Murphy's Law (Roads Less Traveled Book 2)

by Dulaney, C.

  “So what’s the plan, Boss?”

  “We ride straight through town and across the bridge. If that bastard was telling the truth, there were only a handful of cons who escaped—their leader, the women, and a few of his closest men. Apparently they weren’t even involved in the raid. Chickenshits were waiting in the woods, still in sight of town, and the other cons were supposed to meet up with them at a predetermined spot, same MO as every other place they’ve hit on their trip across the state. Michael said the meeting place wasn’t far, maybe ten miles after crossing the river? That is, if they even went there, and if they’re still there.”

  “Chances are they’re not. If they saw what happened to the other cons, wouldn’t it make sense for them to have hauled ass as far away as they could get?” Zack pointed out.

  Jake grunted, agreeing with his friend. Only Mia had been quiet, and when I looked back at her, she was staring off at nothing, her right hand resting close to the butt of her rifle.

  “What’s your opinion?” I asked in her direction. I was beginning to think she hadn’t heard me and was about to ask again when she finally answered.

  “Well, they’re convicted criminals, most of which I’m sure have a strong sense of self-preservation.” She took a long breath, puffing her cheeks when she blew it out. “Personally I don’t think they got very far. It was winter, their numbers were shot to shit, and they were stuck with all those women to keep watch over. I say we’ll find them pretty close to where they were supposed to meet the others.”

  I considered what she’d said. Made sense to me. Besides, I had already decided if the cons weren’t where they were supposed to be, we were calling it quits and going back to the prison. I just hadn’t told the others that yet.

  “So, a couple miles to Blueville, across the bridge, then roughly ten miles on route 17 through the Ohio countryside. Michael said to keep watch for an old gas station that’s been closed for years, then cut straight north past that, through a field, and they should be camped on the other side of a hill at the far end of that field,” I explained.

  “Piece of cake,” Jake said. I cringed, Zack hit him in the arm, and Mia dug for something in her saddlebag to throw at him.

  “When will you learn, Jake?” I asked, only half-teasing.

  “Yeah, if we get ambushed by a gang of bloodthirsty midgets, I’m thumping your ass, buddy,” Mia said.

  Little did they know, before the week was up they’d both be eating their words.

  Chapter Five

  March 22nd: Somewhere in Ohio

  A man’s screams filled the calm, spring air. The birds that had just arrived from their vacation south took flight from nearby trees, spooked by the agonizing shrieks echoing through the valley. The sun was low in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows around the campsite. It was quiet now, almost peaceful, but for the torturous sounds coming from the remnants of the collapsed farmhouse nearby. Both tents had been ripped and torn apart, blood splashed all over the ground, and the material used to create the makeshift camp wrapped haphazardly around the mangled bodies of the women. The fire had long since gone out, reduced to nothing more than days-old charcoal.

  A thick blood trail connected what was left of the larger tent to the remains of the house. From time to time a scavenger, such as a raccoon or a coyote, would venture close to the site, drawn by the smell of blood, only to be scared away by screams and shouts coming from inside the house. Really, all that was left standing was the front room; the rest had sort of folded in on itself and fallen backwards, causing the whole structure to lean back. It was from this room the screams originated. Unrelenting, unyielding.

  Shakes was the first to die. She hadn’t been able to kill her brother, but she wouldn’t fail again, not with this one. What goes around comes around, some would say. Shakes’ death was quick and unsatisfying, but she took her time with the next bad man. She practiced on him, perfecting her skills, finally killing him by accident. Mistakes she learned from, have no doubt. The second and third cons, these men she kept alive for days, while Kyra and Devon were forced to watch. She had taken care of them early on, before tying up Shakes, knowing they would be the ones who could screw this up for her. Those two were tied off at the ceiling rafters by their ankles, upside down of course, stripped down except for their underwear. Shannon was crazy, but she wasn’t a pervert.

  After having all the fun she could have with bad men numbers two and three, she moved on to the last. She didn’t know his name, didn’t know any of their names besides the freak, the bossman, and the bitch. Names mattered little in her world.

  * * *

  “Man, I’m glad the fast ones seem to be the minority,” Zack said, working the lever of his rifle.

  We’d crossed over into Ohio a few hours previous, but this was the first major problem we’d had so far. They were packed tight across the main road, from ditch to ditch, and we were only halfway through the bunch when we realized we were already running out of ammo.

  “Yeah, cause that’s what we should be worried about right now?” I retorted.

  Mia and Jake kept pounding the lead to them. I was starting to think we’d never drop the dead bastards when pavement finally started to show through the gaps between them. Damn good thing too; I was down to my last ten rounds of .243 shells. At least we all had our sidearms and several full clips apiece.

  “We’re gonna have to ride around. Look at that shit,” Jake said.

  We’d made a pretty nice pile of deadheads on the road ahead of us, a stinking mass of shredded clothing and rotten, putrid flesh. You’d think being frozen for the winter would have done something for their smell. Sadly, it had not.

