“What’s the plan, AJ?” Kurt asked as he stood smoking a thick cigar.
“You stole Clarke’s cigars?” Ronnie said looking at AJ in a disgusted way.
“No, Clarke gave it to me for supplying him with fresh meat. It was my reward, though he promised me one of the women-that he didn’t deliver,” AJ said through puffs.
“As for the plan, you guys head west and we’ll head east, with our next meeting place Times Square,” Ronnie said as he got back into the Humvee with Tux, Juno, and Baxter. AJ and Kurt took off on their bikes. Before Ronnie drove off, he picked up the sat phone.
“Birds have landed.”
“Good, call back when you have the women.”
“One problem, sir.”
“What now?”
“Team One are all dead.”
“Fuck ’em, just get me those women and hurry up. Remember, do not show your faces without them, or consider yourself dead.”
Ronnie hung up, replacing the sat phone in its cradle. He hadn’t gotten far when a blockage of crashed cars, abandoned cars, and other large debris prevented him from driving any further.
“Get out, we’re walking,” he ordered.
Ronnie brought binoculars up to his eyes, and stared down the street as he inspected the buildings and little shops. Some of the buildings had been boarded up, and some blackened, burned-out shells of cars were scattered in various sections. Rubble and other debris littered the streets like a landfill had detonated.
He lowered the binoculars, brushed back his dark black hair, and put on a cap. He put the binoculars into his backpack and started hiking, with his Beretta gripped tightly and two grenades swinging from a halyard on the front of his cargo pants. His narrow lips cracked in the heat, but there was no time to stop for a drink, he told himself, directing his eyes at his teammates.
Every fifty feet, Ronnie stopped briefly to gaze through his binoculars. A few dark shadows came into view. He shifted his stance, looked closer, and saw the outlines of three people running into a jewelry shop. He raised his hand to signal the men to fan out. They followed his lead without words, reaching the jewelry shop. Just outside, Ronnie gave commands using his fingers. On the count of three, they rammed open the door, surprising the three in there.
“Who the hell are you?” a grubby dirt-covered man in his 40s asked while pushing the two younger ones behind him.
“Your worst nightmare,” Ronnie said as Juno lifted his 9mm and shot the man between the eyes. When he fell, he took the two behind him down.
The girl, no older than 16, let out a yelp of terror at the sight of her father being blown away. She moved slightly, gripping tightly onto her dead father’s hand and weeping.
Tux raised his Beretta to shoot the girl’s brother, taking his ear off in the process. Annabelle screamed as her eyes wildly searched for life from her dead brother.
“No!” she screamed, over and over. “No! Why? God, why?”
“He stopped listening, Missy. Now tell me where the others are.” Ronnie held the girl by her long, dark blond hair, her neck pulled back so far she feared it would break.
“Please, let me go, I’ll tell you whatever you want.” Ronnie loosened his grip. Her head snapped forward, her eyes still wild. She looked desperately at her dead brother and father, searching them for any signs of life.
“Where are they?” Ronnie screamed right into her ear. Her body shook, shuddered, and then stilled. But her legs continued shaking violently.
“Don’t make me ask again, bitch!”
“Four died, three went south, and two moved west. I don’t know where they are now, honestly I don’t.” She sobbed harder.
“Don’t lie, bitch, we heard you were all heading to Liberty Island.”
“Must be another group, we never planned to head there.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Huh?”
“Where did your group start from, dummy!”
“Right here in New York, we never left.” She cried hard as she tried to pry his hands from her hair.
“Tux, tie her up,” he ordered as he let go of her hair. She fell to her knees, only to be dragged upright as her hands were forced behind her back and zip-tied. Annabelle raised her eyes to meet those of Ronnie’s beady little eyes, mere slits in his head. He was always squinting as if the light was blinding him.
She turned her head and looked at the glass jewelry counter. So much dust had accumulated, and underneath it fine gems sat collecting more dust. No longer sparkling on display, they sat lifeless, dead like her father and brother. She peered over her shoulder, looking at her dad. Her eyes changed from big fearful blobs to large rabbit eyes filled with dread. Tears rolled from the corner of her eyes, spilling over and running down to her chest.
