A scream from outside cut Campbell off before he could finish. Two gun shots rang out as the scream died.
Fish immediately jumped on the radio.
“Gardner, SITREP? Over,” Fish said into his radio.
My earpiece rang, “Movement on the roof. I think you have a scab up there, but it’s out of sight now. Over.”
Fish raised his radio. “Keep your distance, Specialist. Get Jenna in the back of the truck to provide over-watch. Over and out!” Fish turned to me. I was taking the safety off of my AR-15.
“Kid, you and Enrique get out to the bus. If that other guy is still alive, tell him to move that thing back here to the loading ramp. You two get Big Red ready to go!”
I nodded and ran to Enrique who was kneeling over a stack of bedding. He shoved something in his pocket as I approached.
“Come on, Enrique,” I said, grabbing his arm.
He briefly hesitated then nodded. We ran to the back door. The rain was still coming down slowly and I could smell fresh gunpowder in the air. Another shot rang out.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. “We are going to the bus. You take the lead and I’ll provide cover.”
“Y-you okay?” Enrique asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.
I finished pulling myself together and then answered. “I’m fine. Are you ready?”
“Si,” he replied, though he looked more nervous than I did.
I followed close behind and instantly turned towards the roof as soon as I was out from under its cover. No threats were in sight and the two of us continued around the side of the building. My eyes tracked the edge of the roof with my rifle the entire time.
As we rounded the corner of the building in the direction of the bus, I saw the body of the person wearing the poncho draped over the edge of the roof, lifeless, a long spear impaled through the neck.
Enrique froze at the sight and I had to push him forward. A rifle was sticking out of an open window on the bus. A blast erupted as smoke and fire vented from the end of the barrel.
I turned back to the roof, but didn’t see anything. If the scab was still lurking up there, it was out of my sight.
“I’ll wait here,” I told Enrique when we made it to the bus. He nodded at me and banged on the bus door.
“Kolin! It me!” he shouted. He waited for Kolin to respond and then disappeared into the bus.
I scanned the rooftop while I waited. There still wasn’t any sign of a scab on the roof, but I knew there had to be one.
“Is that bus coming or what, kid?” Fish squawked through the radio.
Enrique jumped from the bus as it roared to life.
I keyed the transmitter. “It’s on its way. We’re moving outside the gate.”
The bus heaved forward and then trudged through the parking lot to the back of the post office.
“Christian!” Enrique screamed just as something whooshed past my head. A wooden spear made from a mop or broom handle landed twenty feet behind me.
I spun around and faced the gate. Just outside I saw two scabs on top of Big Red. The scab on the right was instantly recognizable. He was wielding the lawnmower blade he had retrieved from Enrique the day before. The scab was hunched over and staring at us as if he was a lion stalking prey.
Next to him was Enrique’s late wife, Irene. She was completely naked except for some soiled shorts and a rope wrapped around her shoulder. In each hand she held similar spears to the one that was hurled at me, with a few more that seemed to be strapped to her back by the rope.
I noticed Enrique hadn’t moved and Irene was raising another spear to throw. I jumped to my right toward Enrique and knocked him to the ground. On reflex, my AR-15 came up and the red dot sight filled my view.
She let the spear fly but I was moving sideways and it missed me by more than a few feet. I let loose five or six rounds. I missed Irene, but the other one’s leg buckled. Both of them jumped off the back of Big Red, opposite of us.
“Let’s go!” I yelled at him as I covered our rear and moved outside the gate toward Big Red.
Enrique shot the lock off the fence and swung both gates open in one strained pull. When he got within ten feet of the fire truck, he stopped.
Nothing was approaching us from the rear, and I still didn’t see anything on the roof.
“Where the fuck are you?” Fish’s voice blared through my earpiece.
“Working on it!” I messaged back and spun toward Enrique.
“Let’s go right,” I told him and started to tactically move around Big Red, giving the truck a wide berth.
It was then that I noticed the zombies in the street. It was still raining too hard for them to come out on their own, but gunshots would definitely get their attention.
Enrique was behind me, and I took a second to glance at him. The man’s face was white. He was either in shock or on the verge of a breakdown.
There was no time to get his head into the game, so I ignored him and continued. I was nearing the edge of the fire truck and I focused on my sight picture. My heart stopped in my throat as I rounded the front of Big Red. My finger was on the trigger, ready to fire.
I was momentarily stunned to see that the scabs were not there. I was so close to pulling the trigger that I wasn’t sure what to do next.
“There!” Enrique called out next to me.
I followed where he was pointing. Across the street to the north I saw the two scabs, but they were no longer stalking us. They were running away.
The male scab was horribly limping and I saw his right leg was blood red from the knee down. Since scabs felt little to no pain, it could only mean that I hit something vital when I shot it.
They were easily a couple of hundred feet away, though. Irene was pulling the other along with her. This confirmed their recent tribe-like behavior. That scab infected Irene, and now she cared for it like they were blood.
They had almost made it to a building and would have cover soon. I brought my AR-15 back up and took aim. The red dot sight wasn’t the best for long range, but they were still close enough where I could make a body shot.
