by Bushman, LJ
Oh damn. Shit and damn. Another door. I rolled back out of the bathroom, with my spine against the doorjamb. “There’s a door here,” I said in warning. “One that leads out of this room.”
Joseph looked, a little fear showing on his face. Good. Wouldn’t do for him to get too cocky. I kept a watch on both doorways, wondering what plan the zombies had cooked up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joseph bend over the bed. “Wait,” I muttered and took out a knife from the ankle strap I had it in. Not a big one, but it should do the job at this stage.
I motioned for him to cover the doors and set my gun on the mattress within easy reach. I shoved the small knife into the base of the zombie’s skull, then laid the head back down and left it. Without looking at the zombie, I snagged my weapon off the bed and went back to my previous position. Joseph peered closer at the guy on the bed, who was no longer amongst the ranks of the undead—if I’d done my job right. In the dim light in the room, I saw Joseph’s unhappy shock. Shit.
He recognized the guy. That meant the dead zombie was likely on the FBI’s wanted list, or an agent. Please, not an agent. No wonder the trap proved so cunning.
I made a quick motion with my hand to get his attention and signaled both doors. He straightened. Anger hardened his features. However he felt about the video he saw of the zombies, it was still on tape. This was up close, personal, seeing it firsthand with all the smell, visuals, and fear. If the dead man was someone he knew well, then the pain he felt was all too familiar. I’d been there before and found myself grateful I didn’t know the Infected in the safe house.
We didn’t have time to mourn. Joseph was a cop, so I knew he’d work through it. Ah, there it was. His cop face slipped back into place. Staring at the face of someone you knew with half their face rotted off was not the same as chasing bad guys. Having seen this person alive and well moments before would be an even bigger pill to swallow, but Joseph managed to come out of it quicker than I had in his position.
He did his own hand signals and we moved to the door leading to the hallway where we’d come in. I covered it while he stood to the side. We kept an eye on each door and had no way to know if the other door in the hall was a small closet, or a bathroom, or worse, a bathroom with connections to another door. There were at least two more zombies. I hope he believes me. With a short motion with my right hand, I unsheathed the larger knife I’d saved in case of hand-to-hand combat.
My mind scrambled to come up with scenarios an agent might cook up on short notice. Since these zombies created a more elaborate plan than I’d ever encountered, I began to add sophisticated weapons into the possible scenarios. Most of my previous encounters involved simple weapons—if any, baseball bats, sticks, that sort of thing. The worst weapon I’d faced, beyond their teeth, was a knife.
I thought of how Agent Connelly handled himself. What if someone of his caliber caught the virus? The possibility we were about to find out scared me shitless. Waiting to find out if I was right made me crazy.
Where did they go?
As if they heard my question, all hell broke loose. A noise, something soft squishing against a wall, came from above me. I looked and took a shot. Joseph did the same a half second later. Despite our quick response he—it, I had to think of the zombie as it—descended on us unhindered.
While I wrestled with super soldier gone bad, Joseph encountered his own problem. Another zombie, this one in black slacks, dirty white shirt, and a large chunk missing from around the left side of its mouth, came through the bedroom door when Joseph took a shot at the one I fought. He’d turned away from the door after the first attack, which put him at a disadvantage.
I maneuvered around for position against my zombie and slashed it across the belly. It dropped back, holding its stomach. The stink of rotted flesh joined with the smell of a sewer in a sauna. I gagged involuntarily before getting myself under control. Now, with my gun hand free and despite the nausea, I shot the zombie in the brain. It dropped like rotten, unpicked fruit to the ground with a splat. With one hand, I grabbed its now partially flattened head and stuck my knife through the brainstem.
I kicked the broken mouthed zombie, catching it in the back of the knee, an unholy satisfaction crawling through me at the sound of the bone breaking. I concentrated so hard on how to hurt the zombie without hurting Joseph—and before the thing infected him—I almost missed the soft swish sound behind me. Before the accident, I would’ve missed it. Damn and double damn.
