by M. D. Massey
“They’re hormonal, not stupid, Gabby. Although I daresay, there’s not much of a difference.”
She barked a laugh. “So I’ve noticed. Why doesn’t Bobby act that way around me?”
I rolled my eyes. “You really want to have this conversation right now?” I looked over at Bobby, who I knew was listening. He turned beet red and abruptly walked off down the path.
Gabby continued staring at me intently.
“Fine. One, because he’s older and no longer at the mercy of his hormones. Two, because you’re too young for him. And three, because he probably sees you more like his younger sister than a potential mate.”
Gabby crossed her arms and fumed. I really wasn’t in the mood for giving her “the talk” about boys, partially because I didn’t have time, and partially because I’d never been a dad, never had sisters, and had no idea how to go about it. So, I improvised. “Look Gabs, you’re a heck of a young lady. And frankly, in a few more years I think guys like Bobby are going to be falling all over themselves for you. But for now, he just doesn’t look at you that way. My advice to you is to not be in a rush about all this stuff.”
She continued to fume, arms crossed and closed off to me. “Fine. I’ll stay here and babysit the boys.”
I sighed. “Thank you. I’ll tell Bobby. Now, let’s ask the wild boys if they can find you guys a safe place to hole up until I get back.”
Matthew and Christopher took us to an old cinder block shed that had been built by a utility company in days long past. They told me that it was one of the safe houses they used on scavenging trips into the city. It was surrounded by a still serviceable chain link fence topped with barbed wire, which would serve to keep the dead out, and it had a solid steel door and no windows. Perfect.
I instructed Bobby to make them stay put until I got back, giving him explicit instructions not to come after me. He’d see to the safety of the boys and Gabby.
“How long you think you’ll be gone, boss?” he asked, with more than a little concern in his voice.
“I’ll likely be back before nightfall. But if something holds me up, stay here and don’t let Gabby or the Knights Who Say ‘Ni!’ to follow after me. Chances are good if I get held up, I’ll find somewhere to hide for the night and head back come morning.”
He grinned at the Monty Python reference and nodded. “If you say so.”
“I do. See you in a few.” I waved at Gabby, who still pouted, and nodded to the boys, who were too immersed in an argument over the benefits of chainmail versus boiled leather to pay attention. I left them to their nerd talk and headed out toward the spot that Matthew had marked on my map, which appeared to be a residential area that bordered the old Mopac Expressway.
According to the boys, we were currently on the outskirts of the city proper, north of the Colorado River near the 360 bridge. We’d stuck to the greenbelt and skirted the residential areas to get this far, but the boys told me I’d be leaving the areas they patrolled shortly, so I could expect to start running into deaders soon. My map had a safe house marked near there, with a note that said ‘power station near highway.’ I assumed Pancho was headed there, probably to get supplies and wait to see if the wolves would show.
I followed the greenbelt and passed up several large homes in what was formerly a desirable area of town to live. Now, it was populated by random groups of the dead, who I occasionally spotted through the trees as I flitted along silently, avoiding their attention. Before long, the greenbelt ended, and I paused just inside the trees at the edge of the residential area to get the lay of the land and consult my map.
I was just a few streets over from the highway, and had the choice of either sticking to the neighborhoods or cutting across a retail shopping area that bordered the freeway. I decided to stick to the backyards and long-neglected green spaces between the houses, now overgrown with weeds and vegetation. These afforded me some cover from the small pockets of dead that wandered the area.
Twice I had to put down a deader who was in my way, both times by stealth and without attracting the attention of any others in the area. I finally made it to the expressway, which was littered with abandoned vehicles along with the odd shambler. I vaulted a fence and several segments of traffic barriers to sprint, car to car, across eight lanes of highway separated by a railroad track in the middle.
I took out a deader with my tomahawk in drive-by fashion on the way across the first side of the highway, but otherwise made it to the tracks without incident. An abandoned freight train, stranded on its tracks, provided me with some cover as I crossed over. As I reached it, I found I’d attracted the attention of some of the shamblers, but they had a difficult time with the fences and barriers. I’d be long gone before they managed to navigate them.
