by Zuko, Joseph
“I’m sure the sink in the kitchen still works.”
She walked to the middle of the yard where the end was trickling. “This is fine.” She lifted the green hose and took a long slurp.
Troy stopped working and watched her.
Sara asked, “What?” and kept drinking.
“I haven’t seen anyone over twelve-years-old do that before.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m a big kid. Are you thirsty?” She waved her eyebrows.
“I’ll drink from a glass, if that’s okay.” Troy stomped his foot onto the shovel’s shoulder and drove it into the dirt. Something cold hit him from behind. He pivoted, and water splashed his face.
Sara had her thumb pressed to the end of the hose. A fine mist shot him for a few seconds until she let off the hose and laughed maniacally. “I’m sorry, but you looked so thirsty.”
Troy ran his hand across his face and squeezed the excess water from his beard. “I was thirsty. Go ahead and hit me again, I need a little more.” He waved for her to blast him and opened his mouth.
She thumbed the hose and splashed his face with moisture. Within seconds it became too much. He turned away from the spray. “That’s good, but you still look thirsty.” He dropped his shovel and marched toward her.
Sara yelled, “No, I’ve got it.”
“I insist.” He snatched the hose, turned the tables, and sprayed her in the face. She squealed.
He turned the hose away from her. “This is crazy, what are we doing?”
She ran her sleeve across her face. “Letting off steam? If we don’t, we’ll go crazy.” She blinked away a drop of water and noticed something strange in the corner of the yard. The gate was open.
A whistle grabbed their attention.
Troy spun.
Ryder stood behind them. He had a large gash in his cheek and his nose was broken. Blood covered the lower half of his face. Dark red bandages were wrapped around his hands. A rip in his jeans exposed a deep laceration. Blood oozed from his leg. He was closer to zombie than a man. Except for his bloodshot eyes. He grunted. “Hey, Big Man I knew I’d find you here.”
Troy didn’t see the shovel racing toward him until it was too late. The metal scoop caught him square in the face. The force of the blow sent him backwards, into the shallow grave.
Sara reached for the Berettas strapped to her chest. Before she called for help Ryder kicked her in the ribs. Knocking the wind out of her. She doubled over, unable to breathe.
“I got ya now, ya little bitch.” Ryder threw a right cross and nailed her cheek. She saw stars. Her world spun. She crashed onto the pile of dirt next to the grave. Her arms were pulled back and she heard duct tape. Within seconds he bound her wrists and ankles. One last length of tape slapped across her lips.
He grabbed Sara, tossed her limp body onto his shoulder, and ran.
Leon stood in front of the bathroom door. He’d been there for a full five minutes. Terror kept him from reaching for the knob.
What if I misread the signal?
It wouldn’t be the first time.
What if I open the door and she freaks out, calls me a pervert which I am, and never wants a thing to do with me?
Finally, it came to him. The logical thing to do was knock, say who it was and wait for her response. He wrapped his knuckles against the wood.
From the other side of the door Shawna said, “Yes?”
“Uhm, it’s Leon. You, ah, signaled me.”
“The door is unlocked.”
The thundering of his heart pounded in his ears. He was in heaven. She was the woman of his dreams. By that he meant, living and interested. He wrestled his nerves and told himself not to rush the process. He recalled some advice his father once gave him.
‘Treat women like frightened cats. If you move too fast or freak them out, they will bolt on ya.’
You can do this buddy.
Handle her like a delicate flower.
And when she gives you the okay, hump her brains out.
He twisted the doorknob and took a step into the room. The second his head crossed the threshold, something crashed into the solid wood door and pinned his skull to the frame. A white light flashed. Agony coursed through his nervous system. He spotted Shawna in the mirror. Her expression, full of rage. She drove her shoulder into the door a second time. The blow was more than he could take. It was lights out.
Leon crumpled. Shawna grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the linoleum. She closed and locked the door.
No way the others didn’t hear that!
I’ve got to move fast.
She dug through his pockets.
Jackpot!
Shawna slid the keys into her jeans. She reached for the window and thumbed the lock. It was going to be a tight fit for her hips. She was adrenaline fueled and sure she could squeeze through a mouse hole if she had to. Shawna tossed her backpack through the window.
Leon stirred, “What-happened?” His words bled into each other, sounding drunk. He spotted Shawna. “I-thought-we-were-going-to-hookup?”
She hissed, “I wouldn’t have sex with you. You’re disgusting and a fucking creep.” She stomped her foot into the side of his skull and smashed it into the floor.
There was a knock at the door. Karen’s voice asked, “Leon? You okay in there? I heard a weird noise… Leon?” She shook the knob, but the door didn’t budge. “Leon open up, what’s happening!”
Troy woke. The right side of his face hurt worse than anything he’d ever experienced. The events before his knockout came rushing to him.
Ryder!
He sat forward. Glanced around the yard. He filled with panic. His voice weak, he growled. “Jim!” Troy clawed out of the grave. “Jim! Karen! He’s got her!”
Jim didn’t hear the cries for help. The girls were singing their ABC’s. When they got to the end of the song, he finally heard, “Jim!” coming from the backyard.
