Judgment Day (Book 2): Redemption

by JE Gurley

  “Keep moving bitch,” he snapped.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, the cacophony of howls erupting behind them indicated the pack had caught their scent.

  “Damn. I thought he would provide a longer meal.” They were too far away from the New Apostle stronghold to try out run a pack of zombies. Ahiga s’ suggestion of using the storm tunnels might be their only choice. “Okay, we go underground.”

  Ahiga quickly located an entrance into the massive storm water drainage system that channeled the often deluge monsoon rains into detention ponds or the Salt River. Uncovering the grate, he entered first, waiting at the bottom of the metal ladder as the Gray Man sent the munies down one at a time, and then followed. When the Gray Man reached the bottom, he looked around in disgust at the detritus and debris produced by a million and a half people. Bones, garbage, partially decomposed corpses, and mounds of dirt and sand made walking treacherous. He took a step and planted his boot in the chest of a rotting corpse. When he pulled his foot out, it made a sucking sound, followed by a stinking cloud of decomposition gases that made him retch. The black woman was smiling at his discomfort.

  “Move,” he yelled at her.

  Their steps echoed as they marched single file down the concrete tunnel. Sufficient light filtered into the tunnel from overhead grates and side tunnels to see. The Gray Man stared at the narrow tunnel warily. He didn’t like enclosed spaces, especially sewers. The monsoon rains were late, but even a heavy downpour miles away could quickly fill the tunnel with a wall of water five-feet high. Drowning in filth wasn’t the way he wanted to die.

  “Faster,” he urged. “The quicker we’re out of there the better.”

  A short time later, Ahiga raised his hand to signal a halt. The Gray Man left Atkins to guard the munies while he went to see what the delay was. Ahiga held his head cocked to one side listening. Then he turned to face the direction from which they had come. His silence unnerved the Gray Man.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Zoms behind us,” he said.

  The Gray Man hung his head and rubbed his brow. “Damn it to hell. We can’t any luck.” He looked up at Ahiga. “We move faster.”

  Ahiga nodded and started on ahead. The sound of pursuit grew louder behind them. Half a mile later, he saw Ahiga waiting for them. The tunnel ahead was dark and stank from accumulated garbage. He rummaged in his pack for two flashlights and handed one to Ahiga. The beams produced narrow slices of light in the darkness. He stepped in things he really didn’t want to see. Behind him, Atkins’s light bounced and played across the backs of the munies. One of the big men stumbled, fell, and came to his feet cursing, his face and hands covered in maggot-infested decomposing flesh. The big guy cursed and swiped at his face.

  “Keep running or you’ll be feeding the maggots,” Atkins yelled.

  The Gray Man almost ran into Ahiga’s back. The Indian was standing at the edge of a curve in the dark tunnel.

  “Listen,” he whispered.

  The Gray Man could hear furtive scurrying sounds ahead of them, too small for zoms or humans. “What is it?”

  Ahiga did not have time to answer as a horde of rats came rushing into the edges of light cast by his flashlight. He motioned the others to the sides of the tunnel. The rats paid them no heed as they raced squealing down the center of the tunnel seeking escape. Escape from what? The Gray Man asked himself.

  The first zombie rushed at them blindly out of the darkness eager for the kill. Ahiga shot it down and spat at its dead body. Five more quickly followed it. They poured volleys of rifle fire into the zombies. Bodies piled up but the zombies kept coming, leaping over their dead. The report of the rifles echoed thunderously in the confined space, drowning out the howls of the attacking zombies.

  “Back up slowly but keep firing,” the Gray Man called.

  They now had zombies in front of them and zombies behind them. He couldn’t believe the creatures had the intelligence to coordinate a two-pronged attack. The creatures were getting smarter. He and his companions had only one chance. They had passed a smaller branch tunnel a hundred yards back. If they could reach it, its narrow confines would make it difficult for the zombies to press a massed attack. If zoms weren’t already there waiting for them.

