Murphy's Law (Roads Less Traveled Book 2)

by Dulaney, C.

  “Wait, wasn’t there more than that chasing us?” Mia asked once the gunfire had stopped.

  We were both panting, more from fear than exertion, and studying each other questioningly. I ejected the empty clip, stuck it in my back pocket, and reloaded my last full clip. The guard I’d seen on the radio moments before slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked over to us.

  “What did you say?” he asked Mia.

  The three of us were about twenty feet from the inner fence when the second wave attacked. A couple of the guards had been careless enough to be standing too close to the woven wire when the rest of the runners burst through the treeline and hit the fence. These two guards were grabbed, yanked forward, and quickly ripped to pieces. In the chaos following what appeared to have been a distraction created by the runners, the rest of the pack scaled the outer fence, so ferociously that every shot we fired missed.

  “Fuck me!” the guard we’d been talking to screamed, then turned tail and ran for the prison.

  The remaining guards followed him after securing the inner gate, tossing down their rifles and flat-out running for their lives. I watched deadhead after deadhead scale and climb the inner fence, fall across their fellow zombies who had gotten tangled in the razor wire at the top, then drop to the ground on our side. I holstered my pistol, grabbed and tugged the dumbfounded Mia by the arm, and ran.

  Again.

  The runners were snapping at our heels by the time we got up to full speed. I blamed it on the fact that Mia and I were notoriously slow runners.

  “Don’t look back!” I screamed at my cursing and swearing friend next to me.

  My lungs were on fire and my sides were burning. I better start training for this sort of shit before I end up dropping dead of a heart attack. The runners were so close I could feel their putrid, hot breath on my neck. We couldn’t stop, couldn’t turn around and attempt to kill them. There were too many and it would take too much time just getting stopped. Yes, a few seconds was all it would take, but a few seconds was all that stood between living and getting our heads ripped off.

  Halfway to the prison gate I experienced what I think was my first moment of absolute terror. Or absolute insanity. It’s a fine line. It happened when I realized the gate wasn’t re-opening for us. It had opened for the guards, enough for them to squeeze through, but had closed again and wasn’t re-opening! That split second was almost enough of a distraction to trip me up and make me the next course for the runners. But then I looked up and saw the snipers. Jake was with them, outfitted with another rifle, and they were all taking steady aim at the deadheads behind us.

  Screaming the word “Shit!” was the only warning I had time to give before the snipers opened fire. Apparently it had been enough.

  Mia ducked when I did, out of reflex rather than necessity, and covered her head with her arms as she ran. The runners were closer than I’d first thought; I could literally hear the sound each bullet made on impact. It was a wet, muffled, woomff sound, over and over, so many times I couldn’t even begin to count. Right as I was about to shove off on Mia’s arm to redirect her away from the closed gate, it began to slide open, just enough for us to fall through one at a time and roll head-over-heels across the paved entrance. On the other side was a row of people, men and women, all armed and ready.

  A zombie firing-squad.

  “Stay down!” I yelled to Mia.

  We covered our heads and plastered ourselves to the pavement, that fight-or-flight instinct nearly driving us to jump to our feet and run like scalded rats. The firing squad opened up, killing the few runners that had struggled inside the small opening, and holding off the rest until the gate squeezed shut. I laid there, panting and wheezing, listening to the steady gunshots from above, along the top of the wall. Once they slowed and finally stopped, I struggled to my feet. Still panting harshly, bent over with my hands on my knees, I turned my head to the side and caught Mia’s eye. She wasn’t looking too hot herself. She started to smile, then straightened suddenly, took two steps away, and puked in the grass. One of the women shooters walked over and held Mia’s hair back while I tried not to laugh. It wasn’t funny, nothing about this was funny, but nearly dying has a strange effect on you.

  Once Mia was done, a few of the folks who had saved our asses walked over and offered their arms, leading us away. The rest went about the job of clean-up. Michael met us halfway through the courtyard, with Nancy hot on his heels.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  Nancy grabbed Mia and hugged her, then ran off to smother Jake when he came down from the wall. I blew out a deep breath, then wiped my forehead and looked back over my shoulder.

  “You know, there was a moment back there in town when I thought you were hanging us out to dry.”

  He looked surprised I would say such a thing, and was at a loss for words. I waved it off, then stuck my hands on my hips and tilted my face to the sky, blowing out another sigh of relief.

  “The horses are safe,” Cal said, walking up behind us. “We’ll round them up after we dispose of the bodies.”

  Michael nodded once to me and went off with him to help with the cleanup and general settling-down of the situation. Nancy and Jake came over to where Mia and I stood, faces pale, still wheezing but no longer gasping, and updated us on Zack’s condition.

  “He’s in the infirmary now, they’re prepping him for surgery,” Nancy said.

  “Shit.” I closed my eyes. Now I was glad I’d killed Shannon. “How bad is he, Nancy, honestly?”

  She frowned. “Pretty bad. Both lungs are punctured, and one kidney is lacerated. There’s a lot of internal bleeding, not to mention all the blood he lost from the other wounds across his back. Most of them were basically harmless, but deep enough he’ll need physical therapy for those back muscles, if he lives through the surgery. I’m sorry, Kase.” She dropped her head and started across the courtyard, I assumed to the infirmary, wiping her eyes.