He got to his feet and headed for the kitchen. He heard it again.
“Jim! He’s got her. He’s got Sara!”
Jim spotted Troy dragging himself from the hole in the earth. His brother-in-law’s face was bright red and blood trickled from his beard.
“Fuck!” Jim stomped toward the girls. “Grab your toys. I need you to get on the bus and hide.”
Valerie was gripped with terror. “Is the Scary Man here?”
“I don’t know. I want you to hide so I can find out what’s happening. You’ll be safe. I promise.” He limped to the door, unlocked it, pushed open the war rig’s doors and let the girls scurry onboard. “Stay put and be quiet until Mommy or Daddy come and get you, okay?”
Tears streamed as they raced to their seat, ducked under the bench, and disappeared. It broke his heart to close the door, but it was the best place for them to hide until he found out what was happening.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Jim called to them, turned, grabbed his rifle, and limped to the backyard.
Troy was out of the hole, but not ready to walk. His legs wobbled like rubber bands under the weight.
“What happened?” Jim reached for Troy and steadied him.
“It’s Ryder. He grabbed Sara. We have to go after him!” Troy took a step and fell to his knee.
When Jim first met Sara, she was under attack by a group of predatory teen boys. Jim enjoyed beating the holy hell out of them for their efforts. The same rage burned inside him now. That sack of shit touching anyone was enough for him to see red. Jim was going to tear the man to shreds.
There were drops of blood in the grass. They lead toward the open gate.
Bread crumbs.
He helped Troy to his feet. “I’ve got to tell Karen where the girls are, then we’ll find Sara.”
Karen appeared at the sliding glass door. “Something’s wrong with Leon. He’s locked in the bathroom and won’t answer.” She spotted her brother and noticed the shovel sized welt on his face. “What happened to him?” She glanced around the yard. �
�Where’s Sara?”
They spoke rapid fire.
“Ryder took her.”
“What?”
“The girls are on the bus.”
“How did he take her?”
“Stay with the girls. I’m going after Sara.”
“What about Leon?”
“Shawna’s in the bathroom with him. God knows what they’re doing. I’ve got to go!” Jim charged for the open gate.
“Jim! Wait!” Karen screamed after him.
He turned to her, “What?”
She was already gone. That’s when he heard it too.
The bus!
Someone started the engine.
Jim bolted for the house. The stitches in his leg tore open, but he kept moving. Through the living room window, he saw the rig pulling away.
Karen pushed past the nervous breakdown that was consuming her soul.
My babies!
Tears blurred her vision.
She drove her legs harder and raced after the bus. This was a level of panic Karen had never experienced. There were close calls in the past two days, but if she didn’t get her girls back, Karen was going to snap. The girls weren’t something she loved. They were her life. They were the reason to keep breathing. Without them she would no longer exist. The thought of them being scared and not knowing what was happening to their parents sent an ice-cold razor blade down her spine.
She heard herself screaming, but her sobs choked and distorted the words to the point where she wasn’t making sense.
Momma Bear strength kicked in, but it wasn’t enough. She would never be faster than the bus.
Her life was slipping away and there was no stopping it.
Shawna put her foot to the floor. The rig lurched forward. She heard screams coming from outside. She shifted gears and stepped on the throttle. In the broken side mirror, she saw Karen screaming and waving her arms, but she couldn’t make out what she was saying over the engine’s roar.
She really looks pissed.
Serves them right.
That’s what you get for killing Dallas.
She shifted gears, increased her speed, and aimed for the highway.
Jim sprinted from the home. His body, a complete mess, but he shut off the pain.
His only agony was the tearing of his heart. He was sure the muscle ripped in two.
I never should have put them on the bus.
FUCK!
It didn’t matter how badly his legs and shoulder wanted him to stop, he couldn’t. He flew across the yard and zipped by Karen. The sounds she made gutted him.
She will never forgive me!
The balls of his feet burned. The stitches in his shoulder tore open and the wound poured blood.
Still he ran.
The girls are what kept him going when he escaped Portland. Without them there was no point.
I promised them they were safe.
I promised.
His lungs sizzled. His heart crested two hundred beats per minute.
But no matter how hard he tried, the bus continued to pull away.
The yellow rig rounded the corner and was gone.
Jim kept running.
The End.
Thank you for checking out The Infected: Battle Ground. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. It would mean the world to my family and I if you could take a couple of minutes and leave an honest review. Books on Amazon are measured by reviews and total downloads. The more reviews I can get the more people will have a chance to see my books. Then they too can join in on the fun of the Infected World I have created. When people see honest reviews it helps them decide if they want to take a chance on me. It also helps me figure out what I need to add or take away in the sequels to make future books even more fun. I check every review I’m given and they truly help me become a better writer. Thanks again for your time.
Sign up for my spam free mailing list. It enters you in contests and you can win prizes. Plus get updates on future books.
Click Here
The Infected: Book 6 will be coming this summer 2018 so keep your eye out for that.
If you would like to check out my standalone and extremely terrifying novel Sweet Home, read on.
