Zara walked out of the office. “Smashed a ground-level window on the far end of the basement and dove into the boiler room. This building isn’t secure.”
Isla whined.
Tris squatted, beckoning. “Come on out. We’re leaving.”
The brown-haired girl squeezed herself deeper in the corner, feet sliding over the concrete as she tried to push herself into the cinder blocks. Tris took a knee and got a grip on one of the girl’s ankles.
“You can’t stay under there. It’s not safe.” She pulled the child out by one leg.
“Isla!” yelled Tom, sounding panicked. “Where are you? Has anyone seen her? Isla?”
“She’s in here,” shouted Tris. She shouldered the AK and picked the rigid, terrified seven-year-old up.
Tom Pines dodged around Emilio and Abby and hovered at the door. He and Isla both appeared to calm a little at the sight of each other. Tris handed the girl off to her older brother, and followed them out to the basement where the survivors congregated.
Warren had a blackening eye and a fat lip. Most of the venom in his stare flew at Emilio rather than Abby, which Tris counted as an improvement. Murmuring went around in circles.
“Let’s go!” shouted Kristen. “It ain’t like she’s gonna go zombie in the next ten minutes. We gotta get the fuck out of here now… can deal with her once we’re safe.”
“We can hold the basement,” said Zack. “They’ve only got one point of entry and it’s a small window.”
Sergeant Ellis seemed to consider.
“Fuck that,” shouted Kristen.
“Ammo ain’t gonna last for all of ’em,” said Lauren. “Plus, I’m sick and tired of this damn store.”
“It’s one window. Easy to defend,” said Zack. “Choke point. If we watch it, we can kill them as fast as they come in.”
Trisha cradled a Beretta in both hands. “But we didn’t. They got inside.”
Isla whined into her brother’s ear a bit above a whisper. “Do I have to have a gun too? I don’t want one. I’m scared of them.”
He rocked and comforted her.
Abby lapsed into a coughing fit, which silenced the room. All the survivors stared at her.
Tris raised both hands to the sides. “Everyone listen. Sitting around here is wasting time. We have a van stashed at Otto’s, but the longer we wait, the more a chance someone might steal it. Abby is not a threat. She’s not displaying any signs of cognitive degradation. The infection makes a person ravenous and she can barely look at food. An Infected at this stage would be eating everything they could get their hands on.”
“Yeah, but you got kicked out of the Enclave.” Warren dabbed blood from his lip. “How do you know they haven’t changed it?”
“We are the best chance you have to get out of here alive.” Zara stepped into the light, using a tone as though she addressed a platoon of Enclave soldiers. “We have neuronal amplifiers, reflex boosters, low-light vision, an immunity to the Virus, and a van.” She looked at Abby. “And we are leaving now. With everyone.” “Anything happens to that kid, and I’ll shoot anyone I even think might’ve done it,”
Tris aimed a pointed stare at Warren. “If you’re uncomfortable with that, you’re welcome to stay here.”
Zara waved at the stairs. “I’ll take point. Zack, with me. Mike”―she looked at Sergeant Ellis―“you’re the back door. Emilio, behind Zack. Warren ahead of Mike, second to last. Kristen in front of Warren. Tom behind Emilio. Tris, middle of the group with Lauren, Lloyd and the kids.” She looked at Trisha and Micah. “You two don’t worry about trying to shoot any infected unless you have no other choice. Uhh, Cassie… behind Lloyd.”
Tom reluctantly handed Isla over to Lauren, tears in his eyes. “Dad never got around to makin’ her any shoes. Please don’t let her step in any blood.”
Lauren cradled the girl. “I got her.”
Trisha squatted and retied the laces on her oversized boots. Micah opened and reclosed the Velcro on a pair of well-worn orange sneakers.
Abby looked around at everyone shying away from her. She flexed her toes. “I’m okay. I guess I’ll try not to step on anything bloody and sharp.”
“Let Emilio carry her if he’s so sure she’s safe,” muttered Warren.
“Kids in the middle. He’s on point; too dangerous for her.” Zara glared at him.
Tris glanced at her. “I’ll carry you. I’m stronger than I look.”
Abby smiled despite a coughing fit.
Zara led the way up the stairs to the ground floor. Not three steps into the store, she fired at something. A moan preceded a fleshy thump.
“Contact,” yelled Zack. “Three.”
