Blood Runners: Box Set

by George S. Mahaffey Jr.

  “Slow … you’ve got to slow her down!” Terry shrieked.

  Jessup was unable to as he continued to swing the machine’s arms left and right, swiping away the creatures at the instant that the Feller hit a depression and tipped over on its side, the tracks still spinning as the three men were catapulted from the controller’s booth and sent sailing through the air.

  73

  Jessup and Terry recovered quickly from the spill. They pulled themselves up to see waves of Thresher crossing the field. They grabbed their weapons and a few magazines of ammo and looked back to see Jon whose leg was pinned by one of the Feller’s metallic arms.

  They shot down a few errant Thresher and dropped to the ground beside Jon who was fighting to extricate his leg.

  “Can you feel it?” Jessup asked.

  Jon nodded and Jessup knew that was a good sign. It meant that Jon’s leg was still functioning if they could just pry it free.

  “Whatever you do, don’t leave me alive” Jon whispered and Jessup dropped his gun and peered closely back at him.

  “Remember that time we scavenged up past Mequon?”

  Jon nodded and whispered, “We hit a hive up there didn’t we?”

  “Had to have been what? Two, three-hundred Serks.”

  “And us with a coupla shotties.”

  “Twelve gaugers,” Jessup smiled.

  “Those odds were worse weren’t they?”

  Jon nodded.

  “What’d we say then, Jonny?”

  “Five nines uptime. Everyone off the boat returns back.”

  “Goddamn right,” Jessup intoned.

  They clasped hands and then Terry planted his shoulder against the side of the Feller, Jessup following, as he looked down at Jon.

  “On the count of three!” One! Two! Three!”

  Terry and Jessup pushed up with everything they had, moving the Feller just a few millimeters, but it was enough for Jon to pull his leg free of the vehicle. He groaned. He’d lost some skin and it would hurt like hell for a few weeks, but it would still bear his weight. Jessup handed him a gun and he hobbled off with the others as the Thresher mad-dashed across the field.

  74

  Moses rammed a ballistic knife into the truck’s steering column and distended and bent a set of wires. In his younger days he’d punked out with an older brother and his brother’s friend, spending many a night out on the mean streets. He’d learned things he wasn’t very proud of. How to open a window with a knife blade, how to cash a forged check, how to boost a ride.

  Fast.

  Calm.

  Methodical.

  Marisol and Elias could see Moses had done this before as he stripped and restriped various wires, matching colors and sizes, then touching two black ones together as the machine’s starter coughed, sputtered, and trembled to life.

  Marisol clapped her hands as Elias jumped into the shotgun seat, slapping a magazine into a sawed off machine-gun as Marisol strapped herself in the back.

  “Hold on” Moses said as he dropped from the truck and grabbed a ruggedized controller that was blinking green. He slapped a button on it as machines, mounted above and in the walls, engaged. The trio could hear it now even over the sound of the whirring machines. The soul-shattering screams of the Thresher as they fought to get inside.

  Moses reached a hand out and Elias and Marisol placed their hands on his as he nodded and smiled grimly and whispered “Everything on the other side of that door is going down.”

  Moses geared the truck as the roll-up door ascended. He toed the gas and juiced the engine, five-hundred tiny horses galloping under the hood as the door pulled away to reveal a phalanx of Thresher who rumbled forward.

  The lead Thresher, what had once been a Latino man, now half-naked and black-splotched and missing an ear howled in anger when BOOM! the truck plowed over him and jackhammered through the first ring of Thresher, launching bodies left and right.

  Fear-gripping the wheel, Moses stood on the gas as the engine roared and the tires shrieked and the white devils outside fell under the wheels in twos and threes. More and more of them flung themselves against the frame and the windows and the windshield.

  The truck tore right through them, concussing the bone-white bodies. Elias looked outside and saw two Thresher hanging on the truck’s rear exterior, clawing their way toward him. He swung out and shot the first Thresher as the second rolled around the back of the truck, holding on by one hooked hand. He could hear the thing banging around, just out of sight.