  “Yeah, we’re just about halfway guys. I don’t want to be stuck out here overnight, so let’s get moving. We ride hard until the gas station.” I slid my rifle into its leather case attached to my saddle, grabbed up the reins, and kicked Daisy into a hard run. The others quickly turned tail and followed, off the road, around the hill of death, and back onto the pavement, straight on ‘til Gasco.

  * * *

  “Remember what I said…pull yourself up to relieve the blood flow when she’s gone,” Devon said under his breath to Kyra, demonstrating by bending at the waist and using his strong abdominal muscles to pull himself up, his face nearly touching his knees.

  Their hands were bound behind them, their ankles fixed firmly to the rafters above. That weasel, Shakes, had helped that crazy girl haul them in there and tie them up. It had been a struggle, and wouldn’t have worked if that burned-out sonofabitch hadn’t remembered seeing several sets of chain-hoists in part of the wreckage out back. All it took then was a swift kick to Devon’s face to knock him out, and upsy-daisy. Kyra was left conscious as she was hoisted into the air. But Shakes got his; after helping her take care of them, and foolishly showing her how to use the hoists, the crazy girl had gone to work on him.

  Payback’s a bitch, Shakes.

  “I’m trying,” Kyra whispered back.

  She’d never thought much about muscles before, never had reason to. Now she was wishing she’d spent a little more time working out and a little less time dieting and trying to stay skinny. After grunting and only making it partly to her knees, Devon hissed beside her; his cue that Shannon was returning. They quickly let themselves fall back into prone, hanging positions, pretending to be unconscious. Shannon walked back into the dilapidated room, ducking to miss a broken two-by-four, and stopped in front of the carcasses to admire her handiwork.

  She had watched Shakes very closely when he’d used the heavy metal chain things to put the bitch and the bossman up in the air, then she had used them to hang the rest of the bad men, so she could peel them upside down. Guts were oh-so-fun to watch when they spilled out that way.

  * * *

  Jake scrunched his nose. “Goddamn, do you smell that?”

  We were approaching a gently sloping hillside at the far end of the field behind the Gasco Stop-N-Shop off route 17. I stuck my f
inger in Jake’s face and made a shushing sound.

  “Do you always have to state the obvious? Be quiet.”

  We’d tied the horses up at the gas station. A risky move, yes, but we were going to need as much stealth as possible to pull this off. As far as I knew, they could have recruited more criminals to their cause, and on the other side of this hill could be a battalion of piss-and-vinegar thugs. Our jacket pockets were loaded with all the ammunition we had left after several encounters of the dead kind on the way there, which amounted to pretty much two reloads each, not counting our sidearms. We’d be fine as far as those were concerned.

  We crouched down and started up the bank, bent low at the waist and our heads so low the high grass tickled our noses. So far things had been very quiet, which surprised me and left a bad feeling deep in my gut.

  They’re not here.

  We neared the very top of the ridge, and I use that term loosely. We may have been in eastern Ohio, but the hills and valleys were nothing like what we were used to. This hill had a very gradual slope, a wide top, then I assumed another gradual, long slope down the other side. Rolling hills, some would call them. Anyway, we neared the top of the ridge and were trying to decide how best to crawl or walk across the wide area when a sudden shout cut through the air.

  “No!” a male voice yelled.

  It sounded like it had come from below us. We hit the ground and held our collective breath, on our bellies with our rifles in position to start firing on whatever might break the crest of the knob. I looked down the line at the others, catching their eyes, judging their state of panic or lack thereof. Mostly they were in the same shape as me; slightly curious, a bit frightened, and increasingly pumped-up. The man’s voice hadn’t sounded demanding as much as afraid. Yes, his voice had been laced with fear or terror, the difference in degree at this point didn’t matter much.

  “What’s going on down there?” Zack mouthed. I shook my head and started belly-crawling through the grass.

  The others followed, trying to be quiet but the swish-swish of the weeds sounded incredibly loud. We moved like this all the way across the wide open flat, the same male voice shouting or screaming at regular intervals as the minutes ticked by. When we finally reached the other side, just above the descending slope, the others slid up next to me and we wiggled down into the grass as far as we could. It may have covered us, may have not.

  Turns out it didn’t really matter; the camp, or what was once a camp, had been destroyed and now stood empty.

  * * *

  Kyra tried not to watch. She even tried not to listen, but as tightly as she’d squeezed her eyes shut, she simply couldn’t shut out the sounds. His shouts were on the verge of becoming screams, and she knew Shannon had already begun peeling his flesh away like the skin of a banana. Of course it wasn’t as easy as that, hence the revolting sounds it made. She had to give Devon credit; he was restraining himself incredibly well. By this time, the others had already screamed themselves into unconsciousness.

  For one terrible moment Kyra caught herself wondering what the hell had happened to make this girl snap. Whatever it was, it must have happened before Day One, and the dead people appearing out of nowhere had pushed the kid right over the edge. She remembered Kasey saying one time that the girl never used to be like this. Well, not like this; at the house she was only withdrawn and listless, barely recognizing when others spoke to her. But this? Whatever—or whoever—it was that had gotten to her so severely sure did a bang-up job driving her batshit crazy in world record time.

