“You tried to kill ol’ Derm!” he screamed, as he advanced on Billy with the hammer held high.
Billy shoved himself across the floor on his back as he tried to get away from Mullney. Mullney was about to bring the hammer down on Billy, when the shuffler from the porch pushed through the door and seized Mullney from behind. Billy jumped up just as Mullney came crashing to the floor with the shuffler on his back. Billy stood transfixed in horror as he watched the shuffler sink its teeth into Mullney’s shoulder and rip out a huge chunk of flesh and muscle. Mullney screamed as a fountain of blood erupted from his shoulder.
Billy turned and ran to Jordan, who was hyperventilating as she witnessed the attack. Tears streamed down her face as air pumped in and out of her lungs. Billy flung the door open, then grabbed Jordan’s hand and tried to pull her through it. Jordan’s fear anchored her to the floor as she watched Mullney struggle with the shuffler on top of him. Billy turned back just in time to see Mullney crush the shuffler’s skull with his hammer and shove it off him.
Billy turned to Jordan and grabbed her legs, heaving her up onto his back piggyback style. Billy ran through the front door, past the group of walkers that were on the far end of the front porch. He raced down the steps as Mullney came charging out the front door, screaming after him.
Billy hit the street and ran as fast as he could. Behind him, Mullney’s screams took on a fever pitch. Billy cast a final look back to see Mullney go down under four walkers. Within seconds their bony fingers and teeth had ripped him open. Mullney’s screams were quickly lost to the wet sound of evisceration.
Thirty-Four
Billy stumbled through the black that had long since swallowed the moon. Barely able to see, his only guide was the feel of the asphalt under his feet. The darkness was near total, but it didn’t blind the Dead.
He clung to Jordan on his back, even as she clung to him. He had made it to the highway, but so had they. He didn’t know how many there were pursuing him, anymore than he knew how many more miles he had left in front of him.
His determination to save Jordan made him fight for every breath. The air filtered through his lungs in harsh rasps as behind him the Dead followed. They had no such battles to fight. Their pursuit would be relentless, and Billy knew it. He had gotten Jordan away from Mullney, but he was leading the Runners right to their camp. He prayed the others would be ready.
Billy’s legs burned and his arms were numb. His pace slowed, and he heard the low, hungry groans of the Dead behind him get nearer. His feet exploded in pain as he picked up one foot and then the other, slamming them down against the unforgiving highway. As the groans behind him increased, Jordan clung to him tighter, threatening to cut off his air. He could not stop to shift her weight, nor waste the breath to tell her to loosen her grip. There was only the night, and the running, and the hope.
Billy felt the road rise under his feet and the incline drained him. He plodded up the road, barely able to hang on to Jordan. With the night so deep, he had closed his eyes and tried to send his mind elsewhere, somewhere it didn’t scream from the pain that wracked his body. As he staggered up the incline, the effort brought tears to his eyes. He opened them, not believing what he saw. The sky did not seem as dark anymore, as the faintest hint of pink pre-dawn light began to cast its glow across the sky.
Billy risked a look behind him and immediately regretted it. His pace slowed and his feet nearly tangled. In righting himself he almost dropped Jordan. The look back almost fell his spirit as well, for now he knew how close the Dead were. He imagined they could not be more than forty yards behind him. Billy turned and pressed his body harder against the road. As he looked ahead, his mind told him of darker shadows against the skyline.
Walt’s bus sat on the crest, beside it the outline of the GTO. Billy let out a yell that was nothing more than another rasp of air. He ran, his heart beat out of his chest, his lungs on fire.
On top of Walt’s bus, Nicole stood watch. On the wind came the faintest of sounds. She stopped moving and put her ear to the wind. For what seemed like seconds, she heard nothing, then it repeated. Nicole climbed down from the bus and went to the road and stood in the middle.
“Help!” reached her ears and Nicole readied her rifle. As she peered into the pre-dawn darkness, at first she saw nothing. As she stared unblinking, her face revealed the shock that seized her. A figure in the road, and behind him, The Dead.