“Goodbye, Dad, goodbye Lou. You were the best younger brother ever,” she whispered as more tears erupted. “Please let me go. You’ve killed all I had left in this world, you don’t need me, just let me go,” she said as she struggled against the zip-tie. Her voice was low but vehement.
Tux used the butt of his Beretta to push her out the door. Her legs were shaking so badly that she almost fell, repeatedly having to correct her balance.
“Get your shit together, little girl, or I’ll feed you to the fucking dogs!” Tux said harshly.
Annabelle sniffed hard, forced her legs to move forward, and scanned the street in the hope of an escape. She would run and not stop running. First chance she got, she’d go, she told herself repeatedly. Escape became her only focus.
The deserted street seemed overly eerie with a clamor of confused noise, shuffling, snarling, and gurgles that meant somewhere close by were the zombies. Ronnie felt it, a feeling of being watched. He amped up his senses. Slowing his heartbeat enabled him to feel and sense more around him.
“Shut her up or gag her.” he snapped firmly.
“You heard the man. Shut up or I’ll shut you up,” Tux said as he shoved the butt of his Beretta into the middle of her back.
“All I want to know is where you’re taking me,” she said in a low whisper.
“To the fucking moon, bitch!”
Annabelle said no more. She walked as instructed, her eyes roaming in every direction, desperate for a way out.
Suddenly Ronnie stopped, the others following his voiceless commands. Two fingers sprang up from his hand. He then pointed to a building that had dark gunshot holes spreading in a zigzag pattern across the front of the building. Ronnie positioned himself at the door. On his count, he poised to launch his weight against it.
Suddenly, one of the boarded-up windows broke outward, followed by an ear-shattering hail of gunfire. One of the bullets got Juno in the shoulder. The other caught Baxter in the leg, while another grazed Annabelle’s side, near her kidney. She went spiraling down in a splash of scarlet red that spilled out of her.
“Man down, man down!” screamed Tux as he darted to the side and began firing into the now open window. All he could see was the thick steel of an AK 47 poking out the window, the rest of the shooter concealed behind the door. Another shooter shot at Ronnie as he scuttered backward, fleeing for cover.
“Do not come any closer. You are surrounded, so go!” came a voice from inside the building.
Ronnie looked at Tux for a brief moment, then pulled out a souped-up grenade. It had been filled with half a pound of C4 plastic explosive. Before removing the pin, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. He then threw it toward the busted door, ducked, and held his hands over his ears. Tux rolled himself down and hid behind an abandoned car. KABOOM! The sounds of metal, concrete, and plaster, and then screams, followed the enormous boom. It ricocheted around the street with a deafeningly loud sound.
As soon as most of the dust had settled, Ronnie made his move. He rushed the door headlong like a linebacker, his Beretta aimed at the ready. Tux aimed at the window. The AK 47 was no longer visible. Tux took his chance and dove into the window like a western cowboy in some reenactment mo
vie.
The two men inside were dead. Their bodies were scattered in various areas. Vast amounts of gore had splattered the walls, dotting them like a prism of laser lights. Ronnie pointed to the stairs. Both of them went up carefully. Tux went right, and Ronnie left. Outside, Annabelle started screaming, but neither Tux nor Ronnie went to see. They had to make sure no one else was inside.
Every room down Tux’s way was checked and given the all-clear. Ronnie had entered his second room. It was a copy room for magazine prints. Hunkered down behind an industrial photocopying machine were two small boys. Ronnie didn’t hesitate. Using his Beretta, he shot them both in the head. He continued checking the remaining rooms, gave the all-clear, and they headed back out.
“What’s that lunatic girl screaming about?” Tux asked as he ran down the stairs.
“Probably the pain. She was hit, right?”
“Yeah, her and Juno, Baxter too.”
“Oh, for fucks sake!” snorted Ronnie.
Agonizing moans filled the air, along with Baxter’s screams. Juno staggered up into a stand. Ducking behind the burned-out shell of car, he aimed his weapon at the zombie dogs turning Baxter’s legs into mincemeat.
