Brandt flipped the aux switch, twisting it to turn the battery off. The last thing he needed was to risk drawing attention to himself with the glow from the dashboard’s lights. Once the lights were out, he slouched in the seat, sliding lower so he wouldn’t chance being visible. He began to inventory what he had on him, trying to come up with a plan.
He had his M9 Beretta; he always carried that with him, holstered on his right hip. Alongside it were two small mag holders with spare magazines, and the knee pocket on his pants held a handful of loose ammunition. His survival knife—the same one he’d used to kill one of the infected earlier that day—was sheathed on the back of his belt, and he had a KA-BAR knife tucked into a sheath on his combat boot. Everything else was in the main house.
In short: he didn’t have nearly enough to make it from point A to point B on his own—and it was questionable even if he had help.
“What to do, what to do,” Brandt muttered to himself, almost chanting. He eased up in his seat, trying to peer out into the community to assess his options. The main house was about four hundred yards away, on roughly a diagonal line from where the Humvee was parked. But he didn’t think that was an option; any route he took toward the main house would put him on a path right through the oncoming horde and draw said horde to the main house.
Taking the Humvee wasn’t an option. The assortment of vehicles were parked too close together, and he’d left the ring of keys to the cars at the main house.
To the right of the main house was the medical house, but he discounted that option too; it was simply too close to the main house for his comfort.
Brandt turned his head in the other direction. The houses closest to him were to his left and empty—useless due to lack of materials. They hadn’t secured any of the empty houses from invasion from the infected. He wanted to punch himself for the oversight.
His next option was the rec center, which lay almost directly behind him, by about a football field’s length. It was well stocked with food, and there was the possibility of a few weapons inside; at the very least, there was a pretty significant stash of alcohol inside that he could turn into weapons, assuming he could get inside, of course. He glanced at the infected through the windshield. They were gaining on him, fast, and if he was going to move, he needed to do it now.
Brandt took in two deep breaths, steeling his nerves, and snatched the keys out of the ignition. He flung the driver’s door open. Then he was out and running, dodging around an abandoned bicycle. He ran as fast as he could toward the rec center.
The sounds of the infected filled the air. Their pounding feet hammered the ground, slapping against pavement and concrete and dirt and other bodies. They shoved their way around and over each other. They flowed into Woodside like water, the stench of rot and decay breezing in with them, turning the air into a choking, bitter thickness.
Brandt fought to not glance over his shoulder, knowing it would slow him down; at the same time, he did not want to know just how close the infected were to him.
Brandt’s boot came down on a doll lying in the dirt, and his foot twisted. He toppled to the ground with a muffled curse. The utterance wasn’t loud, but it was just loud enough for several of the infected to hear, and they adjusted course and started toward him. He wanted to swear again, but he bit it back, grinding his palms against the dirt and levering himself up.
He’d barely gained his feet when something slammed into him from behind, taking him back down to the ground with a snarl of hunger. Brandt bucked upward, throwing the infected that had landed on him off like a bull. Then he rolled over onto his back and snatched at the knife on his belt with one hand. The man scrambled back on top of him. Using his free hand, Brandt held the man off as he fumbled for the clasp that held the knife in its sheath. The man on top of him growled, baring his teeth, snapping at him with hunger. Brandt gasped as he pushed the man harder. He swung the knife up, slamming it into his temple. The man went limp, and he kicked the body off of him, rolling to the side and regaining his feet once more.
In the meantime, while he’d been fighting off that first target, the leading edge of the infected had begun to reach him, and he immediately tried to fight them off, swinging his knife at those closest to him. He sliced one across the face and another on the chest, moving backward the entire time, doing his best to steer his way toward the rec center. He switched his knife to his left hand, squeezing it tighter, and drew his Beretta from its holster, aiming it into the crowd, knowing it would be a bad idea to squeeze the trigger. He didn’t have a chance to even use the pistol, though, because two more infected came at him from the sides, dragging him back down to the earth again. He struggled, twisting, trying to free himself from their hands. It was then that he realized that the cuff of his pants had been pulled free from his boot, at about the same time a set of ragged, broken teeth sank into the flesh of his calf muscle.
Brandt screamed out in pain, kicking his leg, thrashing it, and tearing it from the teeth that had clamped down. He’d only just freed his leg when another set of teeth bit down on his right forearm…and another on his left shoulder. Nerveless fingers released his weapons, involuntarily, and as hands pawed at his clothing, and as he continued to struggle against them, Brandt prayed that Cade would survive the onslaught of infected, even if he didn’t.
Chapter 31
Remy’s heart was jack hammering in her chest, almost painfully so, as she followed Dominic at a dead run through the community, racing toward the main house. Every instinct inside her was telling her to run, not toward the danger but away from it, back in the direction from which they’d come and right out of the community to join Ethan and Kimberly. No matter how scared she was of Ethan—irrationally so—it had to be safer with him than it was in Woodside. But the rest of her friends were ahead, not behind, and she had to help them while she could.
The leading edge of the infected was just ahead; Remy was already freeing her bolo knife from its sheath, ready to face them head on, but when she put on a burst of speed to engage them, Dominic caught her arm and pointed her in a different direction.
