John’s smile seemed to grow in proportion to Franco's frown, so much so that it was as if the more John's lips turned upward in delighted smug self-satisfaction, the more Franco’s lips turned down in displeasure, bordering on visible fear. It was clear now that Franco knew he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this. He'd made a mistake, taken a calculated risk, and it hadn't paid off for him.
“In fact, I'm here to personally see to it that you get exactly what you've got coming to you,” John went on, loving every second of his planned-out revenge. “I'm going to walk you down and watch as you’re turned. I'm only sad that my actual friend Tank isn't here to see it. He was really looking forward to seeing you killed. He talked about it all the time.”
“If you think I'm going to just let you march me out into a pack of wild monsters,” Franco said in a low growl, “you've got another think coming, pal.”
“Oh, this is happening,” John said, psyching himself up as he locked eyes with Franco. “We can do it the easy way or the hard way, but mark my words, it's going down.”
“You'll never take me alive,” Franco declared, a wild look in his wide-open eyes. “I'll kill every last one of you with my bare hands if I have to, or die trying! I am a trained operative of the Central Intelligence Agency! I answer to no one but the President! I've been waterboarded in Caracas! I've stared down the Shah in Tehran! I've had the soles of my feet beaten before being dumped in the Gobi desert with a bag of snakes tied around my head, and survived to exact revenge on my enemies!”
The veins in his neck bulged as he ranted, but John seemed nonplussed.
“You don't scare me! You and your dirty witch of a wife are so far beneath me, I have to strain to even see you!” Spittle flew from his mouth as his face went red with rage.
“The hard way it is then,” John said, before firing three shots into Franco's legs and sending him face first, down to the floor. Franco moaned as fresh blood leaked out of the wounds.
“You shot me?” Franco said, looking surprised.
“Don't look at me,” John shrugged, “I gave you a choice, after all. It's not like I didn't warn you.”
Franco began to laugh maniacally. It was an eerie sound, hollow and evil and devoid of all humanity. I felt the nerves in my stomach begin to tingle and a growing sense of discomfort filled me as the laughter went on, echoing off the walls of the room.
“What's so funny?” John said, looking amused.
“This is,” Franco howled, pulling a syringe out of his pocket and jamming it into his own neck. John instinctively fired off two more rounds, hitting Franco in the chest. His body convulsed wildly as he fell back to the floor. The empty syringe flew from his hand. It was too late. The transformation had already begun.
Chapter Twelve
Franco began to shudder all over, like his body was hooked up to active electrodes, as violent spasms rocked his entire frame. His chest and arms swelled to the point where his shirt, unaided, tore completely off of him. The seams of his pants came undone almost immediately as his legs doubled in muscle mass. A terrible, high-pitched animal cry came bellowing out of him. It sounded like it started somewhere deep and wet inside his chest, and came rumbling out like an uncontrollable burp. His fingers swelled like sausages, and the nails came flying off like hot popcorn. Blood poured from the bubbled mass of knotted lumps growing on the top of his head, as he sat up and screamed in agony. His eyes had become solid black, just like Haki’s.
John and Francis began firing at Franco's head, but unlike regular zombies, the impact of the bullets seemed to make no difference whatsoever. Franco flinched like a small child being poked by a needle, his face distressed and confused, then he flew into a rage and slapped John with the back of his hand like he was swatting away a pesky insect. John flew across the room and into the pile of chairs on the other side with a loud clatter, dropping my katana directly in front of Franco. I began to crawl to it slowly, as Benji and Moto beckoned me back.
“Xander no,” Moto warned as I reached my hand out for the blade. An earsplitting crack went off again, and my blade jumped slightly as John fired off a round at me and hit the handle instead.
“Don't even think about it, Xander,” John screamed, climbing back to his feet.
I scampered back to Benji and Moto, who had propped up the broken slab of glass and were hiding behind it. Just as I ducked into place, John fired three more rounds, one hitting Francis and two slamming into the barrier we were cowering behind. I flinched and held my breath, certain that I'd been hit somewhere, but the glass had held. The hot slugs were visibly indented in the surface above us, a spider web of cracks extending out from them like ripples from a rock thrown into a calm lake. I let out a small sigh of relief as Francis keeled over directly in front of Franco.
“Oh hell,” John yelled. “My bad, Francis. Sorry about that.”
If Francis harbored any ill will over the mistake of being shot in the chest, causing his lung to collapse, it didn't last long. Franco now loomed over him, having grown to nearly eight feet tall and almost tripling in size. The veins of his stretched muscles visibly throbbed as he leaned over and wrapped his massive hand completely over Francis's head, palming his face. Franco lifted Francis into the air, kicking and thrashing. A nauseating pop echoed in the room as Franco whipped Francis around, snapping his neck. Francis gave a series of final twitches before going limp. Franco then took Francis's legs in his other hand and brought the dead man up to his terrible mouth, chomping into his stomach and causing blood and guts to spill out over the floor. Desdemona screamed at the top of her lungs, and Franco stopped chewing his fresh kill to roar back in her face, silencing her. She sat down in shock, unable to close her mouth or even blink.