Sweet Home
By Joseph Zuko
Story by
Josh McCullough & Joseph Zuko
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are fictitious, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 Joseph Zuko
All rights reserved
Chapter 1
It reeked of ungodly body odor inside the prison transfer bus. The smell reminded inmate number 7532 of a body he had kept for too many days. The hitchhiker he picked up on Highway fourteen had gone sour so fast.
Inmate 2704, in the seat next to 7532, turned and whispered, “This weather is killing my arthritis.”
7532 glanced at the old man’s gnarled hands. They were swollen and no longer bent at the knuckles. The old inmate’s name was Arthur Wright and he was on this bus for the same reason as 7532. Murder.
7532 nodded at Arthur. Head shakes and nods were the prisoner’s main form of communication. He had chewed his tongue down to a nub several years ago. 7532 flicked his head back and attempted to whip his greasy locks out of his face. His stringy hair drove him insane. It was always getting in his face and blocking his view. The first week into his life sentence he had opened a guard’s throat and the warden put him on lockdown for six months and then heavy restriction for the remainder of his stay. Barber visits and other prison luxuries had been off limits from then on.
Arthur grumbled, “I hope this fancy hospital we’re off to will give me some fucking pain killers.” He kept his voice low so the guard wandering up and down the aisle couldn’t hear. “I wanna feel absolutely nothing before I get to hell.”
7532 smirked at Arthur.
“Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot about your… condition,” Arthur said as he attempted to flex his fingers. He grunted in pain as he continued. “You don’t know how lucky you are, brother.”
7532 raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
Arthur looked beyond him, “Goddamn.”
7532 tilted his head and gazed out the barred window. Snowflakes melted on the glass. Beyond the window was an endless forest of evergreens. The trees were solid white. A snowcapped mountain in the distance looked like a postcard. Dark clouds blocked out the sun, but 7532 knew they had left at eight a.m. and had been on the road for close to three hours. The sun should be directly above the bus.
“That’s majestic. Stare at a concrete wall for thirty years and you forget how beautiful the world really is.” Arthur readjusted himself in his seat, “I hope we get there soon. I gotta take a shit.”
7532 shifted his attention from his foul mouthed neighbor and studied the very tip of the mountain. He pondered what the world looked like from that vantage point. He could probably see for a hundred miles in every direction.
Can I see a town from there? Then he wondered.
How many people in that town could I add to The Reckoning?
“Jacob?” Arthur whispered. 7532 didn’t turn his head from the window. Arthur spoke a little louder, “Jacob?”
He snapped out of the daydream. It had been a long time since he was called by his first name.
“How long did the quack give you?”
Jacob held up his index finger.
“A year?”
Jacob closed his eyes and shook his head.
“A month.”
Jacob nodded.
Arthur sucked at his teeth. “The good news is in thirty days you’ll be set free.”
But it wasn’t good news. He wasn’t ready to die. His masterpiece wasn’t finished. Jacob was so many bodies shy of his goal. He had rotted in a cell for sixty-three months and now he was on his way to a hospital. The state planned to leave him shackled to a gurney unt
il his number was up.
“I hope I can sweet talk a nurse, male or female I don’t give a shit, into cranking my peter one last time before I go. I’ve been grinding my dick raw on a mattress for ten years. Damn near whittled it away to nothing.” Arthur smiled revealing a mouthful of yellow stained teeth.
Jacob grew weary of Arthur’s filth. He wished he could lean over and bite out his tongue to shut him up. He closed his eyes, placed his head on the backrest. The thought of not hitting the mark he had set for himself was devastating and weighed heavy on his mind.
All that work. He thought. Was it for nothing?
“Jacob,” Arthur whispered again. The convict opened one eyelid. His pupil drifted to the corner of his eye as he looked to Arthur.
“Is it twenty-seven?”
Jacob opened both eyes and stretched his neck.
“Regan and I have cigs riding on this. Come on man,” Arthur asked sweetly. Doing his best to get the info and gain the upper hand.
Regan Straight, inmate 6897 a.k.a. “The Clutch” as the newspapers called him, sat directly in front of them. His bald head reflected the overhead lights like a disco ball. A fresh scar ran from the top of his scalp, plummeting down the right side of his skull and stopping just below his ear. He cranked his neck to eavesdrop.
Reckoning human souls was Jacob’s legacy. He surmised it was the reason people became doctors, airline pilots or the President. Holding a human’s life in your hand was real power.
Jacob gave an upwards motion with his thumb.
“Higher?” Arthur was taken back. “Damn boy, you were busy.”
Regan turned back around in his seat. The game would continue.
Nobody but Jacob knew the real number or the true goal that he had set for himself. For twenty years he collected human lives like someone might collect comics. It took real passion to amass the numbers he had.
“The focus and determination… I wish I had that when I was in the game,” Arthur said as he licked his bottom lip. “I was all run and gun. Flying by the seat of my pants. Killing at random and leaving a damn mess everywhere I went. This one time I had this old gal tied to a chair. I was about to dump a glass of bleach down her-”