“Stay parallel to them!” he ordered. “Evasion is important here, because there are too many of them to fight!”
“Shit,” she swore, knowing he was right. But his words were warring with her competing desires to flee or to wade in and get her hands dirty. She swore again and adjusted her course to one that would avoid as many of the infected as possible.
When a pained scream filled the air, stretching out over the sounds of the infected, she froze, stutter-stepping right there in the middle of the street. She nearly fell on her face when her brain caught up with the sound and registered what—and who—she was hearing.
She knew that sound. She knew that voice.
Without a second thought, without any consideration for where she was or what she was about to do, Remy screamed out, “Brandt!” Then she turned on her heel and charged in the direction of his screams, toward the courtyard by the rec center and right into the closest gathering of the infected.
Somewhere behind her, Remy heard Dominic grunt and swear. She heard a meaty thunk as one of the blades he carried struck flesh. She heard the thud of a body hitting pavement. He’d followed her, right into the thick of it, and she hadn’t meant for him to. But it was too late now; they had the horde’s attention. She glanced over her shoulder to see Dominic fighting off several infected, their movement alerting even more to their presence. She couldn’t leave him to fend for himself, so she squared her shoulders and doubled back to help. Out of reflex—or maybe one of those ingrained suicidal tendencies she seemed to have—she inserted herself between Dominic and the oncoming infected, her bolo knife up and ready to strike.
“What are you doing?” Dominic demanded.
“Saving your ass,” Remy bit back.
A woman ran toward her, her hands out, her teeth bared like a crazed, rabid animal. Remy tightened her grip on her bolo knife as the woman shifted to her right, a
nd with one hard sweep, Remy sliced the blade into the woman’s throat. She ripped it free as the woman staggered with the force of the blow. Another swing took the woman’s head clean off.
Remy didn’t pause to examine her handiwork. Instead, she turned to the next attacker in line, stabbing the man in the stomach to slow him down, ripping the blade free, and spinning, using the force of her body’s momentum to slice the man’s head off too.
It was then—after Remy had killed the second infected and was readying herself for the third—that she realized that something was very, very wrong.
The infected were running past her.
They were running past her, like she wasn’t even there.
“What the hell?” Remy said out loud, which earned her a few glances from some of the infected, but other than that, they continued moving past her, flooding toward Dominic. She swore again and pushed her way toward him, killing infected that didn’t even look at her as she took them down. She sliced her way through to him and grabbed his arm, nearly earning herself a machete to the face for her trouble. She ducked to avoid the blow and shouted over the ruckus, “Dominic! Come on!”
Dominic looked at her with wide, startled eyes, stumbling as she dragged him free of the crowd of infected. He seemed to register immediately that the infected weren’t attacking Remy. “Why aren’t they attacking you?” he asked breathlessly as they broke free of the grasping hands, hands that hesitated when in her proximity.
“I don’t know, but don’t bitch about it,” Remy replied, “because I just saved your ass from getting eaten. Now come on. We have to find Brandt and help him!” She didn’t wait for Dominic to agree to her plan; she simply hauled him along, right through the infected, which parted before her like the Red Sea had for Moses, closing ranks again just barely behind Dominic. She could hear his breaths, ragged and gasping with horror, but she didn’t have time to be horrified herself, not if she was going to save Brandt.
The infected ahead were clustered around a black Ford truck. They reached under the truck as if desperate for something that lay underneath, and Remy knew that that was where Brandt was hiding. Her suspicion was confirmed when one of the infected jerked back with a snarl of pain, cradling a stump where a hand had once been. Remy couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face. If he was still fighting, then he was still alive, and that meant there was a chance she could get him out of there.
Now, it was just a matter of how.
Remy had never been one to practice the fine arts of subtlety, and she didn’t see any reason to start now. She glanced back at Dominic. “Whatever you do, stick close to me.” Then she charged forward into the mess surrounding the truck.
It worked just like Remy had hoped. The sea of infected parted, leaving a temporary corridor for her to walk through to the truck. Cold, clammy hands reached for her, brushing against her arms, touching her hair, sending chills over her skin as she fought not to gag. Dominic squeezed her hand tightly, almost painfully, as she pulled him through the crowd. She felt his nervousness vibrating down his arm and into his hand. She worried that he would do something stupid.
When Remy reached the truck, she glanced back at Dominic before taking a knee to look underneath. Brandt stared back at her from the darkness under the truck, blood stained and in obvious pain. He reached toward her, and she stretched her arm out, clasping his hand in her free one.
“How is he?” Dominic asked, and the infected around them seemed to tense, several of them making snarling sounds and pushing forward. Remy was jostled until she was shoved against the truck.
“Shut up!” Remy hissed, glaring at him as she pushed herself off the truck. “Not another word. You’re stirring them up.” Then she leaned back down to look at Brandt. “Are you okay?”
“I’m hurt,” Brandt whispered.
“How bad?”
He shrugged and winced. “I don’t know.” He tightened his fingers on hers and breathed, “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but please, get me the hell out of here.”