John came up behind Franco and once more let loose a volley of bullets into the giant’s muscular shoulders and the back of his bumpy head, with almost no effect. Franco raised his right leg, then kicked backward blindly, connecting with John square in the chest and sending him cartwheeling across the room once again.
Franco sullenly returned to devouring Francis, as if nothing had disturbed him; tearing the bloody corpse apart in big chunks and swallowing it down in greedy gulps. Benji winced and turned away, but I couldn't. I just continued to stare, spellbound and horror stricken. When Franco had eaten the middle out of the man, he threw the remains aside. Francis's legs came to rest near Desdemona, spraying her face and clothes with blood as they landed with a disgusting, wet thud. She didn't make a peep, but just stared at the carcass, a look of absolute terror now in her eyes.
Franco came lurching over to us next, since we were closest. He punched down on the glass, making it crack further, but once more it held.
“It can't take another one of those punches,” I whispered. “It looks like it's about to crumble any minute now.”
“What are we going to do?” Benji asked, terrified.
Without saying a word, Moto rolled out from behind our makeshift shield and popped up to his feet, waving his arms and hollering at Franco.
“Hey you,” Moto shouted. “Over here, you big dummy!”
Franco turned to Moto and let out a loud cry of hunger and rage. He had stopped growing, but now looked intent on maintaining his size, even if it meant gulping down every last one of us.
“Moto! Look out!” I cried, as Franco swung his right fist toward my brother. Moto dove toward Franco and rolled head first between the monster’s legs, coming up on the other side into a sprint. Moto grabbed my katana off the ground and kept moving toward Desdemona, but he wasn't fast enough. Franco charged after him, catching up in a few clumsy steps. He wrapped his fist around Moto's waist and pulled his kicking feet off the ground. Moto let out a cry of pain, as Franco squeezed his guts hard.
“Put him down!” I screamed, but it was too late. Franco was already pulling my brother toward his horrible, gaping mouth, preparing to take the first bite.
“Moto!” I cried out deafeningly once more.
“U
se the sword!” Benji screamed beside me.
That was it! There was still a chance so long as he had my katana. Moto brought the shining blade up and over his head, stabbing Franco's right eye out. Franco erupted with an angry cry and shook Moto hard, but my brother managed to hold onto the weapon. Franco stomped both his feet in pain and anger. He jumped up and down several times, and screamed as loud as he could. The glass we were hiding behind shattered into a million tiny little pieces. I stood up and stared at the spectacle in front of me. He still had Moto gripped in his fist, and was once more bringing him toward his mouth.
He's not going to eat my brother! Not while I'm still alive!
Blind rage shot through me as I charged toward Franco, letting out a war cry. I punched my fists over and over into his midsection, but it was no use. It felt like I was punching a boulder with my bare hands. I felt the skin of my knuckles tearing loose as blood poured over my fingers, but still I kept hammering away. Franco kicked at me, his massive leg coming up between mine and sending me flying across the room. I landed hard on my butt, feeling my backbone sting as I came down flat with my legs extended out.
“Do something!” Benji screamed in frustration, as Franco brought Moto up toward his bloodstained mouth once more.
Moto had managed to wiggle around in Franco's grip, turning enough to face the beast. As Franco brought him up to the gnashing maw of teeth, Moto held my sword up, then drove it straight down into the giant's mouth. Franco let out a gurgling howl as blood spilled down the back of his throat, causing him to choke and loosen his grip. Moto wasted no time at all, slightly pulling the blade out to push the point up with both hands and into Franco's swollen brain. He wobbled for a moment, then let go of Moto, sending him crashing to the ground with a clatter. Franco stumbled back and sat down hard, narrowly missing a petrified John, and causing the ground to rumble. A bloody whistling came out of the gash in his face, but he still didn't die. Instead Franco thrashed around in violent fits, smashing his fists into his own legs in his impotent rage. The blade was still lodged in the middle of his face. Franco reached up with his left hand and pulled it free, letting out a howl like an animal caught in a trap as he threw it to his side. I watched as my precious katana skittered to a halt at John's blood-splattered feet. John threw his empty gun to the ground, and picked up my sword once more. He walked calmly over to the place where Francis had been first lifted off his feet, and retrieved the dead man's handgun as well.
Moto made an effort to get to his feet, but it was too late. John was already up behind him, placing the tip of the sword at his back. Moto froze in fear and I felt myself holding my breath, praying that John wouldn't cut him down then and there.
He still needs us as hostages, I thought. He can't kill us. Not now. Not with everything going wrong for him.
“Don't hurt him,” I yelled. “You need us, remember?”
John ignored me and called out to Desdemona who was still sitting in shock on her backside, wearing a bright red splash of blood down the middle of her face and clothes.
“You okay, honey?”
Desdemona closed her mouth and looked up at him. It seemed, for a moment, as if she had mentally checked out, withdrawn into a fantasy world where she didn't realize that the worst was already over.
“Honey?” John said again, looking concerned.
“I'm fine,” she said at last, pulling her feet under her and standing up again. She used both her hands to wipe the blood off of her face, then flicked them toward the ground in a fast motion in an attempt to clean them off. When that didn't work, she made a face and began wiping them on her dress.