“Come on, you son of a bitch,” he cursed as he pulled the trigger.
“Get it off me, man, get it off!” Baxter howled, his voice carrying in the air like a hundred birds in flight.
Baxter’s face reflected complete terror and pain worthy of Hell itself. Annabelle looked down, unable to remember when her hands had become free of the zip-tie. Automatically, she put her hands to her wound. As she held her side, copious amounts of her own blood seeped through her fingers. She looked for a way out, scrambled to her feet, and ducked into a doorframe of an office building. Her heart throbbed. The smell of decaying matter stung her nose and burned her eyes as she inched along the side of the building.
With one arm behind her, she tried the door. It was locked, she inched to another and tried it. It opened, so she slipped in, closing it quietly behind her. Sliding down the doorframe, she sat holding onto her side. Her eyes grew heavy, but she didn’t allow herself to sleep. Kicking off her sneakers, she untied the laces of both and then tied them into one long string. Removing her tee shirt, and then her undershirt, she put her tee shirt back on and placed the undershirt on her hip. Using the laces, she tied it around her waist tightly. Her jaw locked tight and her eyes watered as she pulled the lace tighter around her waist.
For now, it seemed to help reduce the blood flow. As she sat grimacing in pain, she could hear the commotion outside. Her fearful eyes searched the building she’d entered. She pulled herself up, locked the door, and scurried like a rat on all fours to the reception desk, climbing under it and sitting with her back against the plaster wall. She prayed they wouldn’t come in, and prayed harder that they wouldn’t hear her whimpers. With her hands automatically holding her hip, she let her eyes close. Passing out, her head drooped to the side like an old-fashioned doll head with a broken rubber band.
Ronnie exited the building, blasting his Beretta at the zombies. “Fuck you!” he yelled. His thick arms pulsed with each trigger burst. Several zombie dogs were all over Baxter. His dark hair turned darker with the spillage of his own blood. His leg was hanging by mere threads of veins. Ronnie watched in disgust as a zombie dog gnashed at it until it completely gave way, dragging Baxter’s leg off and demolishing it like a starved lion.
“What the fuck, man?” Juno screamed at Ronnie.
“He’s not going to survive that,” Ronnie yelled as he put a bullet in Baxter’s head.
“Use the fucking grenade!” Juno demanded.
Ronnie pulled the pin, threw it at the crowd of zombie dogs, dove into a pile of rubble, and braced himself. Juno clambered into a nearby car and ducked down.
Bits of zombie dogs went flying into the air, rushing back down in a hail of decomposing rot. Inky plasma spilled, splashed, and sprayed the surrounding area. Four were blasted into smithereens, while two were tossed back and damaged enough that they wouldn’t be walking or crawling.
Once the dust settled, Ronnie emerged with his Beretta at the ready. Juno hoisted his body out of the car. Together, they looked for Annabelle. The door she’d entered was now covered with rubble, and zombie dog bits prevented them from inspecting that area. Assuming she ran off, they carried on to their next meeting place, along the way killing more zombie dogs and a handful of zombie humans.
When they reached Times Square, they were greeted with nods from AJ and Kurt. Ronnie took the sat phone and reported in.
“Just find a way to the island and bring back the women, you incompetent worms!”
Juno hung up the sat phone and grabbed at his .44 Special, stepped to the side, and pissed on a plant while he grumbled about Clarke’s orders.
“What happened to your shoulder?” Kurt asked Juno, noticing the dried blood around the wound. It had a bandana tied to it.
“Got shot by some dickwad. I’ll live. It’s just a flesh wound,” he said as he inspected underneath the bandana before retying it.
“Where are the others?” AJ asked, looking behind Juno and half-expecting to see the other men not far behind.
“Don’t bother looking, they’re dead.”
“We located a boat. It’s ready for you, sir,” AJ said as he led the way. They reached the East River and there was a New York Police Boat bobbing up and down in the water. Ronnie glanced at AJ with smirk of approval.
When they reached the island, they split into two groups. After an hour of thorough searching, they’d found nothing, not a single person and no clues to their whereabouts – though there were plenty of clues to say someone had been staying there. But they didn’t know if it was the group they were looking for.