I slashed at the second zombie, catching its shoulder and pissing it off. It moved its body my way slightly, but never stopped fighting Joseph. I turned toward the now open door. From my angle, I saw a toilet seat. I couldn’t see the rest of the bathroom. My gun came up as soon my partner cleared my line of fire. Dropping back against the wall shared by the bedroom and bathroom, I waited.
I held my breath. I didn’t know how well the last zombie could hear, but it was sneaky and conniving. Not normal zombie traits. It came out of the bathroom slowly, gun first. Its hand was covered with blood, darker than normal blood, and scratches blackened around the edges led up the arm. I waited until part of the body stepped into my line of fire. As soon as its elbow cleared the door way, I shot. Its gun went flying and the zombie roared in anger. It jerked back into the bathroom and waited. I heard it in there, breathing.
I didn’t know what the government had done, but it sure screwed these people up. This guy was dead. He’d died. His heart had stopped and he’d lost the spark of humanity I considered the soul. But now he was alive again in the form of a zombie. Pumping its own blood, needing oxygen.
It was a good thing they retained some basic human functions. It meant I had a way of slowing them down. But it didn’t kill them. I had to destroy the brain. From the sounds behind me, Joseph had nearly conquered his zombie. Still, the other remained in the bathroom, out of sight.
Fuck. It was smart. Very smart. I didn’t know if it planned to stay there or go through the door on the other side of the bathroom. In the meantime, I was effectively trapped. If I helped Joseph, the zombie in the bathroom could retrieve its gun before I could stop him, or it could blindside me. If I made a grab for the gun, I’d be within arm’s reach of the zombie.
The munched-mouth zombie fought like a professional. Hand-to-hand moves. Blocks, coordinated attacks. Whoever these guys were, they were too dangerous dead. We couldn’t run and leave them to attack the unsuspecting public outside the safe house.
I couldn’t sit there like a mouse hoping the cat won’t find it. I took a slow, deep breath as quietly as possible and darted across, putting my back to the bed. I almost felt sorry for the zombie on the bed. Obviously, he’d been offered up as a sacrificial lamb by the others.
I peered into the bathroom. The door on the opposite side stood wide open. Shit. Did I creep in and lock the connecting door, hoping my eyesight was good enough to see the asshole in its hiding place? Or did I stay put and cover both doors?
Fuck. I longed for the good “old” days, killing zombies in bars. So much easier. I turned my head slightly to see how the other fight was going. Joseph held his own. He yelled and I finally caught what he said.
“Damn it, Frank! It’s me, Special Agent Joseph Connelly. We did that stakeout last month, remember?”
Inwardly, I cringed. The guy’s face hadn’t changed much; he didn’t obviously resemble a zombie. Even the sore on his mouth could be from a dog bite or a bad fight. It had been less than a month since he’d been in public and acted normal, meaning he most likely looked fine until anyone saw his eyes. There may be some truth in the saying, the eyes are the window to the soul. After entering the final stages of the virus, after the initial death, zombie’s eyes dulled and sometimes turned waxy, depending on the person.
In the mostly dark room, Joseph couldn’t see his friend’s eyes. He wasn’t fighting to kill the zombie. Rather, he fought defensively. It frustrated me, but I understood. Intently, I watched for an opening so I cou
ld be the one who killed the zombie, spare Joseph the guilt. I needed his head in the game tomorrow. My kids’ lives depended on it.
The thought of my kids in danger and the trouble this situation added burned in my gut, propelled me into killing mode. A place I only reached when deeply pissed. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, like time took a time-out. But I knew better. I processed everything so fast, it was as if I could see into the future.
I moved to the ongoing fight, and took a sweep kick across the zombie’s face. Its body flew back, turning mid-air to face me. I shot it dead center between the eyes. Not wasting time, I moved in close and stuck my knife through the back of its head. The zombie dropped. Super virus or not, this one wasn’t getting back up.
Joseph looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. In a way, he hadn’t. I hadn’t had to kill anyone or make the hard decisions in his hotel room.