  Moses gaped in the mirrors, but couldn’t see anything as Marisol pointed to the roof. The sound of something crawling across the metal was audible.

  “There’s something up there!” she screamed.

  Elias swung his body out an open window, the wind and countryside rushing by as he looked up and—

  WHAM!

  He ducked, barely missing a Thresher who glanced off the truck’s hood, gnarled arms still quivering as he flew past Elias.

  Elias swallowed hard, brought his gun around, the percussive beat of his heart filling his ears. He gripped the molding near the door to steady himself and inched out. He fought to gain sight of the roof as the battle raged all around him.

  Farther now, pulling himself and his gun up, eyes rotating toward the roof where the sound of the crawling Thresher echoed. He pulled his gun up as a face leered down at him. The ruined face of a teenage boy. Skin the color of wet newspaper, folds of ripped flesh sagging over his eyes and mouth which was filled with teeth that resembled masonry nails.

  Marisol screamed for Elias to look out, distracting him as he looked back at the same instant that the Thresher vaulted at him.

  The thing fell through the air, Elias reacting, slamming the barrel of his gun into its neck. The metal pushed through the soft meat of the Thresher’s neck, the monster flailing, shrieking, its weight and momentum pushing Elias back and down toward the ground.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a stump coming up fast as the truck rumbled across a field. The Thresher’s jaw snapped loudly as it clawed at him, teeth getting closer to his hands, the creature’s power belied by its 140 pounds.

  With one last grunt, Elias used the barrel of his gun to torque the Thresher’s head sideways and down while lurching back as WHACK! the stump decapitated the beast. The Thresher’s headless body fell to the ground as Marisol pulled Elias back into the truck.

  Moses looked over and then downshifted over a decline as Elias and Marisol riddled the trailing Thresher with volleys of hot lead. The truck blasted past the monsters and down through the grasslands, flesh and severed appendages from the compacted Thresher hanging from the truck’s undercarriage.

  Elias rose from his seat and surveyed the land that was nearly dark, night having arrived. No sign of Jessup and the others, until they noticed another herd of Thresher, massing around what looked like a mighty machine tipped on its side. Flashes of red and orange illuminated the gathering dark, indicating where Jessup, Terry, and Jon were knee deep in a last stand. Moses saw them too and began flipping the truck’s headlights.

  75

  Jessup was down to his last few rounds of ammo when he spotted the headlights on the truck. Terry and Jon saw them too, Terry making a sign of the cross, praying they’d be able to hold out for a few seconds longer. He aimed and fired, Thresher cranials popping with a dull SMACK! until his gun rolled over empty.

  “I’m out!” Terry shouted.

  Jon was too, the pair hoisting knives, Jessup blasting his remaining bullets into the marauders as fire rang out from the truck.

  Elias and Marisol laid down suppressive fire that shredded the last few clutches of Thresher as the truck rolled around, idling, as Jessup and Terry helped Jon aboard.

  Moses did a quick count, flinging a look at Jon.

  “Where’s your boy?”

  Jon didn’t respond, didn’t really have to. It was all in his eyes and Moses dipped his head in remembrance of Bennie as Jessup clocked the
munitions they’d fingered from the vault.

  “You did good,” Jessup said to Moses and the kids.

  “All of us did,” Elias replied as Moses flipped on the high-beams and stomped on the gas as the truck peeled out, accelerating through the grass.

  Elias and the others looked back and saw the Thresher running after them. Moses cursed, forced to let up on the gas as the swing bridge became visible up ahead. If they were lucky they’d have enough light left to navigate across it.

  The Thresher continued to barrel through the grass like wild dogs. Their ranks swelled as others appeared out of the ground or from hiding spots in the scrub-woods.

  The truck coasted to a stop at the swing bridge, Moses remaining behind the wheel as the others dismounted to inspect the girders and pray they were stout enough to support the truck’s bulk.