“Up! Everybody up!” Nicole shouted.
There was movement behind her as Walt and Sam awoke with a start. Almost on instinct and certainly without thinking, they jumped from their sleeping bags, their rifles in hand.
They ran to where Nicole was in the road and pressed their rifles tight against their shoulders.
Behind them, Paul lay on his side. He knew that the call to action could only mean the Dead were on their way. He felt neither fear nor sense of urgency. He would let them take him, he would go, and be with his Jordan.
As Walt, Sam, and Nicole stared into the darkness, Billy’s cry reached them. Paul heard it and he turned over and looked to the road. His embrace of the inevitable gave way to a white hot rage, as he cursed Billy, not for leading the Dead back to their camp, but for trying to live after he had led his Jordan to her death.
As Billy appeared out of the darkness, the groans of the Dead reached Nicole’s ears. Nicole flipped on her laser sights and a red beam cut through the gloom. She started firing. Beside her, Walt, and Sam joined in.
Billy heard a Walker drop behind him. He cried out in joy and relief as he saw the red lasers and muzzle flashes of his friends shooting over him.
Nicole, Sam, and Walt, picked their targets and dropped the Dead as they charged. Behind them, Paul stood and looked. His face fell and all the air left him as he watched Billy emerge from the night. Clinging to his back was his Jordan. He seized his rifle and ran to the road. Paul got there just as Billy came running through the line and passed him. Paul stared at Billy as he passed, but Billy did not see him, focused as he was on simply getting one foot in front of another.
Paul heard Nicole shout, “We’ve got more Runners!” as the three of them continued firing into the night. Paul ran to the road and shouldered his rifle.
“I’m out!” shouted Walt.
“Me too!” screamed Nicole.
Sam dropped the second to last Runner, before his gun fell silent. Paul strode to the center of the road and waited. The growls of the Runner grew louder and Paul took his aim. He fired twice as an emaciated and decomposed monstrosity loomed out of the shadows at him. The Runner plowed into the concrete and skidded to a stop at Paul’s feet.
Nicole slammed home another magazine and stepped up to Paul. She put her ear to the wind, but the only sound was the morning breeze wafting through the grass by the side of the road.
“We’re all clear!” she called. Paul dropped his rifle and turned. “Jordan!” he cried, running back to the camp.
Seeing his daughter, he threw his arms around her. Billy lay face down in the dirt, unmoving. Jordan sat next to him, slowly rubbing his back while her father wept.
Thirty-Five
The day moved into late morning. Billy slept, while by his side, Jordan kept her vigil.
After being relieved by Walt, Sam climbed down off the bus. He went over to the small fire where Paul was cooking up some canned hash from the provisions they had retrieved from the All-Mart. As Sam sat down, Paul handed him a plate. Paul fixed up three more plates, then stood and walked over to Jordan.
The aroma of the sizzling hash awakened Billy and he sat up. He smiled at Jordan, but the smile faded quickly as Paul approached. Paul stood looking at Jordan. Billy looked away.
“Hey, Jordan honey. Breakfast is ready. Go on over and get some, okay? I’d like to have a word with Billy, here,” Paul said.
Jordan looked like she didn’t want to leave Billy’s side, but Paul urged her with his eyes and she relented. Billy sat up and drew his legs to his chest and hugged the
m, not looking at Paul.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter. I’m sorry I almost got Jordan hurt. I…” Billy’s words trailed off.
Paul looked around then took a seat on the ground next to Billy.
“I saw you leave last night. Lord knows I wasn’t getting any sleep. When you left, I was glad. I tried not to wish that something bad…”
Paul picked up some pebbles from the ground and rolled them around in his hand before chucking them away.
“The thing is, Billy. I like things to run smooth, ya know? It’s the reason I wanted those zombies all lined up and moving in one direction. I knew where they were and when I could move. I’m learning that there are just some things I can’t control, like who my daughter likes and what she’s gonna do when I’m not around,” Paul said.
