“Do you want us to kiss each other, Frank?”
“Yeah, do you want us to start for you?”
All he could do was give a drunken nod and stare in amazement. Their soft hands caressed each other, fingers moving over the other’s nipples, then stomach, then lower. Frank ripped off his shorts and joined in.
With the music playing loudly and their attentions all focused on the orgy, not one of them heard the shower door open or the low, hungry growls emerge.
Frank was the first victim. He leaned back from the girls, to watch them go at it; he liked to watch. As his head hit the tile, he found himself face-to-face with the undead.
Like Dan and Michelle, it was over within seconds. The first one grabbed at Frank’s head, fingers gouging into his eye sockets. Frank didn’t even have time to scream as a woman wrapped her hands around his neck. She twisted until it snapped, killing him instantly. With the help of another infected man, the woman pulled Frank out of the spa and dragged him to the corner. The dark-skinned woman tore through Frank’s “white power and Aryan nation” tattoo on his neck.
By the time the girls noticed the horror, two infected had jumped in the spa and splashed toward them. To save herself, Mandy pushed Jessica out of the way and into their rotting hands. Mandy tried to get out of the water, but slipped on the steps. She fell back and cracked her spine on the railing, breaking her back and paralyzing her. From her neck down, Mandy couldn’t move, and time moved slowly as she sank to the bottom.
From under the water, Mandy watched her best friend being eaten by two hungry mouths. A pair of mutilated faces and bone-exposed hands pulled her up to the surface and out of the water. The last thing her Texan eyes witnessed was a gang of infected working their way from her legs up. She couldn’t feel pain, but she could feel bones snap and the sensation of body parts being pulled in opposing directions, and could hear the sounds an artery makes when its ripped and retracts into the body.
Luckily for her, she only had to wait to pass out from the blood loss.
2013 hours
As Mike rounded the corner from the noisemakers, he couldn’t help but fantasize about the awesome sex he was about to have.So much I haven’t done since the outbreak, he thought.
Preoccupied with playing out various sexual scenarios in his head, he didn’t notice a stray piece of rebar. His foot caught under it, causing him to fall face first. Instinctively, he dropped both the plastic bag of weed and the flashlight to brace for the impact. All the partying had slowed his reaction time and he wasn’t quick enough to cover his face. His right eyebrow slammed into the blunt edge of a nearby dumpster.
Mike lay still for a minute, whimpering in pain. His face pressed against the cooling desert dirt, and a few coughs stirred up nearby dust. As he pushed himself up, he put his hand to his brow, feeling a slow stream of blood trickle down his face.
He turned back and noticed the rebar. Frustrated and cursing at himself for not seeing such a blatant obstacle, he walked over to the flashlight. The impact had caused the flashlight to short out, but after a few smacks, it returned to a constant stream of light. He searched desperately for the marijuana, knowing that it was the whole reason for leaving in the first place. Miraculously, he found it next to a stack of 2x4’s.
“Gotcha,” he whispered.
He used his arm to wipe some fresh blood from his eye and took off again, this time at a slower and more controlled pace.
Mike had never been so relieved to finish a sprint. As he rounded the last dumpster nearing the pool room, he was still unable to see the carnage inside.
At the crest of the door, he wiped his bloody forehead, and shouted, “All right, so who is down to fuc—”
His words stopped instantly as a gang of rotting, hungry mouths turned to face him. Mike was paralyzed at the sight. He was too stunned to scream, too scared move.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, staring into the room.
The spa was now dark red with blood. Limbs, ears, arms, and pieces of flesh were scattered about. He saw Mandy, now just a mutilated cadaver with stubs for legs. Half of Jessica’s body hung over the side into the spa. Had it not been for the tattoos, Frank would have been unidentifiable.
Mike gagged. The motion stirred him back to reality, and quite possibly, saved his life. Something caught his ankle as he backed up, and he landed on his butt, dropping both the joint and the flashlight.
Every infected stopped eating, sprang up, and ran toward him. The adrenaline immediately kicked in and Mike pushed himself up, and took off. The fastest infected were seconds behind him.