“There’s one more. Stay here. Guard my back.”
“You think I’m going to stay here while you put your life in danger?” Now his anger showed. His voice like hot coals singed my conscience.
“I need you to guard my back. Make sure the last one, if it is the last one, doesn’t come back through that door and get me from behind.” I didn’t have time for this, and I didn’t mean what I was saying, exactly. He could cover my ass better staying with me, but he was useless to me if he hesitated.
He looked appeased for half a second. I should’ve known he was too smart to fall for it. “I can cover your ass more effectively by your side. It’s because I hesitated to kill Frank, isn’t it?”
Damn smart alpha male. “Yes. If you can handle it, stay with me. I’m not even sure the last one is still here.”
The sound of a motor starting along the side of the safe house filled the air.
We ran out of the room, weapons drawn. We were careful, but quick. It was too improbable that it wasn’t our zombie. The front door stood wide open. Fear dropped my stomach to the ground. I’d tossed my pack out there. I wanted to run out and look, but we had to clear the house first.
“Let’s double check the house,” Joseph said in a quiet voice of authority. The alpha male was in charge of himself and the situation again.
I simply nodded. No need to tell him I knew that already.
We quietly checked the rest of the house. When we were sure it was clear, I went out the front and cautiously moved to where I’d left my pack. I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I saw it. I’d managed to toss it so it was mostly hidden by the hedge bordering the front door.
I grabbed my pack and went to the car. No way I’d stay in the safe house. I turned around to see if Joseph followed. Not only was he not following, he dialed his phone.
“No!” I shouted so loud, I startled myself. “We have to get out of here.”
“I have to report this,” he said.
“Do it later, from somewhere else. We need to talk first.” I’d moved close and made a grab for his phone.
He was quicker, but the process of avoiding me made him hang up before the call connected.
“It’s my duty to report it.”
“I’m sure one of the neighbors already reported the gun shots. We have to get out of here. Now. What if the wrong people show up?” I wasn’t putting my kids in further danger because of formalities. If I’d had the car keys, I’d be tempted to leave him.
His head popped up and he looked at me a moment. Joseph shut the front door and walked to my car. As soon as I knew his intentions, I followed. This time, I wanted to drive. I stood near the driver’s door and held out my hand. He looked confused for a second, then handed over the keys.
I drove back to the freeway and hopped on until we hit center of town. I got off and pulled into a gas station. It hit me a moment too late, this Shell station was probably the one his partner had used before his car accident.
I parked anyway, turning out the headlights. He hadn’t said a word since we left and I didn’t know what to say. We sat there in silence for a few minutes. Finally he spoke.
“Frank was a good friend. He’s got a wife, three kids, and volunteers his time to help coach little league. I want to get whoever’s responsible.” He ran his hand through his hair in the age-old sign of frustration.
My breath caught.
He’d been cut.
I hoped it wasn’t a scratch.
Chapter 10
I was sure Joseph said something important, but I couldn’t hear it. My brain focused on the blood seeping out of his hand and arm. My hearing formed a cone of pressure around me and no outside sounds penetrated it.
My breathing became erratic and my heartbeat felt like it burst out of my ears in a staccato. I finally stepped out of the car and headed into the brightly lit convenience store. We needed ice. And bandages. And something to clean him up that wouldn’t dilute his blood. Fuck. I had to get a sample back to my lab, but there was no one to analyze it since the asshats who stole my kids either had Lori with them or killed her.
I leaned against the pop counter for support. Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on bringing my heart rate down. The virus didn’t always take effect right away, I reminded myself. As far as I knew, the earliest onset of radical symptoms was three days and even that was abnormal. Had it changed? I didn’t know much about the super virus.
Joseph couldn’t be an Infected. He just couldn’t. My kids’ lives depended on him. Tears blurred my vision. I pinched the bridge of my nose, rubbing away the tiredness and pain, holding back the tears.