Billy looked up at him. “I promise, Mr. Baxter. I didn’t hurt her. We only just kissed a little. We weren’t that good at it even. Mostly we just held hands and looked at the stars awhile,” Billy said.
“It’s alright, Billy. I guess what I’m saying is, just as there are things I can’t control, there are things you can’t control either… things like Mullney. It’s not your fault he did what he did,” Paul said.
Billy looked away.
“Jordan told me why you snuck away last night, told me what you did, how you were gonna trade yourself for her. Billy, I want to tell you I’m sorry. Sorry for thinking… for misjudging you. I love Jordan very much and would do anything to protect her. Now I know you would too, and that’s all a father can ask of any man who takes an interest in his daughter,” Paul said.
He stood and looked down at Billy. Billy stared up at Paul.
“Me and Jordan are gonna have some breakfast. I’d like for you to join us,” he said. Paul smiled then turned away.
Billy watched him go and take a seat next to Jordan, his back to him. Jordan looked sullenly into her plate. Billy crawled out of the sleeping bag and went over and sat down on the other side of Jordan. Paul handed Billy his plate, and smiled at him and his daughter. Jordan looked at her father, who nodded at her. A big smile broke out on her face and she hugged her father. Paul hugged her back and tried to choke back his emotion. Jordan pulled away and turned to her plate. Paul, Jordan, and Billy sat together, exchanging stolen glances and beaming smiles as they ate their breakfast.
Thirty-Six
Rubetta Pryde was eighty years old, but she had never been in the habit of letting that be a reason to slow down. Lately though, she had been feeling like her resolve was weakening along with her body. As the morning slipped into day, she stood looking out her window at forty acres of farmland. It was land that her and her husband had worked for all of the sixty years they had been married.
Orland Pryde had died the previous year and Rubetta was glad he did. She was not glad he died because of lack of love, for she loved him more than her own life, but for what that death had spared him.
Rubetta frowned and gave a huff at what she saw out her window, what she was glad her loving man never had to witness. Without a doubt, Rubetta harbored no resentment for Orland passing, and leaving her to deal with the way the world turned out. Orland was never a man to turn from his responsibilities, and he was faithful to them till the day he died. He knew his Rubetta to be cut from the same cloth and he had loved her for it. Could he see her now, he would have wished her God’s blessing, and a true aim, and been confident she had both. Rubetta had them in spades, and those skills had served her well over the last several months. She gave a final frown at the thirty Dead traipsing through her field, then turned away.
With her cane in one hand and her shotgun in the other, Rubetta made her way slowly to her screen door. She raised the old double barrel and pushed it open. Rubetta eased herself down the three steps of her front porch to an old wooden wheel chair. Her doctor had sent a letter to the insurance company and they had approved the purchase of a fully equipped motorized wheelchair, one with directional control that could be used with two fingers. Rubetta Pryde told the doctor she would have no part of it. It was bad enough she had to use a wheelchair at all, she had told him, but the day she couldn’t move under the strength of her own arms was the day she wouldn’t move at all. The good doctor had been wise enough to know that was the end of the discussion.
Resting the shotgun in her lap, Rubetta wheeled herself over the packed dry ground to her barn. As she got closer, a Shuffler came around the corner, but it didn’t scare Rubetta. It just made her mad.
“Be gone from here, ya interloper!” she screamed, before blasting the top of its head off with the ancient double barrel.
The blast sent her rolling back. As the shuffler dropped, Rubetta reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a fresh shell. She jammed it in, snapping the shotgun closed. Placing the gun across her lap, she rolled into the barn.
Rubetta parked the wheelchair by the door and grabbed a footstool. Going over to the massive harvester, and with more than a few grunts, climbed up into the cabin. Rubetta settled in, then buckled up. When she was satisfied, she started the engine and drove out of the barn toward her fields.
She engaged the massive blades on the front of the harvester and took aim at the first of the Walkers. At the sound of the spinning blades, the Walker turned and hissed. It was sucked into the harvester and disappeared in a slick mess. Inside, Rubetta snickered.
