw Maxwell on that list too, she’s cool.

  The one person who should top that list but is curiously absent, races past me with his sword raised, ready to let out all of his pent up aggression on the lone survivor of Caylee’s explosion. This is a new side of him, even apocalypse Paul, who’s kind of an asshole, doesn’t rush into battle, eager to kill anything in his vicinity. It’s the attitude he needs in order to survive but it feels like it’s coming from the wrong place. I don’t know, maybe I’ve watched too many Star Wars movies but I’m pretty sure he’s channeling the dark side of the force.

  Darth Paul pulls back his red lightsaber with a grunt so guttural it sounds like he’s trying to squeeze a watermelon out of his ass. He swings with everything he has in him. It’s the type of swing that reduces a baseball bat to splinters.

  He’s swinging at so much more than the middle aged man in loafers and a button down. He’s swinging at his father. At me. At the thought of losing both Shane and Doug and having Kristen turn on him for what he may or may not have done. He’s swinging at Neil and Felecia for stealing me away from him. He’s swinging at the world and the fucked up situation it’s placed him in.

  Everything he’s ever done has been for his future, a future that’s been ripped from his fingertips. He needs this release for his own sanity.

  His sword…

  Misses. Paul swings so hard he spins around faster than his legs do. He hits the ground in the form of a pretzel as Norwood tackles the poor zombie so hard I think one of his loafers flew off.

  The sickening snap of the impact sends chills down my spine. I’m pretty sure he just broke the button-down bastard in half. Where the hell did he even come from? Did Marty just shoot him out of the cannon?

  They crash to the ground half a freakin’ mile away. Yep, he lost a shoe. Norwood speared the son of a bitch so hard he knocked him clear out of his footwear. Granted it’s a loafer so it’s not like it’s tied or anything, but still. That’s the kind of tackle he hit Austin with in gym freshman year. How does he do that? What the hell is this kid’s shoulder made of?

  Norwood hops to his feet and jogs back to us with a psychotic smile spread from ear to ear. He didn’t even kill the thing. He tackled it and left it there.

  “Sorry buddy,” he says as disingenuous as hu
manly possible, patting Paul on the back before he can even untwist his legs. “Were you gonna get that one? It looked like you were going for him. My bad bro. He’s all yours.” The cocky grin and laughter, paired with his over the top strut, tell a different story.

  He knew Paul needed that kill more than anything in the world right now, so he took it from him. What a fucking asshole.

  I reach out my hand and we bump fists because I love this fucking asshole! But this is Norwood we’re talking about so he doesn’t know how to do it gently like a normal functioning member of society. He slams his knuckles into mine like we’re using those sparring pads in boxing, except without the sparring pads, or gloves. My fault, I knew better.

  Does the smile on my face while I watch Paul scramble to his feet make me an asshole too? Whatever, I know who my friends are. And it’s time to go find two of them and bring them back alive. One way or another, we are all boarding that helicopter.

  CHAPTER 19

  Last night, the pond seemed so far from where we went off road. Granted, we’re taking a shortcut through yards but it’s hard to believe this journey almost killed me. Had Doug not stayed to fight by my side, to protect me, I wouldn’t be here right now. If Felecia hadn’t carried me, I still can’t… she literally carried me on her back.

  The things my friends have done to keep me alive, you’re damn right we’re going back to that island to find Neil and Scott, regardless of their last name. Because they would have done the same for me. Well, this version of Neil, not the dick wrinkle that threw me off the bus to die on more than one occasion.

  The bottom feeding pond scum are still lurking in the water, splashing ashore once they catch our scent. The rest of them bob there, face down, arms out, just floating around the still surface of the lake. They look dead, and technically they are, until it no longer suits them.

  Two predators in disguise have abandoned lily pad mode and are on the move. Their waterlogged clothes bog them down as they break free of the water’s clutches and slip and stumble their way ashore with the gracefulness of a Grizzly on ice skates.

  If Felecia’s going to find us a boat, she needs all the space I can give her. We decided it’d be better to leave the boat selection process up to her, you know, since I didn’t realize they needed keys. Whatever, I didn’t wanna drive a dumb boat anyway. That’s a lie, I’d love to, it’d be awesome. I’m gonna have to have her teach me. I already know the first step, key in the ignition.

  These two pond dwellers aren’t going to give Felecia time for my first lesson. Can’t they see we have more important stuff to deal with?

  They’re having a hell of a time struggling up the grassy embankment but they’ll be face to face with us in a matter of seconds.

  I launch myself into the air and contort my legs into a flying ninja kick because apparently I never learn. One of these times it’s either going to kill me or I’m going to stick the landing like it isn’t my first time because let’s face it, this is not my first time. I am determined to pull this off.

  I can see Felecia smack her forehead from my peripheral vision. Boy is she going to feel stupid when I hit this landing. I think I’ll force her to apologize for that forehead slap. You’re right, never mind, no one forces Felecia to do anything, but I’ll politely request an apology.

  The sole of my boot rams directly into the old man’s chest, crunching his frail bones as his body gets thrown backwards. That kick could not have landed any more perfectly. This settles it, I am officially the love child of Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris. Noah Britton threw a grenade and killed fifty zombies, then the grenade exploded. No, no, wait, when Noah Britton bites zombies, they turn back into humans.

  When Noah Britton does a flying karate kick, he swings his sword in midair and decapitates the second zombie with one swipe. Hell yeah! It freakin’ worked. God I love these Caylee sharpened swords. They could have their own infomercial. I am a zombie killing– shit, the landing!