  “I’m going, man,” Moses said, gunning the truck’s engine. “I’m going across.”

  He geared the truck, tapped the gas, and piloted the truck’s tires up onto the girders. The bridge complained loudly as the truck rolled across, Marisol, Elias, and the others following behind.

  Jessup and Terry reloaded their rifles as the Thresher surged toward them, their grunts and hisses rising and falling like some primordial chant. The group’s guns opened up, their line of fire sweeping across the Thresher ranks, bullets punching the monsters down.

  Marisol was halfway across the bridge when she felt something, a hum, a tremor pulse up through her leg, forcing her to look down.

  “Oh, God!” she screamed. “DOWN! LOOK DOWN!”

  The others did and saw that the channel below was alive with movement. Hundreds of Thresher, attracted by scent and sound, were busy tunneling their way up through the maze of bodies. Using the corpses in the channel as a springboard, the Thresher were fighting to reach the bridge. Marisol and Elias fired down at them as Jessup and the others signaled for everyone to climb aboard the truck. Moses picked up speed, wiping sweat from his brow as he drove the truck forward.

  The Thresher piled up on the bridge, their weight causing it to sag, everyone in the truck feeling it, as the pursuers surged at them from every direction.

  “C’mon!” Moses screamed white knuckling the steering wheel, the mainland coming up fast.

  The tires on the truck continued to spin across the steel, the end of the girders coming up when WHUMP! the tires hit the first section of mainland and stalled out.

  Moses bellowed, cranking the engine as Jessup and Terry traded a fevered look.

  “NOW!” Jessup screamed, “DO IT NOW!”

  Terry dropped from the truck and ran back toward the edge of the bridge. He looked up at the approaching Thresher horde, now only a few hundred feet away.

  Terry spied the plunger hooked to the explosives that Bennie and Jon had planted. He grabbed at it, fingers glancing off of the device that angled away from him as he clutched the girder to stop his momentum. He could almost feel the heat from the Thresher as he steeled himself and grabbed the plunger and pulled back on it. The wire leader housed inside paid out as he backtracked onto the mainland, the Thresher closing. He could hear the truck’s engine cranking, finally catching, the wheels moving again and then Terry dove and rolled to the back of the truck and depressed the plunger. A pregnant pause and then, CRACKBOOM!, as the explosives ripped the swing bridge in two.

  Down went the bridge and the Thresher with it. A great ball of the beasts falling through the air in a concussive, fiery haze that engulfed the channel. Terry and the others threw their hands up and cheered. Marisol and Elias felt the warmth of the explosion and then gripped the edges of the truck as it took off down a side street.

  Down in the channel the Thresher flapped and convulsed, many of them scorched beyond recognition by the fire. But the flames soon dimmed and then died out and more Thresher appeared beside and below their Kentucky-fried brethren. Crawling through their tunnels that honeycombed the ground between Goose Island and the wall like gopher chutes.

  Several of them slithered up onto what was left of the swing bridge’s girders and then pulled themselves up onto the solid ground on the other side. They stared and watched the faint lights of the truck melt into the night. More of the beasts emerged from down in the channel, hundreds, maybe thousands of them. They all stood dumbly and then a tall Thresher with goldfish eyes and a face like raw sirloin shambled forward and the others followed him and the truck as it drove toward New Chicago.

  76

  Farrow could see the shadows moving slowly down the walls. Night was here and inside the prison the inmates were growing restless.

  There was no illumination in the space save a few errant LEDs screwed into the ceiling that provided the equivalent of a child’s night-light. As such, most of the space was awash in darkness, providing perfect cover for those who wanted to engage in violence and debauchery.

  Jessup stood next to Locks, a jab of nausea welling up inside him as he listened to moans and what sounded like flesh being pummeled and slapped. He had no desire to know what was going on out beyond his line of sight. The plan was simple. He and Locks would keep to themselves, keep quiet for just long enough so that they could escape.