Without a flashlight, the construction site was a maze. Mike couldn’t see over the dumpsters, cranes, and vehicles. He shouted out for help a few times, but stopped for fear of giving away his position.
Slowly, his eyes started naturally adjusting to the night. He narrowly dodged holes, sections of protruding rebar, and other obstacles. Lucky for him, the moonlight revealed his distant safe haven: Wal-Mart.
He had made it about three-quarters of the way through the field without incident, but he could hear the unmistakable sounds of his hunters. The infected scratched at the metal containers and moaned as their lifeless bodies shuffled over the desert earth. Mike jumped on top of a nearby tractor to review his position. Quickly searching, he found the entrance to where the RV was parked and made a mental note.
As he took off toward the finish line, he paused. He knew he shouldn’t waste the precious time, but something in his mind made him look back.Where the hell are they coming from? He thought nervously. There must have been two dozen right behind him. They came from a variety of pathways, and all looked intent on nothing more than tearing him to shreds.
Mike leaned against the last of the dumpsters, sucking in air. As much as he wanted to keep going, to get to safety, his body needed air. All the smoking, drinking, and partying had caught up to him. Taking two deep breaths, he exhaled with dry shouts, calling for whoever might hear him. He hoped and prayed someone was still up.
“Steve! Alex! Help!”
A self-inflicted slap to the face gave him the motivation he needed to keep going. He narrowed in on the exit, which was less than fifty yards away, but the residents of Danton were closing in.
As Mike banked around a line of Porta-Potties, he slipped on loose gravel and fell into the first set of noisemakers. The lines tangled around his body like a web. Hurriedly he began to unwrap a line from around his neck, and then he stopped cold. He knew he was not alone.
An infected woman heard the commotion and jumped out from behind a nearby golf cart. Her naked body was maimed beyond recognition. A large flap of skin dangled from her neck, and her lifeless eyes stared into Mike’s.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Mike mumbled as he kicked at the gravel, desperate to get away. The action backed him up into a spool of fencing. He knew it was a useless move, but instinct compelled him.
This is it, he thought.This is really it…
The naked woman let out a gargled scream-like yelp, maybe out of hunger, or to signal others; Mike didn’t know, and didn’t care. He would have pulled at the fencing if he thought it would help, but he didn’t.
Mike couldn’t bear the thought of watching himself get eaten alive, so he closed his eyes, grabbed his cross and prayed. He prayed to God, Yahweh, Allah, Buddha, whoever might listen; he wore a cross, but for different reasons. As Mike squeezed his eyes and mumbled fragments, the infected woman began her final sprint. A few feet out, she left her feet and attacked like a leopard.
In midair, a bullet tore through her left eye. Her body went limp and skidded up to Mike, coming to a stop at his feet.
“Mike! Get up!” Steve yelled. “Now!”
Mike was so dazed that he didn’t even hear the shot from his brother’s gun. He was so petrified with fear that he couldn’t even comprehend or react to what just happened. He looked at Steve, then at the woman, then back at Steve.
Steve had saved his life.
; ###
“Damnit, Mike, get your ass up! We have to go now!”
Steve knew Mike was in shock, so rather than try again verbally, he ran over and pulled him up. As he did, two more infected ran around the same golf cart.
Steve didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Two bullets. Two precise shots. Two down.
Within seconds, Billy and Alex appeared, weapons armed and ready.
“We heard the shots. What the hell is going on?” Billy asked before firing two quick shots at an infected man.
“Mike’s in shock. He’s not reacting. Help me carry him,” replied Steve.
They rushed over and put Mike over each of their arms. Steve followed closely behind, laying down cover fire. It seemed that all the noise, blood, and commotion were drawing every infected in town to their position.
Time was not on their side.
They passed the gate fence and saw Collin jump out with nothing but boxers on, a pistol in hand. He could clearly tell something was wrong.
Mike had started to regain some focus by the time they threw him into the RV, but remained generally unresponsive. His face was pale, his eyes were in a five-mile stare, and his hands shook. They could only work out a few stuttered words.