  I crash into the ground, hip first, and baseball slide down the grassy embankment right into the water. Would anyone believe me if I said I meant to do that? Yep, exactly what I was going for. Nailed it. Totally meant to get my feet in the water, they were getting hot.

  Who made the hillside to the pond so steep in the first place? What are we doing, cannon-balling straight from the yard? How do you even mow that part of the lawn? It’s practically a wall covered in grass. I would have landed on my feet if it weren’t for the steep pitch. Noah Britton doesn’t have to mow the lawn, when grass sees him coming, it retracts back into the ground. Ha, just made that one up.

  I put the old man out of his misery and guillotine him before he spends any more time flailing about in the shallow end. I swear, this blade could slice falling coconuts and turn boulders into pebbles.

  “Noah, get on. I got one.”

  Already? Wow, I thought it would have taken her at least a couple minutes. What are the chances a boat would be sitting around with the keys in it? Unless the owner’s figure it’s a nice area and everyone leaves their keys laying around like this is the 1950s. Are the 50s a safe time? They seem like they’d be safe. I bet they left their keys flopping about all willy-nilly.

  “Oh come on,” I groan, turning around. “You’re kidding, right? That’s our boat? I coulda done that.”

  “Just jump in and start pedaling!”

  “You got us a paddle boat?”

  “Shut up and start kicking, pretend it’s a bike. At least I got us one with a canopy. Not gonna lie, I kinda miss the rainclouds, that sun is hot. I’m sweating already.”

  “Fine, it is kinda romantic, I guess. As long as you can ignore the floating bodies.”

  “I’m pretending they’re duckies,” she says with an adorable smile that turns into a giggle that makes me lean over to kiss her.

  “Uh oh,” I whisper, pulling away from our way too brief make out session. “I think those duckies spotted us and they look hungry.”

  “And I don’t have any quarters on me to get those little pellets from the machine. Hurry, pedal faster. They’re coming. Uh oh. Noah, I don’t mean to alarm you but one of them might be Michael Phelps. He’s coming in fast. Make that Mikayla Phelps, it’s a her and she’s gaining on us.”

  I crane my neck just in time to see the half mermaid/half zombie reaching for our canopy poles. She has to have a jetpack strapped to her back, she was twenty feet away five point two seconds ago. Her pruney fingers wrap around the pole, shaking the entire boat, hoisting her partially eaten body out of the crowded pond.

  Water pours from the hole in her cheek as she coughs up gallons of it from her overflowing lungs. It explodes from her face, bursting through the flap of skin that once separated her mouth from the outside world. What did she do, try to drink her way out of the lake?

  It suddenly gets sunnier. Our canopy. She just snapped the little metal pole that was holding up our canvas roof.

  “Oh hell no,” Felecia groans through gritted teeth. “Tell me this bitch did not just break our canopy.”

  She bursts from her seat in a fit of rage, nearly flipping the whole thing over, and swings her katana like an old woman shooing away the racoons that eat her cat’s food. With our collapsing roof, she doesn’t have enough room to wield her weapon like the samurai she is.

  Mikayla Phelps dodges the erratic swings, holding onto our broken canopy for balance. I hate these intelligent ones. Who in their right mind created zombies that can think? What’s the most uneducated town in America? That’s where I wanna be. Why can’t we be there?

  The boat’s rocking too much, if she doesn’t knock the Olympic swimmer off, this thing’s capsizing any second. Oh yeah, nautical term. Why can’t I stop singing rock the boat, don’t rock the boat, baby?

  With just me pedaling, the others are gaining on us. But it is better than spinning in circles which I totally thought would happen when she stopped. It turns out there’s a lever in the middle you use for steering. My lack of knowledge when it comes to b
oats is frightening. You’d never guess I grew up on the coast. Please don’t ask me about surfing either, it’d be embarrassing.

  What was that? Shit. Something snapped.

  The canopy!

  The metal rods that support the roof finally give under the pressure. They’re not built to sustain that much weight. It’s not meant to be used like a jungle gym, but tell that to the waterlogged corpse dangling from it. The flimsy frame creaks and bends, breaking in multiple places simultaneously before crashing onto our equally flimsy boat.

  Felecia tries to regain her balance but falls backwards, unable to steady herself on the slippery surface. Add that to the fact that we’re rocking uncontrollably, and our super swimmer guest has splashed water everywhere, there’s no way she could stay standing.

  I hold out my arms and hope for the best. Please don’t stab me, please don’t stab me.

  She lets out a yelp while falling directly onto my chest. Did her sword hit me? I don’t think it did. I feel whole. With no holes. I think we’re good.

  “Hello Superman,” she sighs, looking up at me from her awkward position in my lap. “Don’t mind me, just loungin’, workin’ on my tan. Oh you’re freakin’ kidding me, she didn’t go over the edge.”

  Felecia removes herself from my arms and scrambles to her feet. What the hell is Mermaid Zombie doing back there? She’s shaking the entire boat with all that thrashing. How has she not accidentally gone overboard?

  Oh, that explains it. She did go overboard, sort of. A piece of the framework impaled her leg. She’s dangling upside down with her head in the water, being dragged behind us, a piece of splintered metal protruding from her shin. She must have fallen on it when the roof came down. Blood is gushing from her calf as she reaches for the bent frame, trying desperately to claw her way back to her feet.