“Dang interlopers,” she muttered as she turned the wheel and headed for a group of three more.
Inside the cabin, she barely felt a bump, as she sliced and diced the Dead to bits. A gleeful cackle sprang from her lips as she made a meandering course across her field, chewing up the Dead foolish enough to trespass across her land.
When the last one was dispatched, she turned the harvester back toward the barn and came to a stop. She reached into the other pocket of her dress and retrieved a large flask. Unscrewing the top, she took a pull of bourbon. A smile crossed her face as she felt the burn. Rubetta screwed the top back on and replaced the flask.
“I love ya, Jesus and so I thank you for it,” she said as she drove the harvester back to the barn.
Once parked, she shut it down and eased herself out. Rubetta hobbled over to a garden hose coiled on a roller and unwound a length.
She put an arthritic hand on the knob. Her strength was gone, and she couldn’t get the wheel to turn. Rubetta sighed as she stared at the hose in her hand.
“You’ll have to wait for a cleanin’ today, I’m afraid,” she said looking over at her harvester.
The blades dripped gore onto the ground. Rubetta went over and thought about cranking the handle on the hose reel, but just felt too tired. She leaned on her cane and stared out across her land.
“What’s to become of our land when I come to meet ya, Orland?” she asked.
She dropped the hose and flopped back into her wheelchair. Rubetta pushed herself across the yard to her house, hauled herself up the steps, and went back inside.
The smell of the Dead was still on the wind, as Rubetta shuffled into her kitchen.
Thirty-Seven
“I think we should look for someplace indoors to stop tonight. Last night was a reminder that the Dead are wandering,” Nicole said.
Sam nodded. “I’ll tell Walt,” he said, picking up the walkie.
“Tell him I’m gonna look for something off the road, and out of the way, too,” she said.
Sam relayed the message.
“Sounds good to me, man,” Walt responded.
Rubetta pushed opened the front door with her cane and trundled out onto the porch. She set a fresh pitcher of powdered milk next to a heaping plate of brownies before plopping down in her rocker.
On the table next to the brownies was a .38 police special. She reached over and grabbed it, the pistol in her hand resting in her lap. Rubetta looked out across her land and rocked herself gently. A cool breeze wafted across the porch and spread the delicious smell of the brownies.
How much longer can I go on like th
is, she thought to herself. She had always been a canner, so she had managed to not go too hungry. The farm never had cattle, but it had chickens. Most of those had become supper over the past several months. There were a few lucky ones around who could still scurry away faster than she could chase them. It was just as well, she thought. She made good use of the eggs. Rubetta had never been a quitter, and this is what she told herself, but it was getting harder to be convinced. She didn’t fool herself either, though. The Dead that wandered across her land from time to time were monsters indeed, but even with the change, she had recognized some of them as former neighbors and friends. She knew there might be a day when she didn’t get to the harvester in time, or there would be one more of them than she had shells. She looked down at the gun in her lap and picked it up. What about when she couldn’t pull the trigger, she asked herself. In the barn she wasn’t able to turn the knob. Rubetta gripped the pistol with both hands, and with her two thumbs pulled the hammer back. It locked into position with a satisfying click.
As she stared at the gun, a noise sounded across her property. It came from down by the road, out towards the highway.
Nicole saw a dirt road leading into a stand of trees just off the access road. She turned on her signal and stuck her hand out the window, waving at Walt. Walt flashed his lights in acknowledgment and the two vehicles took the exit and headed for the dirt road. She picked up the radio.
“Stay alert, guys. Chances are, we find an abandoned farmhouse, but it may not be as abandoned as we like,” she said.
“Roger that, Man,” Walt called back.
Turning in, they bounced down the dirt road. The trees opened up to a view of farmland. Set in the middle was a ranch house with a wraparound porch and open door barn. In the barn sat a harvester. Nicole peered at the harvester and picked up the radio.
Nicole's Odyssey (Human Extinction Level Loss Book 1) Page 18