The clerk swept around me. Hint, hint. I moved to the little section with the travel-sized Oh Shits—miniature toothbrushes, single-dose headache meds, and the like—and grabbed what I needed, including gauze. I snagged sandwich bags, mini cooler, and ice as well. I paid for it all with cash and strode back to the car.
I had a plan. At least a minor plan. We’d cross the border tonight and check in. I’d use one of my phony passports. I headed out to the car feeling minutely better than I had when I left it.
When I sat back in the driver’s seat, I pulled items out of the bag and handed them to Joseph. First, the gauze. I needed straight blood for testing, later. He looked at me quizzically, not speaking. I’d spooked him earlier with my abrupt departure from the vehicle.
He looked down at his hands like he’d never seen them before. In the heat of the fight, he probably hadn’t noticed the scratch. He started automatically cleaning off the blood. The tension in the car rose.
“Now what?” he asked hoarsely.
“Now, we cross the border. Do you have an alias? One that includes a passport?”
He gave me a look. Well, too bad, buddy. I was stubborn, no steely gaze worked on me.
“Maybe. Why?”
What a crock of shit. “There’s no maybe. We need to cross the border. Our names are probably flagged. We need to use different ones. Do. You. Have. A. Passport?” My voice was hard as nails. We didn’t have time for him to prevaricate around the issue.
He stopped swiping at the blood on his arm; his hand halting mid-movement and stared at me. I couldn’t fathom what he must think of my question.
“I do. I have an undercover alias I use from time to time. I always carry it hidden in my bag.” That was good news and bad news. Good news, we weren’t likely to trigger an alert going over the border. Bad news, he’d know where to look in my bag if he ever got the urge to check it out.
“Good. I need to rearrange a few things in my pack. Then we’re headed over the border and checking into the hotel early. I doubt they expected us at the safe house, so hopefully they won’t connect us to it, at least right away.” I hated pinning my survival on hopes. “I’m pretty sure the zombie who ran never got a good look at us.” I got out of the car and ducked into the backseat to rummage through my sack.
Grabbing the passport I wanted, I put the others in hiding. When I thought my bag would pass a search, I crawled back into the driver’s seat. While I was busy getting my things together, Joseph d
id some of his own rearranging. He used the bathroom at the gas station to change into something more appropriate for his passport persona.
While he took advantage of the bathroom’s privacy, I grabbed his bloody gauze and put it in a sandwich bag. I dug out the mini cooler I’d bought and dumped the ice over the double-bagged gauze. I really didn’t have to keep it cool—the virus showed up in blood over a week old left out on a surface—but it also hid the bag. I put water bottles over the top of the ice and shut the lid.
When we had everything taken care of, we left the gas station. I pulled the car onto the freeway, headed south to Juarez. I wished I could wear my sunglasses to hide behind, but my baseball cap would have to do.
The border crossing was anti-climactic after all the other trouble we’d had, but we were grateful. I wasn’t sure either one of us were equipped to handle another crisis before we obtained some rest.
The hotel where tomorrow’s meeting was scheduled finally loomed in front of the car. We’d been silent, both lost in our private thoughts. I didn’t want to ask Joseph about the hope-it’s-a-cut-but-sure-it’s-a-scratch. He needed to see the problem first without me telling him. Or maybe I needed him to understand what may happen to him.
Discovering you’d been exposed to a virus which eventually killed you and turned you into a freak cannibalistic killing machine wasn’t fun. Understatement of the century. For selfish reasons, I didn’t want him to associate the news with me.
Whoever developed this damn virus had a lot to answer for. I personally wanted to make them answer for it. My hands squeezed the steering wheel so hard, it bit into the heel of my hand and I had to relax my grip. Thoughts of revenge wouldn’t solve our immediate problem.
“We need to check in. Here’s my idea. I’ll check in under my alias tonight, and you check in under your real name tomorrow when were supposed to show up. Is that okay with you?” I may have been brave when it came to killing zombies, but personal crap turned me into a chicken. If he didn’t bring up the scratch, neither would I. Unless my lab work came back with really bad news.