  “He’ll make it,” Jake whispered next to me. “We can’t lose another.”

  I ran a hand across my face and through my hair, looked at Mia and Jake for a moment, then walked off towards the townsfolk who were busy hauling away bodies.

  “Where you goin’?” Jake called out. I stopped and turned back. It was dusk now, so it was difficult to make out the shared look of dread on their faces.

  “I need to tell Michael about the swarm. Remember how well they can track?” I tapped my nose and continued on my way.

  Jake and Mia both swore under their breath. They knew how well the dead could track using sense of smell alone.

  Chapter Six

  March 23rd: Blueville Correctional Facility

  “Hey,” said Jake, entering the room in which I’d spent a sleepless night with Zack, Gus at my side as always, waiting for him to wake up from surgery. After six hours, he was still out.

  “Hey.”

  I sat with my chair close to the side of the bed, my elbows propped next to Zack’s arm, with my face in my hands. Beeps and purrs of the medical equipment sounded occasionally, interrupted only by the soft snores of Gus.

  Jake walked over to my side with his hands in his pockets. “You should get some rest. Maybe somethin’ to eat.”

  “Not hungry.”

  He reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “I’ll sit with him for a while. Go on, get some sleep.”

  I leaned back in the chair and considered Zack a moment before standing to leave. The doctor had said he wouldn’t make it, that he had lost too much blood. It was simply too much trauma for one man to sustain. But he was still breathing, and that had to be better than nothing.

  “Jake, what happened before, at that… place. It’s never going to happen again, understand?”

  He looked stricken before averting his eyes.

  “And if you ever stick a gun in my face again, you’d better be prepared to pull the trigger.”

  He hung his head low from shame and guilt, so I patted his shoulder and left th
e room. The sound of Gus’ toenails tapped along behind me as I headed for the Control Room.

  Crossing the courtyard on my way there I noticed several more snipers along the north wall. It was a warm morning, with a slight breeze as usual. On that breeze were the distant sounds of a thousand deadheads converging on our location, no doubt following the blood scent we’d left behind the day before. I set my jaw and pulled the Control Room door open. Shirley sat behind the desk, which was separated from the foyer by a large window (shatterproof I assumed), going through a list of names. Moving her pencil down the page, her wedding rings caught the light. I wondered what had happened to her husband.

  “Morning, Shirley,” I said through the round hole in the window.

  She looked at me over the rim of her glasses and smiled, pencil paused in mid-scan.

  “Morning. What do you need, hun?”

  I glanced around the area, realizing the Control Room had once been the offices of the Warden and various other prison officials. Shirley was sitting behind what must have been the dispatcher’s desk. There was a large radio that took up one whole side, controls for what looked like an intercom system, and other controls I assumed were for things such as the large lights around the prison grounds.

  “Need to talk to the boss. Is he around?”

  “He’s back in his office, come on in,” she said, motioning towards a door off to my right. I heard a buzz when I walked over and grabbed the doorknob, a click when it unlocked, then another buzz and click after it shut behind me. Apparently the security system was still up and running.

  “Thanks.”

  This side of her area was partitioned off from the hallway with a partial wall which had a swinging half-door at the end. She nodded and went back to her paper and pencil. Before me was a long hallway with a few doors on either side. All the doors were open except the one on the end, the one from which several male voices emanated. I glanced inside the open doorways as I passed; nothing but empty offices, and not recently empty. My guess was the only office that was used on a regular basis was the one on the end, the one I could now see had belonged to the Warden. His name and title was on the door.

  I stopped outside and listened a moment before knocking. Whatever was being discussed must have been the subject of great debate. The men inside sounded like they were arguing, but trying to be quiet about it. I knocked twice once there was a lull in the conversation.

  “Come in,” a booming voice said from the other side. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  “Gentlemen,” I said.

  My hand lingered on the doorknob, my eyes searched for Michael. I thought I would find him behind the Warden’s desk, seeing as how he seemed to be running this place. Much to my surprise, the man sitting in that chair wasn’t Mike, but a barrel-chested, middle-aged man with a shaved head.

  Don’t assume anything, maybe that dude just needed to sit down.

  The man leaning against the wall by the window I immediately recognized as Cal, or Calvin. Next to him were Martin and Smith, who I’d met briefly before leaving for Ohio. The man directly in front of me I didn’t know from Adam, but as he stepped to the side, giving me more room to come in, he revealed Michael, who’d been leaning across the desk. The look on his face said he wasn’t happy, so it wasn’t hard for me to imagine he’d had his finger in the big man’s face just seconds before I came in.

  Michael straightened himself, smoothed his shirt, then shoved the unknown man aside on his way to the door. The guy grumbled about that, but one look from the dude behind the desk quieted him down quickly.

  Yeah, must be the boss.

  “Outside,” Michael mouthed and waited for me to leave, then followed me out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him. “I’m sorry about that. Some people have different opinions concerning how this situation should be handled.” He looked embarrassed. He pressed his hand to my lower back and practically pushed me down the hall.