Since the male scab was already wounded, I took aim for Irene. Just before I pulled the trigger, my sight picture was obscured by Enrique’s white, Storm Trooper like armor. He was running toward the scabs.
“What are you doing!?” I screamed at him as I lowered my rifle. I quickly sidestepped and brought it back up to take my shot, but they had already disappeared around a building.
“Damn it!” I cursed as I let my weapon dangle in front of me on its single point sling. Enrique was still running at full speed across the street and toward the building.
My first thought was to let him go. I turned toward the fire truck and radioed Fish.
“The scabs took off north. Enrique is pursuing them on foot. Over.”
“You let him go?” Fish almost screamed into the radio.
I was about to reply, but Fish continued.
“He knows where we live! If that little bastard gets turned, we’re fucked!”
“Shit,” I swore. I hadn’t thought of that. I should have stopped him. If Enrique was turned into a scab, it would be my fault if he brought a gang of scabs to Camp Holly.
Without another thought or word, I bolted across the street after him.
“Can you see him?” Fish asked as I ran.
“No!” I said between breaths. “Heading... north… toward… one… ninety-two,” I spat out. I was wearing an easy forty pounds of extra weight, and that wasn’t including my rifle.
“Mother—” Fish began to curse, and then stopped. “Okay, stay in radio contact. We’ll be coming your way soon enough.”
Gardner jumped on the transmission next. “I don’t see Christian or Enrique,” he commented.
“Back… roads…” I breathed as I ran around the building that the scabs and Enrique had just passed. A suppressed gunshot rang out from somewhere ahead of me. If I hadn’t fired my own suppressed pistol so many times,
I might not have recognized it. I kept moving and came across a zombie whose head had a decent sized hole in it. Black and grey brain matter was splattered across the pavement.
I saw some dead-heads moving around, mostly in my direction. I wondered if Enrique had startled them as he ran through. I let my AR-15 to dangle in front of me and pulled out my Glock. There was no need to draw more attention than I was already getting.
I made it to a small two lane road heading north and saw Enrique a few hundred feet away. He was almost to the intersection. I didn’t see the scabs, though. Enrique must have known where they were going because he continued to run north toward State Road 192.
I briefly contemplated using my AR-15 to take Enrique down. That was something I was sure Fish would have done. He would sacrifice Enrique rather than endanger the lives at Camp Holly. I wasn’t Fish, though.
Enrique, in my mind, was my responsibility. It was me that pushed Campbell to come here and rescue the group at the post office.
I pushed the pain I was feeling in my chest aside and bolted as fast as I could after Enrique.
Chapter 11
Better To Have Loved
April 26th Early Afternoon
I ran as hard as I could to catch up to Enrique. He was fast, but I was able to keep sight of him as we ran down the straight road heading north.
One of the undead heard my breathing and footfalls as I approached. It turned to face me and I saw that its ribcage had been ripped open. Purplish-grey strands were heavily laced where muscle had once been over its chest and stomach. It in no way resembled the regular muscle structure that the body once had. But since bodies could not stand upright without stomach muscles, or lift their arms without chest or back muscles, I took this as further proof that zombies repaired themselves.
I shook the thought and raised my Glock when it was just a few feet away. One shot to the head put it down.
I sloshed ahead, feeling the blisters form with each step as my feet rubbed against my wet socks.
I didn’t know if Enrique was chasing his wife to kill her or to join her. I made the decision as I neared the end of the road that if he refused to come back with me, I would have to kill him. I still believed all life was precious and deserved to be saved, but I couldn’t let Enrique risk everyone else. Was I becoming as cold as Fish?
Enrique had already jogged across all four lanes of 192, weaving between the vehicles that were congesting the once busy state road.
He slowed down as he entered an L shaped strip mall and shot a zombie that was closing in on him before he continued through the parking lot.
To the left of the strip mall was a Walgreens. The large drug store must have caught fire during the beginning days of The Awakening, because the walls had crumbled and the roof had caved in. The cars near the store had caught fire as well and were burnt and blackened pieces of scrap.
Enrique had stopped twenty feet from the elbow of the strip mall, staring into a store on the corner. The door was closed but a large window to the right had been busted inward. I jogged up behind him. I readied my gun, just in case.
A thought occurred to me as I slowed down. Was Enrique planning on having his wife turn him into a scab? Did he think they could be together if he did that?
“Enrique!” I hissed, trying not to make too much noise.
Panting, I stopped and almost fell over from fatigue a few paces behind him.
“Enrique,” I repeated, gulping from the dryness in my throat.
Enrique partially turned and took note of my gun. He had to know I was ready to use it. I was taken aback when he smiled at me.
His grin soon faded and he took a deep breath before he spoke. “I did not come to join her. I came to kill her.”
Our eyes locked. His gaze was pleading with me. In a way, Enrique was asking my permission.
I knew this was something he had to do. Just like Fish had to do it to his own wife. As long as she lived as a scab, Enrique would never forgive himself.
I cleared my throat. “Okay. But we do it together.”
Enrique let out a breath of relief and started to move toward the store.