“Everyone dead… bodies…”
“What the hell is going on?” Collin asked.
“Gotta ask Steve,” Billy said first.
“Yeah,” Alex continued. “Bill and I just showed up and saw them chillin’ there. Don’t know what happened.”
Collin turned in Steve’s direction. “What the fuck is going on?”
Before he called back, Steve threw his rifle over his shoulder and took out his favorite handgun, his .40 Sig Sauer, two-tone pistol. It glistened in the moonlight. He had modified it with multiple add-ons, including a fifteen-round magazine, trigger job, tactical rail, Crimson Trace laser grip, and depleted uranium night sights.
As Steve rounded the corner to the RV, he skidded to a halt and turned. He may not have been a born hunter, but he was raised like one. His senses were always heightened when a gun was in his hand, and he could tell something was near.
An infected woman came out from behind a pile of 4x4’s. Her left eye hung by the cord and bounced against her cheek as she limped toward him. Steve felt bad for one-one-thousandth of a second, then used her empty eye socket as a target. He lined up the laser and fired. He didn’t even bother to look back to see if he hit her. He knew. He knew that upon impact, the bullet had entered through her eye socket and mushroomed in her brain, knocking her back to the ground.
He never missed.
Steve was an unbelievable shot, day or night, rain or shine. All of his outdoor hunting and shooting trophies were proof, although now they were nothing to him but useless mementos from a past life. Shooting at night could be extremely difficult, but with his incredible precision and custom add-ons, he might as well have been shooting during the day. Those who knew Steve believed his accuracy was only rivaled by those in the Special Forces; Steve usually argued back that they were only better than he was because they shot 5,000 rounds a day.
Steve made sure his immediate surroundings were clear, then holstered his Sig and climbed the fence to get a clearer look at the danger. It was worse than he thought. The moon, now at its highest point, lit up the construction site like a giant light bulb. From Steve’s vantage point, the site looked like a lab-rat experiment. Hundreds of infected navigated around lumber, tractors, and makeshift foundations, all clawing for the cheese at the end.
“Shit,” Steve whispered under his breath. Raising his voice, he called back to Collin as he jumped down. “We gotta get out of here, and I mean now! There’s hundreds of ‘em, and headed our way fast!”
“Shit! All right, get your ass inside and let’s go!”
Collin pushed the other two inside and slammed the door shut. Mike clambered into the side bunk, still shaking but increasingly focused. Steve, seconds behind them, opened up the passenger door and hopped in.
“Everyone here?” Collin shouted back.
“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here!” Billy exclaimed, looking through the windshield.
Collin slammed his 6-shooter Colt on the dash and turned the ignition. The flood lights on the roof came on illuminating the depot as the engine roared to life. He shifted into drive and hit the gas.
Out of the corner of his eye, Steve noticed it, sitting snugly in the back of the F-150. Without saying a word, he unlocked his door and jumped out.
Collin slammed on the brakes. “What the hell are you doing, Steve?”
“The generator! We can’t leave without it. Cover me!”
“Fuck! Guys, let’s go,” Collin shouted, lifting the lever up to park.
Ahead, the headlights exposed three locals, mouths open, turning the corner and running toward Steve. Billy and Alex were already ahead of Collin, despite their condition from the earlier partying.
Alex leapt out first, rifle cocked and aimed. His first bullet was rushed and hit the neck of the first attacker, merely agitating it. He took a breath, lined up the cross hairs, and fired again. This one tore through the man’s nose and blew out the back side. Billy, steps behind Alex, jumped out and fired while still in midair. His boots hit the ground as the impact of his 12-gauge, pump-action shotgun peppered the second attacker in the torso, knocking it to the ground. He pumped the Mossberg and sprinted toward Steve. Before the infected man could lift its head from the ground, Alex pulled the trigger for a third time and blasted it right under the chin and into the brainstem.