“Well,” John said. “That was very exciting. Wasn't it? Not quite the ending I had planned for Franco, but I'll take it.”
I turned to look at Franco who was already starting to shrivel some, the absence of fuel meaning that his body was now eating itself. John was right. It was the end of the line for Franco. He wouldn't be coming back.
“Let my brother go,” I yelled. “It's over.”
“Nothing is over,” John shot back. “So here is what's going to happen. You and your pal Benji there are going to walk slowly in front of me. Desdemona and I will give you directions from behind. Moto here is going to play hostage. If you try to run or disobey a single thing I tell you to do, or screw things up in any way at all, I will jam this steel right through your brother and carve his kidneys up like I'm serving them for a victory feast. Do I make myself clear?!!!”
I gulped hard. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he meant it. John was a dangerous guy when things were going well. Who knew how much worse he'd react when his back was truly up against the wall and the odds were against him. But I didn't want to just let him march us back outside to his undead army. No doubt by now they'd already killed or turned most of the Loyalists and Blackshirts, and at least half the bikers as well. I just knew I didn't have a choice. If I wanted my brother to live, I'd have to keep playing along and hope for a miracle.
“Yes,” I said at last, feeling defeated.
“Good,” John said. “Now get moving! Both of you!”
Benji and I marched forward, and John stayed close behind barking out orders. At first I was afraid he might try to lead us back the way we came, but as we continued on it became obvious that he had a different route in mind.
“Where are we going?” I whispered to Benji, who knew the base and the labs better than I did. “Where is he taking us?”
“This way leads to the front entrance,” Benji explained before John screamed at us.
“STOP!”
I froze in my tracks, fearing that Moto would be punished for anything I did wrong. Once more, I held my breath as I waited for John to do something terrible.
“This is it,” John said at last. “This door leads to a hallway that will take us out of the main entrance and back toward the gates, away from the base. Xander, open the door and walk out nice and slow.”
I reached over and put my hand on the handle, my mind filled with terrible visions of zombies flooding in and biting me all over the second I pulled it open. Instead, I saw that the hallway was totally empty. I looked back at John who seemed surprised as well. A look of victory broke out on his face, as if he was close to finally getting his way. He licked his lips with excitement.
“Take us on out, boy,” he said at last. “And don't do anything stupid.”
Chapter Thirteen
Cautiously we inched forward along the deserted hallways on the abandoned side of the lab, looking for the door that led to the main entrance hallway and spilled out toward the front of the base. It was eerily quiet, but I knew that was no reason to believe that a zombie might not pop out at any moment and try to chew my face off. I'd seen it too many times, people letting their guard down early, and then paying the price for it.
Just as Moto had once done, I thought, recalling his story of how he'd been turned.
Even though my sword was nowhere near my back I could feel it behind me, in John's hands. The idea of having to wrestle it away from him again only added to my sense of helplessness and exhaustion. It had all been too much, and battling Franco had been the final straw. My strained body ached in unfamiliar places as I walked on, a dull headache spreading across my forehead, the taste of adrenaline still stinging in my mouth like sour acid.
I can't give up, I thought. There is always a way, always another chance, as long as I am still alive.
Benji spotted the door first, but Desdemona pushed him aside as he went to open it. She was sticking the gun she'd picked up from John's dead co-conspirator out first, and waving it around like it was a magic wand that would ward off all evils by sight alone. Her eyes darted around wildly, and I realized I wasn't the only one on whom the previous battle had taken a toll. Desdemona seemed to be coming unhinged right before our eyes.
“I think it's clear,” she said in a fierce whisper.
“I don't hear any more fighting,” John said, his astonished voice barely abl
e to contain his wonder. “Maybe the zombies got their fill and are just idly waiting to be led back to their cages.”
Yeah right, I thought. As if that would ever happen in a million years!
“Let's send the boys out in front, just in case there is still action,” Desdemona suggested.
“Good idea,” John said. “I don't feel like getting a face full of metal for walking out the wrong door.”
“Or having your legs chewed off by one of your own zoms,” Desdemona added.
“You heard the lady,” John frothed, puffing up and waving my sword menacingly in our direction. “Get moving.”
I started forward first, hoping to shield Benji and Moto from whatever harm might lie in wait for us on the other side of the doors. Behind me, I heard Desdemona's warning.
“Not too fast now,” she purred.
“Or I'll chop up your friends,” John seethed.
My legs felt like they were made of cement as I cautiously walked into the empty hall. There were signs of battle all around me, walls riddled with bullet holes, shattered glass covering the floor, widespread streaks of dried blood on the walls, but no evidence of undead demons. These were the unholy trails of carnage they generally left in their wake. This place looked like it had seen a shoot-out, like people had been wounded here and taken elsewhere to safety. As I approached the exit the sunlight outside blinded me, making it hard to focus. My eyes needed time to adjust before I strolled out onto a zombie-overrun battlefield full of enemies, but I wasn't going to get it and I knew it. I raised my left arm over my face to shield my eyes, as I stepped out onto the common grounds in the now war-torn Hueneme base.
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