After a similar experience on the other side of the highway, I made it over the last barrier and into a graveyard that neighbored my destination. I hunkered down behind some trees and looked around; the only dead around me were six feet under. I snuck north toward the safe house and observed it from a distance for a good fifteen minutes.
A flash of movement in window rewarded my efforts. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like Pancho.
THIRTEEN
HANGING
Gotcha, you little bastard, I thought as slowed my breathing. I waited several minutes to make my move and snuck around to approach the buildings via a blind spot created by some trees and foliage. After vaulting the chain link fence surrounding the power station, several more minutes of sneaking brought me to a position outside the building, hidden under a window. I heard movement inside, and managed to pinpoint the sounds to the other side of the building.
Perfect. I managed to pry open the window without making too much noise and climbed into an office. I crept to the door and drew my silenced Glock. Standing next to the door and hugging the wall, I slowly turned the knob.
BLAM! Shikt. BLAM! Shikt. BLAM! Shikt.
Three shotgun blasts pierced the door, leaving gaping holes that revealed only darkness behind. Based on the size of the holes, Pancho or whoever was on the other side of the door fired a 12-gauge loaded with buckshot. The last thing I wanted to do was take a load of double-aught to the chest. I backed into the corner of the room and slowed my breathing, keeping the muzzle of the .45 trained on the doorway.
Minutes passed in complete stillness. Suddenly, the door exploded open in a shower of shredded door frame and wood splinters. I saw the barrel of the sawed off pump coming through the doorway first and knew Pancho or someone was right behind. It was such a rookie mistake; the first thing you learn about clearing rooms is to avoid flagging your position with your barrel. I was already squeezing the trigger when Pancho stepped through.
I pulled twice and placed two shots in his torso. One looked like it shattered the bone in his upper arm, while the other hit him in the lower abdomen. I moved right behind the shots I’d fired, checking the barrel with my free hand and clocking him across the jaw with my pistol. I could have easily killed him. But I didn’t want him dead yet, although he likely soon would be with these injuries.
He dropped like a sack of potatoes.
I kicked the shotty away, dragging Pancho over to the desk and frisking him. Once I had removed all his weapons, I started patching him up with strips of his own clothing so he wouldn’t bleed out before I got the intel I needed.
Minutes later, he came back around. “Oh, holy hell. You son of a bitch, you gut shot me.”
“Do unto others before they do unto you. Tell me what I need to know now, and I might kill you quick.”
He moaned and turned his head sideways to vomit. “Oh, Jesus, it hurts. Why’d you have to do that?”
“You mean shoot the person who was trying to kill me? Oh, I don’t know. Self-preservation? Common sense? Just plain old orneriness?”
He laughed, and then winced and stopped. I had bandaged his arm and put it in a makeshift sling while he was out, but it still had some wiggle. Those bones were spli
ntered pretty good. You don’t appreciate how much a broken bone hurts until you shatter a long bone. Pancho was in a world of hurt, in more ways than one.
“Ah hell, Scratch, what’d ya expect? A warm welcome? I saw you sneaking around out there, and knew it’d be you or me. Guess it turned out to be me, didn’t it? But I owed you for killing my little brother. I couldn’t give a shit about my cousin, truth be told. But my brother? I couldn’t let that lie.”
“If you’ll recall, Jimmy, you and your brother and cousin were about to rape someone. They had it coming. Then, in retaliation, you attacked us and shot Gabby. You had it coming, too.”
He shook his head and sighed. “There’s always some dumb sum’ bitch like you messing with guys like me. Man tries to mind his own business, have a little fun and blow off some steam with his friends, and you come along and screw it all up by killing people. A little rape never hurt no one.”
“I’m sure that woman and her child would disagree. As would all the other women you raped who I wasn’t there to save.”
He laughed. A short, bitter laugh. “Boys too. Don’t forget them.”