  They reached the branching tunnel just ahead of the rear group of zombies. The munies clung together as they shuffled down the new tunnel, their captors right behind them. The zombie attack did not let up. Both groups howled for their flesh and blood. They threw themselves into the line of fire as if unafraid of the consequence. The Gray Man knew that eventually, they would begin to break through the wall of bullets.

  “Find an exit,” he yelled at the munies. They stood and stared at him. He shot a zombie and then aimed at the big guy who had fallen in the muck. “Find us a way out of here or so help me I’ll shoot all of you here and now.”

  The woman stepped away from the group and raced down the unlit tunnel. He considered shooting her in the back, but before he could decide, she shouted from the darkness, “I found a ladder.”

  Atkins took his two-edged machete from his belt and began hacking at any zombie within his reach. Hands, arms and blood flew, but they did not slacken their attack. There was one thing even zombies feared – fire. The Gray Man took a flare from his pack, raked its end across the concrete wall, and tossed it in front of the pack with a flick of his wrist. The flare exploded into life in midair, blinding everyone, including him. The zombies stopped their attack and backed up, giving their intended prey the vital seconds they needed. He blinked back the tears from the flash and tossed another the other direction. He saw a small alcove off to one side inset in the tunnel wall. He did not see the woman. He herded the others toward the alcove. He spotted the woman at the top of the ladder trying to shove the heavy grate aside. Ahiga climbed up beside her and helped. Together, they moved the grate aside. Welcoming sunlight burst through the opening. While the others climbed out, the Gray Man continued to pour firepower into the massed zombies; then he followed his companions. Outside, they replaced the grate and rolled a large Harley motorcycle on top of it.

  “That should do it,” he pronounced.

  The sound of pounding on the grate brought a smile to Atkin’s face. Laughing, he poked the barrel of his rifle through a small hole and fired along burst.

  “Save your ammo,” the Gray Man cautioned.

  The peaks of Twin Buttes rose over the expressway a hundred yards away. Crossing the empty lanes of I-10 reminded the Gray Man how silent the city was – no traffic rushing to work, no jets overhead from Sky Harbor Airport, and no bustle of construction. Phoenix was now a city of the dead.

  Three golf carts met them on the south side of the Diablo Stadium parking lot. The Gray Man recognized one of the drivers as Brother Ezekiel, Brother Malachi’s right-hand man. Brother Ezekiel frowned when he recognized the visitor.

  “Tell Sooks we need a place to stay for a day or two,” the Gray Man said.

  “Brother Malachi is at morning prayers and will be informed as soon as he is free,” Brother Ezekiel replied. He glanced at the munies. “Visitors are always welcome.”

  The Gray Man snorted. “Yeah, I know how you welcome visitors. These four are mine. No touching.”

  Brother Ezekiel pursed his lips, closed his eyes and jutted put his chin to show his disdain of the Gray Man’s warning.

  On the ride up the hill, the Gray Man once more admired the New Apostle’s choice of the former Marriot Twin Buttes Resort for their Cathedral. It was a beautiful location, strategically secure and contained enough room for expansion as the Apostles grew. They passed through two separate gates manned by Apostles. He grinned at the snare poles standing beside the gates used to capture zombies that strayed too near the fence. The guards had heard the shots earlier and glared at the visitors for killing the Children of God.

  To each his own.

  Brother Ezekiel insisted on housing the four munies in a small conference room with one of the
Apostles guarding them. The Gray Man did not object to this arraignment, but he did refuse to let Apostles take his and his men’s weapons.

  “I can’t sleep without my rifle,” he informed Brother Ezekiel.

  “You and your men are safe here,” Brother Ezekiel assured him.

  The Gray Man smiled and patted his M16. “With my rifle, I’m safe anywhere.”

  Before leaving to inform Brother Malachi of their presence, Brother Ezekiel directed Atkins and Ahiga to a small room they were to share on the first floor, while a young female Apostle accompanied the Gray Man to a large guest room on the second floor. By her suggestive manner and broad smile, the Gray Man assumed she was a pleasure companion, and though she was attractive and willing, he was in no mood for sex. When he sent her away, she pouted like a rejected schoolgirl.