  Devon was breathing heavily and Kyra heard Shannon walk away from them; probably to peruse over her tabletop of assorted torture instruments, mostly consisting of pliers, knives, a fork, a razor, and a straw. You don’t want to know what she used that for. Kyra opened one eye and glanced quickly at him. He actually didn’t look too bad. Shannon had started out slow this time.

  “Are you okay?” she mouthed to him once her eye had caught his.

  He nodded once and set his face in resolve, hoping to boost her confidence a bit. Kyra thought she heard footsteps off to her left so she quickly shut her eye and tried not to whimper.

  “What the fuck is this!” someone yelled. The same someone who had come up behind Kyra’s left. She opened her eyes and looked around frantically.

  “Oh my God,” Kyra uttered.

  Zack was standing at her side with his pistol aimed at Shannon. She tried to look around for the others, but her position made that difficult.

  “Jesus, Shannon. Shannon! Put it down. Put it down now and back up,” a female voice said, this one coming from the other side of Devon. Kyra closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  About time the fucking cavalry got here.

  * * *

  Since Day One, I’d seen a lot of crazy shit, I admit. No sense denying it. But this definitely took the cake. After walking around what was left of the campsite, we quickly came to an agreement that this was the same place we had been looking for; the bodies of the women went a long way in confirming that. The yells we heard had been coming from the ramshackle farmhouse, most of which had collapsed due to time and the elements. It wasn’t very difficult to ascertain what had happened judging from the blood and general violence of the scene. Or so we had thought. Remember what I’ve said about assuming?

  We followed a blood trail to this wreck of a house, around the back, to the only part still standing. After watching for a few seconds through gaps and holes in the wall, and after shaking off the initial alarm we all experienced, we quickly decided the freakshow slaughterhouse needed to be closed down. So now there I was, standing beside some big beast of a man whose chest looked like an Etch-a-Sketch, Zack over next to Kyra so we could both keep our pistols leveled on Shannon, and the other two behind the upside-down Bobbsey Twins, covering our exit.

  “Shannon, I said put that shit down now, or I will shoot your crazy ass!” I repeated my request.

  I chanced a glance at the guy hanging next to me; he looked awake and lucid. Blood ran down his chest in tiny little streams from small incisions where the skin had been cut and pulled away from the muscle, maybe half a dozen overall. It was collecting in the hollow of his throat and running down both sides of his neck. It hadn’t made it to his face or eyes yet. Hopefully we’d be done with this and have them down before that happened.

  I glanced over to Zack next, who was bull’s-eyed in on Shannon, then back at Jake and Mia. Mia looked the way I felt; furious, repulsed, and ready to puke at any second. Jake, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off Kyra, and those eyes were filled with murder. No, not just filled. Overflowing. He looked more alive than he had since Ben died.

  That’s when it suddenly hit me.

  That’s when I finally understood what had been happening to Jake, what had been preoccupying his mind. Well, I didn’t have time to deal with that just yet, what with crazy girl here and the possibility of deadheads showing up at any second. Over in the corner was a pile of yuck, an aromatic combination of arms, legs, bowels, assorted other organs, and lots of blood. I just couldn’t believe Shannon had done all this.

  “You want to play with me?” the girl said.

  “Oh no, she didn’t,” Mia muttered approximately two seconds before the crazed girl charged Zack.

  Before he could react, Shannon crossed the floor, leapt at him, wrapped her arms and legs around him, and began furiously stabbing something into his back, over and over, with her right arm. I wasn’t sure what sort of weapon she had, only that it was sharp and blackened with blood. What happened next was all a blur.

  Zack’s pistol hit the floor.

  Mia stepped up and grabbed frantically at Shannon’s swinging hand with her own.

  Zack stumbled and threw himself around, trying to dislodge the maniac.

  Jake jerked his pistol left and right, trying to get a shot at Shannon.

  “Kasey!” Kyra screamed.

  It was enough to snap me out of it. I walked straight over t
o where Zack had slipped in gore and pinned himself against a couple of fallen beams, knocked Mia out of the way, and brought the grip of my handgun down hard at the base of Shannon’s skull. One crack and she was out like a light. Zack let her fall, not even attempting to hold onto her, and fell to his own knees. The back of his shirt was soaked with blood from several dozen knife-cuts that had damned near ripped the shirt from his back. Jake hurried over and helped Mia steady Zack, holding him upright on his knees while Mia determined how badly he’d been injured. I stared at the bloody, filthy girl on the floor, noticing the weapon in her hand was a three-inch paring knife.

  This is how she looked when we first found her.

  While I stood there in shock and oddly detached from the coppery-blood smell that hung thick in the air, Jake leaned Zack back against one of the broken beams and strode over to the still-hanging Kyra and her buddy. His pistol was still drawn, and I knew something was about to happen, but for some reason I couldn’t move. I didn’t feel anything at all.

  “Is this one of them?” he asked Kyra.

  She stared up at him and said nothing. The bloodied man was also looking up at Jake, but not with fear. He actually looked quite comfortable. Jake shifted his piercing gaze to the upside-down man and repeated his question.

  “Are you one of them?”

  “Well, son, depends on what you mean by ‘them’,” the man answered. Jake was growing angrier by the second, his eyes filled with hate and sweat pouring off him.