The third infected, who appeared to be a teenage girl, was slower than the other two. She limped on one leg; the other appeared to be broken just above the ankle. Collin snagged his Colt off the dash and used the window frame to steady his shot. He closed his left eye, lined the teenage girl’s head up in the Colt’s metal sights, and squeezed. His shot went lower than he wanted and struck her in the solar plexus, knocking her off balance.
“You all right over there, Cully? Want me to finish her off for you?” Alex yelled over to him teasingly.
“Fuck you, I got it,” Collin hollered back as his second shot blew her brains into the air. “What’s their status? How much longer?”
Billy arrived as Steve slid the generator over the trunk. Both grabbed a handle and started dragging. It weighed about forty pounds, but its wheels were deflated; hauling was much easier with two people.
Alex knelt and wrapped his shoulder strap around his arm to steady his aim, waiting for more. He kept his focus straight ahead as he shouted over to Collin. “They got it and are headed back!”
Halfway back, Steve turned to make sure their backs were clear; when he did, he saw the rest of the gasoline sitting under the truck’s bed. The others had either been too drunk or too lazy to fill up their own tank. He didn’t care either way. He just knew that they could use the extra gas; in this world, a little went a long way. He let go of his grip on the generator. “Go, Bill. I’ll be right behind you!”
Billy didn’t question him, instead just throwing the shotgun over his back and pulling with both hands. With his muscle, the job went quickly. He reached the side of the RV, and Collin helped him lift it in.
“Steve—” Collin began to call.
“Give me a minute, damnit. I’m coming!” he yelled back.
“Thirty-seconds, then we are Oscar-Mike! You hear me? Thirty-seconds!”
“Uh, guys, you might want to get ready. We got company!” Alex yelled.
About two dozen infected barged into the loading dock.
Steve heard gunfire break out again. He didn’t bother to look. He knew that his cousins would fight until they ran out of bullets, and then use whatever they had to. They were family, and would never leave one of their own behind. A stranger, maybe, but blood, never. They were all they had.
Steps from the F-150, Steve saw Dan’s Wal-Mart shopping cart resting against the brick wall. He threw the remaining gasoline into the cart, got behind it, and p
ushed off. The cart was heavy from the food they had neglected to unpack, but it began to pick up speed. When he knew the force would be enough to carry him to the RV, he hopped on the back bars and unholstered his Sig.
There were way more infected than Steve had expected. Some dragged their bodies, while others crawled or sprinted. The cousins always tried to take out the sprinters first, since they were the most prominent threats.
Collin returned to his post behind the driver’s side door. Alex remained on one knee and fired to a metronomic beat. Billy stood to Alex’s side, pumping and firing, trying to knock down as many sprinters as possible. Steve joined the fight and picked his targets. Moving targets were no problem for Steve, but firing at moving targets while he himself was moving made things a little more difficult. By the time the cart slammed into the side of the RV, Steve had fired thirteen times, scoring eight headshots, three necks, and one stray, only because the impact into the RV had knocked his aim.
Billy moved to help Steve load the gas, then posted up at the door. Collin fired his last round, got in, slammed the door, and honked the horn. Steve’s thirty-seconds were up, and he knew it. As soon as the gas was in, Billy tapped Alex on the back to get up.
Alex noticed a box of Skittles and Snickers in the cart and swooped them up. “We can’t forget the essentials,” he said.
Billy shoved Alex in and slammed the side door shut. Steve turned to the cab and ran. He fired at a nearby sprinter and yanked the door open. He knew he had one shot left; he always counted his shots.
His last shot tore through the frontal lobe of a middle-aged woman. She reminded him of Mrs. Davis, the Cruella de Vil look-alike Trigonometry teacher who had flunked him back in high school. He got even.
All cousins were in and accounted for, so Collin shifted to drive and slammed on the gas. Ahead, twenty motionless bodies filled the lot. They had stopped the first wave, but now more approached. One man met the RV’s grill head on. A second tried lunging from the side, but its body smashed under the giant off-road wheels. The RV skidded around the corner, through the parking lot, and onto Coyote Boulevard.
The Longest Road (Book 1) Page 9