They had no choice but to inform Clarke.
“Useless imbeciles!” snarled Clarke.
“We don’t even know if they were here to start with, Clarke. Those bitches could be bullshitting you. This whole thing could be a diversion while they head to Canada or elsewhere,” Ronnie said, giving him and the others a chance at returning without having to worry about their own heads being mounted on the end of Clarke’s poles.
“Head back, and I’ll deal with the women. I think you’re right, Ronnie, damn it!” His voice, cold with menacing anger, was hissing on the other end of the sat phone.
The men headed back. They would double on the motorbikes until they reached their Humvee.
CHAPTER 45
SANCTUARY
“Okay, everyone, grab your kit and get on board the ferry,” Bellamy said with a grin as he watched his people spread out and gather their items.
It didn’t take more than half an hour until everyone was onboard.
“Destination, Block Island,” Bellamy used the ferry’s radio to announce. He took a long sip from a can of Coke before adding, “We’re making one stop first. No one is to get off the ferry. We’re just refueling and taking an additional supply of fuel.”
Bellamy then left the captain’s cabin area and took a seat on the deck outside. With Lily on his lap, they felt the gentle swerve under them and heard the water as it swooshed alongside the ferry.
Tylor effortlessly and precisely docked at another harbor and the refueling process began. Several men helped while others stood guard, prepared for anything, determination in all of them.
After refueling and storing more fuel, they were off. It didn’t take long to get to Block Island. A few ghostly boats sat in the water at the harbor, neatly lined up and untouched. The same procedure took place as with Liberty Island. Bellamy, Nakos, Harry, Noah, Ryker, and Oliver exited the ferry very cautiously, treading along the pier with guns ready and eyes constantly scanning for threats. A mild wind sent a chill through them as they traversed along the boardwalk.
The old oceanfront town sported a huge hotel that faced the water. There is where they’d start clearing out. The closer they got, the more they could see. A tall man wearing a blue blazer, light
blue slacks, and a bright orange tie stood in the doorway of the Ballard’s Hotel.
“We don’t want any trouble!” he shouted out.
“We’re not here for trouble, mister. We’re just looking for somewhere safe to relocate.”
“Then put your guns down. There aren’t any zombies here, and no one’s sick either,” the man said as he stepped down the stairs with an extended arm. Bellamy reached him first and shook his hand vigorously.
“It’s so nice to see another that isn’t dead or infected,” the man said.
“How many of you are here?” Bellamy asked while looking around.
“There are fifty-five of us, and we’ve eliminated the worst of the damn infestation. Some zombie dogs are on the west side. We were unable to get to them.”
“Why?” Bellamy asked as he sat on the bottom step of the Ballard’s Hotel.
“My name is Robert James. The reason we couldn’t get to the other zombies is because they are across a body of water,” he said as he sat next to Bellamy, looking at the other men.
“Well, we’re here now. We’ll get rid of them for you, and in return, we get to stay here. Okay?”
“You and your people are welcome to stay here,” Robert said with a smile.
“So, this side is all clear?” Harry asked as he turned side to side, checking with his own eyes.
“I assure you with a hundred percent certainty that it’s all been cleared out, but feel free to go over it as you wish. I’m sure you’re all hungry. How many are with you?”
Bellamy held reservations about the welcoming enthusiasm of this stranger. He wanted to believe it was all good, but he couldn’t, not yet. He needed to double and triple-check to make sure. He sat for a moment before answering.
“We’re a small group,” was all Bellamy offered for now.
“I sense your apprehension. I promise you that we’re not bad people. We saw your ferry arriving, so I had everyone gather inside. Let me get the others.” Robert stood up, his curly dark hair fluffing with his movements. His thick eyebrows and big brown eyes showed empathic emotion and painted a friendly face, easing some of Bellamy’s concerns. Bellamy was no fool, though, and he needed complete reassurance before anything else happened. He stood up and followed Robert to the door of the hotel. The others stood guard with hands resting ready on their guns.
Hounded | Book 3 | Hounded 3 Page 30