I nearly shot him again on principle but restrained myself. Instead, I drew my Bowie knife and held it up for him to see. “Now, I need information that you have. This can go slow, or it can go all night. I got the time. So, tell me what I need to know and I’ll see to it that you don’t suffer any more than necessary.”
“Piss. Off.”
I shrugged. “Have it your way.” I dug the knife under the dressing into his gut wound and began to dig around. He screamed like a banshee and arched his back off the table, which I knew had to hurt his broken arm as well. I withdrew the blade and backed off. “Ready to talk?”
He wheezed in short little breaths. His stomach and chest moved in rapid, terse movements to match his breathing. “Alright, alright. You know I’m not that tough. Shit. Ask.”
“Good call. The wolves—do they know we’re coming?”
He groaned and held his side with his good hand. “You mean have I spoken to them? Hell no, hadn’t the time. Been running from you and shamblers since we parted ways.”
“That’s not what I asked.” I gestured with the knife. “Again, we can do this the hard way—”
“Alright! Yes, they probably know your stupid ass is going to try to take them on. Shit, you’re an idiot, you realize that? They have numbers, they’re damn well invincible, and they’ll smell you coming before you see them. What the hell do you think you’re going to accomplish by going on the warpath now?”
I laughed. “That’s funny. Going ‘on’ the warpath. Hell, son, I never left the warpath.” I stabbed the Bowie into the desk as close to him as I could without nicking him. “Now, you spoke about numbers—what kind of numbers do they have?”
He shrugged with his healthy arm and winced. “Maybe fifteen, sixteen wolves? And don’t forget that creepy vamp who looks like a movie actor. Even the alpha, Van, kowtows to him. That thing is scary as hell. I’m telling you, anything that scares Van is bad news.”
“I’ll take that under advisement. What about fortifications?”
“Nothing much—fences mostly. They have some bloodsucker working for them that keeps the dead away. They’re werewolves—they don’t need much else.”
I nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Where do they keep the prisoners?”
He chuckled. “Missing that fine piece of ass, huh?” I chambered the knife high in an icepick grip, and he cringed. “Shit, man, stop already! I’m dead as a doornail, no need to speed up the process.” I lowered the knife and he relaxed. “There’s a small hotel across from the campus where they house everyone. Like I told you before, they have nice digs. We got to stay there and sample the wares on occasion.” He flinched away from me as I reacted with a glare. “Not trying to be a smart-ass, just telling the truth.”
“Patrols. How many and how often?”
“Hell, it changes all the time. These wolves, they aren’t stupid. Trust me. You’re in for a world of hurt.”
I tongued my cheek and smirked. “Trust you? I trust you like I trust a rattler on meth.” I grabbed the shotgun and racked it several times, catching each shell as I did so. I checked the tube to make sure it was empty and then slid one shell back in, leaning it against the desk. “Here’s how it’s going to work, Jimmy. I’m going to leave this here, and it’s up to you how you use it. You can try to fight your way out of here with one shell, or you can end your misery. Up to you. Me, I could care less at this point.”
He grimaced with a spasm of pain. “Gee, thanks. You’re a real generous piece of shit.”
I nodded. “I am at that.” I turned and walked toward the door.
Jimmy started yelling at me as I walked away. “Scratch! I’ll see you in hell, you son of a bitch!”
I turned and replied over my shoulder. “Yeah? Well, when you get there, do me a favor and tell ‘em I got more coming after you.”
With a clear conscience, I left him bleeding to death and walked out into the afternoon sun, feeling better than I had in weeks.
FOURTEEN
SHED
The sun was getting awful low in the sky by the time I left Jimmy to his fate. I doubted he’d use the shotty; he was too chickenshit. He’d probably find a way to crawl off and survive. Cockroaches like him were like that. I had time to get away from here before the smell of blood brought in a rev’ or a nos’, but not enough time to get back to the kids before dusk. So I headed toward the direction I’d come from and looked for a suitable place to hide for the night.