  He badly wanted a shower to wash off the stink of the long, hot journey but first things first. He laid the M16 on the bed and expertly began to break it down into its component parts. He removed the retaining pin and slid out the firing and cam pins to clean the bolt. He carefully blew off any dust and used a pillowcase as a cleaning rag to remove any dirt and old oil. He smiled as he thought of meticulous brother Ezekiel’s reaction to the damaged pillowcase. Then, to add insult to injury, he tore a strip from the pillowcase pushed the wadded cloth through the barrel with a telescoping ramrod until it came out clean. Using a few drops of Greenlee Clear Lube that he carried in his pocket, he lightly oiled the parts and the barrel and reassembled his weapon. He was so familiar with the M16 he could have broken it down and reassembled it in the dark, but the concentration required to do a thorough job relaxed him. Satisfied with his handiwork, he reloaded the rifle and set it beside the bed, removed his boots and lay down.

  He did not sleep however. His mind was too troubled for sleep. Linn was dead. The Gray Man remembered the look on the kid’s face when he realized his fate. At least it had been quick and clean. He had also lost two munies. Their loss as human beings did not bother him. Sacrificing the useless fat man might have saved their lives. To him, two less munies meant two less shots of Blue Juice. To Atkins and Ahiga, it meant less booze and rations. His goal was accumulate enough Blue Juice to enable him to quit his job as Hunter, even if he had to come crawling back when his supply was exhausted. A year alone might allow him to cleanse his mind, if not his soul.

  A light knock at his door brought him out of his reverie.

  “Yeah, what do you want?”

  “Brother Malachi will see you now,” a voice said through the door.

  He sighed and rose from the bed. “Time to deal with the devil,” he said to himself.

  9

  Renda patted her growing belly and smiled as she recalled Jeb’s raging hormones comment. Her hormones weren’t out of balance; it was her stance when she practiced with the Guan dao, the Chinese long knife she had grown so fond of using for close up zombie killing. The heavy weapon had saved her life on more than one occasion. It certainly did not fit her mommy image, but she managed an hour’s practice every morning. Today was no exception. The six-foot long, double-bladed weapon was very effective in the right hands and she felt as one with the Guan dao as she swept it through the air in graceful arches and powerful chops. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her body and moistened her palms, making the Guan Dao’s wooden shaft slippery. She gripped it tighter as she crouched and lunged, then swept the blade in a reverse arc that would have decapitated anyone within reach. She poured her fears and doubts into the delicate dance of flesh and steel until her mind was empty of everything except the sound of the blade passing through air and the beat of her heart. Did she hear two heartbeats?

  Renda had always imagined having a family someday, but she had never envisaged into what kind of world her child would be born. The world was a dangerous place and she intended to be prepared to defend her child. Mace was a strutting peacock, treating her like an invalid, refusing to allow her to venture out on any of the expeditions for supplies. She was beginning to get cabin fever. Pregnancy in the best of times could be difficult. The little fears that plagued her mind were more prevalent at night in those few dreamlike minutes between fully awake and deep slumber. She had stopped taking her Paclitaxel for fear of what the cancer drug it might do to her unborn child. Her breast cancer was in remission, but even so, she was more concerned with bringing a new life into the world than in prolonging hers.

  She took three quick steps forward and kicked her left foot out as she simultaneously brought the Guan dao down in a two-handed chop. The soft jingle of a tiny bell attached to her silver anklet, a gift from Mace when she had announced her pregnancy, accompanied each move.

  “You look like a warrior goddess.”

  The voice startled Renda. She spun on her heel to find Harris watching her from the doorway. She wondered how long he had been standing there.

  “It’s kill or die,” she answered a little more harshly than she had intended. She was angry with herself for failing to hear him walking down the corridor.

  He nodded his head toward the Guan dao. “That’s one nasty piece of steel. I prefer a shotgun myself.”

  “Sometimes you just have to get close and get dirty,” she replied.

  “Janis tells me you two aren’t exactly friends.”