Remy looked up at the crowd, trying to guess at the number. At least a hundred, if she had to guess, but she’d never been very good at guessing. Clearly, she had some sort of camouflage against them, perhaps caused by whatever she and Dominic had injected into her earlier; otherwise, she’d never have been able to walk through them unscathed. And it seemed that her camouflage extended to Dominic to some degree. She was curious how far that camouflage would expand past just one person, but she didn’t know if it was time to be experimenting with it. Regardless, she had to get Brandt out of there. Leaving him behind was out of the question.
“Dominic, help me,” she said, pulling at his hand. He took a knee and peered under the truck, his eyes widening. He reached underneath and wrapped his hand around Brandt’s wrist.
“Come on, man, let’s get you out of here,” he said. And with one tremendous pull, he yanked Brandt halfway out. Brandt grunted in pain, his entire body tensing, but other than that, he didn’t make a sound.
He didn’t have to, though.
The moment he was dragged out into the open, the infected went wild, throwing themselves forward, hands outstretched, scrabbling at both him and Dominic. Remy let out a cry of alarm and dove between her friends and the horde, pushing the infected back, trying to force them away from the two men.
“Back! Get back!” she yelled without thinking, and to her shock, they obeyed, backing away from the three of them. It was only a step or two, but it was enough to give them breathing room and to give Dominic the opportunity to get Brandt onto his feet.
Dominic slung Brandt’s arm over his shoulder, smearing blood on his hand and shirt, and said to Remy, “We’ve got to go!”
“Where?”
“Rec center,” Brandt choked out. “It’s closest.”
“Head that way,” Remy said, tugging Brandt’s other arm around her shoulders and starting forward. With her free hand, she pushed infected out of their way, shoving them aside to force a path wide enough to accommodate the three of them. “I doubt this is going to last,” she said to Brandt as she waded through the crowd. “Any chance you can move a little faster?” Brandt grunted, but he did pick up his pace just enough to be noticeable, limping along beside her, his fingers digging into her shoulder as he clung to her.
The infected behind them began to crowd closer the further they moved from the truck until they were pressed against them, their hands grabbing at Remy’s hair and tugging at her shirt again, as if they were fans trying to get a touch of their idol. She shuddered, itching to pick up her pace, but if she did, she’d outpace Brandt and leave him behind. So she soldiered on and forced herself to keep moving.
The rec center’s front door was just ahead, so close that she felt like she could reach out and touch it. Three more limping steps and then they were there, pushing the door open, staggering inside, and slamming it shut behind them. Brandt slumped to the floor with a groan, and Remy rushed forward to help Dominic as he worked on barricading the doors, throwing the locks at the tops and bottoms and helping to slide a large, thick board through the handles.
Now that they were out of sight of the infected, the creatures seemed to forget their adoration for Remy. They surged against the doors, slamming against them and making them bow inward half an inch. Remy stumbled backward, nearly tripping over Brandt, and dragged Dominic with her.
“Go check all the doors, make sure they’re secured,” Remy said to Dominic. She pushed away from him and went to Brandt, kneeling on the floor to check his injuries. As Dominic scrambled to check the rec center’s other doors, she turned Brandt onto his back and dumped her backpack onto the floor. After unzipping it, she started to dig through the supplies for her first aid kit. “What happened out there?” she asked as she found the kit and tore it open, pawing through the contents.
“I was in the Humvee, and they got in,” Brandt said, trying to sit up. Remy planted a hand against his chest and pushed him back down.
“Lay still,” she ordered, making her voice as stern as she could. She found her trauma shears and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. She cut it free from his torso.
“I didn’t have a clear path to the main house or the medical house, and my only real option was here,” he continued. “I made a run for it, but I didn’t make it.”
“Obviously,” Remy muttered, pushing the shredded remains of his t-shirt aside and moving on to his pant legs. “I hope you have another set of clothes somewhere nearby,” she commented, as she used the shears to cut a slit in the bottom of his pant legs, sawing through the cuffs. She grabbed the two sides of the slit and pulled, ripping each of his pant legs up to his knees, revealing bloodied, wounded calves. “Son of a bitch,” she said. “What did you do, let them use you for a chew toy?” Without waiting for his answer, she grabbed a bottle of sterile water from her supplies and ripped the cap off. “Hold still,” she ordered, and then she upended the bottle over the wounds on his arms and legs.
To Brandt’s credit, he merely grunted, his back arching off the floor slightly before he collapsed back against the tile. “Holy shit,” he breathed. Remy finished washing away the blood on one of the wounds and then sucked in air through her teeth.
“Jesus, that looks painful,” she said, examining the bite marks that were decorating his skin. “You’ll be lucky if this doesn’t get infected.”
“I’ll be lucky if I don’t get infected,” Brandt said. “We haven’t established my immunity yet.”
“Well, no time like the present to work on that.” Remy pulled out gauze and tape and started to bandage his wounds. She crawled up to get to his arms. When she took one by the wrist to examine the first wound she planned to bandage, Brandt twisted his hand around to grasp hers tightly.
The Becoming (Book 4): Under Siege Page 21