  “No, that’s okay. This is what happens when you get a group of people together, right?” I offered, a little perplexed over the manhandling. Was he worried about me being around those other men? That didn’t make much sense, unless said men had a problem with me and my people being here. Then it made a lot of sense.

  “Hey.” I turned around and planted my hand on his chest, forcing him to stop and look at me. “What the hell is going on here?”

  By this time we had walked all the way down to Shirley’s area, where she was now listening in on the conversation. Michael looked over at her and made a face.

  “Stop your rubbernecking, Shirley.”

  These two got along well, that much was plain. And I knew Cal, Martin, and Smith were Mike’s friends. Question was: Who were the other two men? Enemies, apparently.

  “Well?” I prodded. Michael took a deep breath, looked at Shirley once more, then gestured for me to go outside.

  “Let’s get something to eat. I’ll explain then.” He waited for the buzz-click before opening the door and walking out. I followed, waved to Shirley, and caught up with him just as he stepped out into the courtyard.

  “How’s Zack?” he asked.

  I filled him in on everything the doctor had said while we walked across the grass and towards the building opposite the Administration building, which I now knew housed the “Control Room.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  We went inside and made our way to the cafeteria. It was quiet in there, with the breakfast shift having ended a few hours earlier and most people off doing whatever new jobs they’d been assigned for the day. Most likely watch duty, considering the situation.

  “Thanks.” I followed him back to the kitchen. “So what was the deal back there?”

  He walked over and opened one of many tall, stainless steel refrigerators and pulled out two Pepsis. After handing me one he went over to a stand-up cooler and opened the glass door.

  “Pie or cake?” he asked.

  “Pie.”

  “Chocolate or butterscotch.”

  “Either, doesn’t matter. So what’s going on around here?” I was losing patience with his stalling.

  He frowned and pulled out two small plates of butterscotch pie, shut the door, and walked past me into the main dining hall, snagging a couple of forks on his way out. I resigned myself to the fact he wasn’t going to talk until he was good and ready. He found a table over next to one of the windows and sat down, sliding my plate across the table. I sat in the seat opposite him and took the fork he was holding out to me. I opened my Pepsi, took a drink, and started eating. I hadn’t realized until then how hungry I was or how long it had been since I last ate.

  “Things are getting a little… tense around here,” he said between mouthfuls. I nodded and kept eating, content on letting him speak and waiting until he was finished before asking any questions.

  “That man who was sitting behind the desk? He’s Warden Harvel. Bad son of a bitch, so don’t cross him. You already met Cal, Smith, and Martin. The other guy, that’s Harvel’s right-hand man. He was a guard here at the prison, before all this happened. And as far as the two of them are concerned, they’re still in charge.” He stopped to take another bite of pie, then continued.

  “They’re pissed because we let you folks stay here. They’re also pissed because you led that swarm right to us. Their words, not mine. No one here likes them, and for the most part, no one here listens to a damn thing they say. The only reason the two of them let me and the others run things for the most part is because they know they couldn’t do it without us. They’d be up a creek, basically. But anytime shit starts to get hairy, they come down on us hard. Especially Harvel. Mostly as a reminder of who saved our asses back in the beginning, but also to remind us that we’re all expendable.

  “He could have his flunky throw our asses out of here in the middle of the night while we slept, and everyone else would be too afraid of them to stop it. So it’s a game that’s played every time an importa
nt decision has to be made around here. He pounds his chest, throws a few threats around, orders me and my guys to do this and that, then eventually lets us do what we wanted to begin with.” He gulped down the rest of his Pepsi and waited for a reaction to everything he’d just said.

  I chewed my last bite of pie, took a couple swigs of pop to wash it down, then stared absently out the window. Prison politics, something I definitely didn’t want to get mixed up in. In my opinion, they should have ousted the Warden and his bitch a long time ago, but for whatever reason they had let them stay, and apparently had been paying for it ever since. On the other hand, I understood the blame Warden Harvel was placing on me. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t already thought at Zack’s bedside. I couldn’t start feeling sorry for myself, or rolling around in guilt that may or may not have been warranted. Things happened and now we had to deal with the consequences.

  “Mike, what happened to all the prisoners?” I asked, watching his face closely. He had to have known that question was coming. This was a prison after all, so where the hell were all the prisoners?

  He propped his elbow on the table and covered his mouth with one hand, looking past me vacantly. Great, flashback time. After a moment he spoke, this time in a low tone just above a whisper.

  “That was another one of Harvel’s grand ideas. Long story short, Kasey, he had the useful ones released into the general population, which consisted of the Blueville folk and a few of us Army guys home on leave, and the rest were killed in their cells. Shot, execution style. Cal, Martin, Smith, myself, and a few others had just arrived, didn’t know what was going on or anything about the dynamics around here. Hell, we were just trying to stay alive at that time and get in contact with our superiors. Next thing we know, it sounds like a war in the cell blocks. Then his men—there were more then—hauled the bodies outside the fence and left them for the zombies. Except he eventually figured out that those things don’t eat dead people, only live ones. So he had them burned.”