  Locks signaled to Farrow with a bob of the head as the two made ready to exit the hellhole. They moved past prattling inmates, hearing murmurs build out in the darkness, the stench of piss and sweat overwhelming.

  Somebody shouted “Hey! Hey!” and Locks picked up the pace, Farrow sensing that others knew what he and Locks were up to. A few more feet and the feeling of dread became palpable. Farrow watched an old man with half a lower jaw missing scrape a bone against the floor, another woman next to him pounding out a rhythm with her palms, what sounded like a schizoid backbeat as Locks shoved aside a younger man and picked up the pace.

  They were a few yards from the hidden section of grating when two Mudders with wrecked faces (part of the pack that Farrow and Locks had stood up to before), strode in front of them and blocked the way forward. They held crudely fashioned weapons made from bones.

  “I’m a g-go-going,” an older, slabby Mudder in what looked like a butcher’s apron stuttered to Farrow, “T-to t-ta-take your life this night, big boy. Just go-gonna slice you up and sup your piss.” The old thumper moved forward, his face dipping and trembling with anger.

  In a flash he made his move, swinging his shank at Farrow’s hand, but those fingers had already been taken by Longman. The other Mudder lashed out simultaneously, stabbing Locks in the shoulder. The blade deflected off a mass of muscle, Locks crying out, head-butting his attacker, sending him back on his ass.

  Farrow’s assailant was soft but truculent and he came spitting and slashing and used his bulk to tackle Farrow whose legs snapped out like scissors. The big Mudder’s head was snared between Farrow’s quads as Farrow squeezed his legs together hard and felt something pop as the Mudder’s body and head went limp. Rolling to his feet he watched Locks swing wildly at the other Mudder who ducked under the blows as Farrow kicked the man’s hamstrings and down he went as Locks finished him off with an elbow to the throat.

  Pandemonium took hold as the second man hit the floor. The other prisoners watching the fight, someone screaming for reinforcements, an alarm sounding, the echo of the door to the room being opened by the guards. Farrow snatched up one of the attacker’s shanks and grabbed Locks. Then the two dashed to the rear of the room and over the sick until they were on their knees.

  Farrow’s eyes were afire, the stench of ammonia searing his nostrils as he and Locks yanked back the grating. Locks went in first, Farrow following as he turned and secured the grating back in place, hoping that no one would follow. Gunshots rang out back on the floor, lights stabbing the gloom, as the two moved past on their hands and knees as the secret inner tunnel dilated into a larger chamber that once housed the building’s HVAC ductwork and plumbing.

  Farther along the tunnel walls compressed, all sides banded by aluminum. The two paused for an instant, Farrow spitting,
taking shallow breaths.

  “Whatever happens,” Locks whispered, “if you gotta take off if it gets bad, you do it. I don’t really know you and you don’t me, so I won’t begrudge you if you gotta do what you gotta do. Understand?”

  Farrow nodded and whispered, “Why?””

  “Why what?” Locks asked.

  “If you knew the way out, why now?”

  Locks hesitated for a few seconds, then replied, “This place, New Chicago, whatever the hell they wanna call it now. It eats your soul. I could tell you weren’t like the others soon as you walked in. You weren’t broken. You didn’t have the darkness in your eyes. That’s rare. That’s someone that maybe you can count on to stand up and help make things right.”

  “You must not have been a math major back in the day, Locks.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because there’s just two of us, that’s why. Two people against everything on the outside of these walls.”

  “Only one person needs to light a fuse, brother.”

  Farrow’s brows arched. “The hell does that mean?”

  Locks smiled. “That you should never underestimate the ability of a small group of committed souls to bring about radical change. Y’know why?”

  Farrow shook his head.

  “Cause it’s one of the few things that ever has.”

  Farrow heard the sound of pursuers nearing the grating grow louder. Locks took the shank from Farrow and searched the walls of the tunnel, his fingers tracing a bulge behind a section of drywall. “You know what’s behind this?”