  Renda scowled. She would have to bitch slap Janis the next time she saw her. “She’s a whiny, spoiled kid who refuses to work and play well with others.”

  “Yeah, I kinda got that from her too, but she’s pretty and she plays well enough with me.”

  Renda picked up a towel and dried her face and hands; then wiped down the Guan dao. “She’s a cat in heat. Don’t feel too special.”

  “Your man, Mace – he’s a no nonsense kind of guy too, isn’t he.”

  “He has a pretty good bullshit detector, too.”

  Harris burst out laughing. The laughter sounded genuine to Renda. “I admit I stretch the truth a mite, but I’m just passing through. It feels good to talk to people occasionally. God knows, Juan and Billy Idol aren’t much in the conversation department.”

  “Billy is pretty quiet,” Renda agreed. After a slight pause, she added, “He doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

  Harris’ eyes quickly went cold. “Billy owes me.” As quickly as it came, the coldness in his eyes vanished. He tapped his temple with a finger. “He’s not quite right in the head. He refuses to talk about his past. Sometimes I think I should just leave him behind.”

  “That’s cold.” She tossed the towel into a hamper.

  Harris smiled. “That’s reality. Maybe he likes it here. I’ll ask him.”

  Harris continued to stare at her and smile, making her skin crawl. She cradled her breasts protectively with folded arms. “I have to go now,” she said abruptly.

  He stepped aside to let her pass. When she drew even with him, he said, “This happy little family you’ve got here is ready to explode. If I were you, I’d keep that big butter knife handy.”

  She resisted the urge to reply and went directly to shower. She felt a cold chill whenever Nick Harris’ eyes fell upon her. The verbose visitor with the Southern drawl and his two quieter companions had been at Biosphere2 for two days resting and in Renda’s mind, busily ingratiating himself with the members of the commune. Harris had insisted on paying for his meal and lodgings with labor, usually Mendoza’s or Billy Idol’s – working in the garden, assisting with the laundry crew, even sweeping and mopping the seemingly miles of corridors. Something in his manner, a furtive glance here, a lingering look there, disturbed Renda. He seemed too eager to please. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but he worried her. She had confided her doubts to Jeb, but he had dismissed them as overly suspicious

  While the hot water massaged her sore muscles and washed away the sweat from her workout, she debated telling Mace what Harris had said. Considering how he felt about strangers in general, she could easily see him forcing the three visitors out at gunpoint, but this would only
heighten the tensions of the little group. Many saw Mace as too hard line and Jeb as too indecisive. She harbored no illusions as to their opinion of her. It was her nature to hold nothing back and she demanded as much from others. There was no room for slackers in their commune.

  Clean and refreshed but no more relaxed than before, Renda sought out Jeb. Maybe he had some answers. She found him sitting in a chair in his room watching Karen lying in bed. She couldn’t tell if Karen was asleep or simply faking it, but the expression on Jeb’s face indicated the latter. Karen was on an emotional rollercoaster and dragging her husband along for the ride. He glanced at Renda; then continued his vigil over his wife.

  “I don’t trust Nick Harris,” she said.

  “As I said before, he seems harmless enough,” Jeb replied, but his moment’s hesitation told her he was humoring her.

  “Is that your personal or your professional opinion?”

  Jeb looked up and glared at her. “That was uncalled for.”

  Renda didn’t let up. It was time for the hard truth. “You’re no good to anyone if you keep going on like this. When was the last time you slept?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Right,” she answered with as much sarcasm as she could muster in her voice. “You’re letting Karen control your life. She’s dragging you down into the pit with her. She’s not my concern. You are. This group needs you or it will fall apart.”

  “You sound like Mace. He said people who grow too dependent on you are no good to themselves.”

  She flinched inwardly. She had once chastised Mace for thinking like that that. “I thought he was wrong. He agreed to bring these people back only because I asked him too. Now, I think maybe he was right. They’re afraid and they’re looking for someone to guide them. They look toward you, but you’ve sidestepped your responsibility. Harris is playing them like a cheap guitar. He has plans. I just don’t know what they are.”