Instead of hiding in the houses, I decided to check out the train that was stuck on the tracks. I considered the rail cars, but decided that I didn’t like the idea of getting locked inside. I chose instead to lock myself inside the cab of the front engine. It was high off the ground, relatively secure from most deaders, isolated, and I’d have an unobstructed 270-degree view of my surroundings as well. I headed inside, cut the fireman’s seat up to make a makeshift bed and pillow from the seat foam, and settled in for the night.
Several hours later, I awoke to the sound of scratching on the window glass. I opened my eyes to see a nos’ staring at me through the glass. I had my .45 trained on him under my blanket, so I wasn’t concerned about the thing coming at me. But its behavior was strange, and I was curious as to why it hadn’t attacked.
We stared at each other for several seconds, then it spoke. “Huuuumaaan. Where are my slavessss?”
That explained a lot. Apparently, this nos’ thought I was a punter. No sense changing his mind about that. The ruse might be useful in getting us through his territory alive. I decided to see where this went. “Not here. We ran into a deader herd southwest of here, and they took out our crew and cargo. I’m the only one left.”
The thing blinked once and continued to stare me down. “Maybe I should take you for my meal, instead.”
“Not unless you want trouble with the wolves. They’re expecting us, and I have intel on equipment they need for their project.”
The nos’ hissed at the mention of the Corridor pack. Apparently, they weren’t on the friendliest of terms. “If it were not for Piotr, I would have nothing to do with them.”
Shit, I thought. Who the hell is Piotr? The vamp? I decided to play dumb. “I don’t know him. The only one I deal with is Van, and he says they need some equipment we located for him a few days ago. He’ll be pissed if I don’t show up. You can count on it.”
This nos’ was a weird one. He stared at me for another minute, maybe more, during which time I was sure he was going to come through the glass at me. I held tension on the trigger of the Glock, and it’s a wonder I didn’t accidentally snap off a round at him. Finally, he spoke. “On your way back, bring me a slave from their brood. Or die. It is your choice.” He moved away from the window so fast, it almost looked like he vanished.
I popped up and sprang to the glass, spotting the thing running like a sc
alded dog north, where I assumed its hideout and hunting grounds were located. I’d have to ask the boys if they had a precise location on where this nos’ slept, once I got back to them. I sure wasn’t going to get any more sleep, so I sat in the engineer’s chair and scanned the night for more threats until dawn.
As soon as dawn broke, I headed back for the camp where I’d left Gabby, Bobby, and the LARPers the day before. I took the same route back through the neighborhoods, avoiding a few lone shamblers and making it to the greenbelt without a hitch. But no sooner had I entered the concealment of the woods did I run into Bobby, hauling ass in the opposite direction.
“Bobby, what the hell are you doing here?”
“When you didn’t show up last night, I figured you might need some help. So I left Gabby with the LARPers, and I started tracking you down. Did you find Pancho?”
“We can discuss that later. Right now I want to know why you disobeyed me and left Gabby and those boys all alone.”
He shrugged. “Gabby can handle herself. You’ve seen it. She may be small, but she’s tough.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Sonuvabitch, Bobby—are you out of your mind? She’s only twelve years old. And those boys, they might have some skills, but they’re only humans, not paranormals. What do you think is going to happen if the Pack runs across their trail?”
He hung his head in shame. “I didn’t even think about that, boss. Sorry.”
“I know you didn’t. Look, you have a lot going for you, but planning ahead is one skill that you lack. From now on, listen to me. If you don’t understand why I want you to do something, ask.”
He nodded in reply. I didn’t chew his ass too badly because I didn’t want to deal with him looking like a whipped puppy all morning. Even so, I was pissed, and he knew it. I decided to just let it go.
“Alright, there’s nothing we can do about it now but head back, and hope that Gabby and her merry band haven’t gotten into too much trouble in our absence.” Without another word, I started running back in the direction of camp, Bobby close on my heels. We took off at a steady pace and ran downhill whenever the opportunity arose. Moving fast, we attracted a few shamblers. Still, I punished the kid by sending him back to deal with them whenever we happened to get a deader on our tail.