“Hold on,” I told him while I detached the flashlight from my pistol and fastened my Glock back to the side of my leg. He stopped, confusion clouding his face.
“Fish, this is Christian. We’re at a shopping center at Wickham and 192. Proceeding into a store called—” I stopped, straining to see the name that was printed on the glass door.
“Get Your Fun On,” Enrique read the title aloud.
I almost laughed. It was like a bad joke.
“Get Your Fun On,” I continued speaking into the transmitter. “It’s in the corner of the strip mall. Over and out.”
I quickly took my ear piece out as it crackled, knowing he would tell me to stand down.
“Let’s go,” I said, pointing my rifle in the direction of the store. I quickly changed magazines in the AR-15. I wanted to go into the devil’s mouth with a full magazine.
Enrique’s lack of military training was evident, but he wasn’t careless. His gun was out and he approached the broken window cautiously.
The door was intact, and a shelf had been thrown on its side to block the entrance. The window was bashed inward and blood coated the jagged pieces of glass.
I grabbed a fold out chair sitting outside an adjacent store and put it in front of the window. Enrique climbed up and into the store while I covered him.
The smell of death was ripe near the broken window. I gagged back vomit as I sucked in a huge whiff of death.
Enrique stepped from the chair to the countertop, carefully avoiding the jagged pieces of glass around what was left of the window. Going in silently became futile the instant he crunched broken glass under his foot.
I winced as something clamored to the floor further in the store. I handed Enrique the flashlight from my Glock and turned on the one on my hat and shoulder.
He waited as I climbed in and jumped to the floor. I could still hear Fish cursing from my earpiece, even though it was dangling past my shoulder.
I noticed shelves and racks had been scattered around the room. One had been pushed against the rear exit, meaning our only escape was the way we came in.
There were two hallways leading to the right. I remembered the place used to be a small movie theater. Not a large one, but one of those that served food and drinks, including alcoholic drinks. It went out of business when I was in high school and someone recently converted it to a game and comic store.
We moved further into the store toward the first hallway on the right side, following a trail of blood.
Enrique froze as we rounded one of the aisles. On the floor was a zombie shaking with convulsions. One of the Irene’s spears was jutting out of its eye socket, but hadn’t penetrated that deep into the brain of the dead-head.
The zombie wasn’t that decomposed and I took a step closer for a better look. He was wearing an empty holster and the side of his head had a small opening. I figured the guy killed himself with his pistol, and from the look of the entry wound, it was a small caliber like a .22 or .25.
My foot hit a small box on the floor. The box read “Cards Against Humanity” and I almost laughed at the irony.
The zombie wasn’t a threat so we followed the blood trail into the first hallway leading back into what used to be one of the theater rooms. I shined the flashlight down the hallway. It only went about fifteen feet before it opened up.
Walking side by side was cramped and Enrique silently took the lead.
He walked with his flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other, both pointing directly ahead. The small flashlight wasn’t that bright, and barely illuminated the room ahead. It left numerous shadows that danced with each step he took.
His hands were shaking. I looked down at mine and saw that they were steady. It wasn’t that long ago when I would be almost frozen with fear. I was adapting. Enrique wasn’t quite there yet. I regretted letting him
go first.
The blood trail continued down into the middle of the large room. Enrique made it to the edge of the opening and scanned as well as he could into the darkness with the small flashlight. There were tables everywhere and a small bundle of blankets was near the middle of the room.
A horrific shriek broke the eerie silence and without thinking about it, I grabbed Enrique and pulled him down and to the left. It was a gut reaction that worked in our favor as the shaft of the scab’s spear flew over our heads.
Enrique tried to get up but my knee was in his ribcage. I didn’t want him to jump into the line of fire.
My rifle exploded with deafening blasts as I sent twenty rounds into the dark room. Each shot was like a hammer on my eardrums and the flash suppressor on the end of my barrel did little to quell the bright flares in the almost pitch-black room.
Movement to the far left caught my eye through the strobe effect my shooting was giving the room. I moved my aim and focused in that general area.
Out of nowhere, my rifle was yanked from my hands. It was still connected to my body by the sling and we both were thrown toward the middle of the room. The male scab had been hiding just inside the room around the corner.
I landed on my stomach and my face hit the barrel of my AR-15. The hot metal burned the bridge of my nose.
I quickly rolled over and saw the male scab limping my way with his lawnmower sword raised over his head. He howled in rage as I scrambled to get a grip on my rifle. I couldn’t find the pistol grip as I fumbled with the weapon and simply raised it in an attempt to parry. One hand grabbed the buttstock while the other gripped the barrel, and I ignored the searing pain from the hot metal as it burned into my palm.
The single point sling kept the gun attached closely to my vest and when he swung the blade in a vicious arc toward my head, it embedded into the barrel of the rifle. The force of the attack drove the AR-15 into my chest and the tip of the blade impacted my forehead.
In pain, and disoriented from being blinded by my own blood, my reaction time was slow as muffled pops from a suppressed gun echoed in the room.
The Hunt Chronicles (Book 2): Revelation Page 13