A rifle went off, followed by two more pops from the MP5. A monstrous female groan lapsed into a gurgle.
“Clear,” yelled Zack.
At the top of the stairs leading into the store, Abby climbed up on Tris’ back, wedging the katana between them as she clung tight. The phlegmatic rattle in the girl’s breath filled her left ear. Trisha and Micah walked an arm’s length in front of Tris, occasionally looking back and up at her with wary expressions. Both held pistols, Trisha in two hands out in front, Micah more casual with his arm at his side.
Warren grumbled at Sergeant Ellis at the rear of their formation as they trailed through the store. Two large forklifts plugged the front door, their forks impaling a section of the massive barrier around the place. What had appeared from the outside as a solid wall was an improvised gate. Zack and Emilio hopped in and got them running after a few tries. They rolled forward with an ear-bleeding shriek of rusting steel, until enough of an opening existed for everyone to slip out. Emilio drove harder, skewing the gap wider on the right side.
A pudgy, shirtless man with blotches of exposed muscle on his arms and detached cheeks hanging down over his chest filled the new exit in a split second, pulling himself past the barrier.
Kristen and some of the kids screamed while Emilio yowled and dove to his left out of the forklift. Zara shot the fat man twice in the forehead before Emilio had even hit the floor. She rushed the gap to prevent the Infected from clogging it, firing seven more times on her way out. Zack hurried after her; Emilio scrambled to his feet and followed.
Tom hesitated, looking over his shoulder at Isla. When his face turned grim and he darted out, the girl wailed and begged him to come back.
Tris patted Micah on the shoulder. “You two stay behind me ’til we’re clear, okay?”
He and Trisha obliged. Abby tensed up, emitting a nasal squeal of unease as Tris stepped around the dead Infected and the expanding pool of blood leaking from the back of his head. Jose stepped on the man’s chest and hurried off to a position behind Tom.
Fortunately, the 9mm rounds from Zara’s MP5 made small holes and no one put their foot in seep.
Lauren muttered ‘grandmother curses’ along the lines of “fiddlesticks,” but the occasional “dammit” slipped in as she tried to carry Isla out the gap without touching any gore or corpse. The child hyperventilated, flapping her arms while caught between trying to scream and cry at the same time.
Tris squeezed her AK. I am going to shoot Nathan in the balls and watch him bleed to death.
Lloyd maneuvered around the body with little visible concern, as though he’d encountered an inconvenient duffle bag left on the sidewalk. Cassie hesitated for a few seconds, sucking in deep breaths, and jumped the dead man in one leap. Kristen navigated the obese Infected corpse like a teenager playing hopscotch on a lava flow while emitting little squeaking screams.
Warren and Sergeant Ellis stepped over the man in long, calm strides.
Tris turned away from looking behind her and zeroed in on Tom, who’d gotten almost a half block lead by now. She moved up to a light jog, Abby bouncing against her back. The girl squeezed her legs around her waist.
“You don’t have hips. I’m slipping. You’re too skinny.”
Tris let the comment go as Abby trying to distract herself from
the horror around them. “I eat a lot actually. The nanites burn it though. I’m not sure I could get fat even if I wanted to.”
“What are nanites?”
At the front of the line, Zara, Zack, and Emilio opened fire on a pack of Infected racing from an alley. Tris raised the AK. Time slowed as her reflex boosters ramped up to full. She fired, blowing out the side of an Asian man’s head and painting the two Infected behind him with brain. One of them jerked at a bullet stike, probably fired by Tom. Tris shifted her aim left and put two rounds one after the next into a dark-skinned woman with an exposed red skull for a face. The shots also struck a relatively normal looking Caucasian man behind her. If not for the thousand-mile stare, zombie-like gait, and utter lack of color in his skin, he’d have passed for healthy. A steady flow of more Infected came from both sides near the head of the line, keeping Zara, Zack, Emilio, and Tom scrambling to shoot them fast enough.
Jose stood casually in the street, aiming his M-16 and firing single shots as if on a range shooting at paper.
Trisha screamed.
Shit! I’m not paying attention. Tris whirled left at three Infected barreling out from behind a sandbag barrier, heading right for the middle of their formation, one already in a flying leap at Lauren. The grandmother tossed Isla at Lloyd as she fell back away from the diving man. Tris snapped off a hasty shot into the man’s side before swiveling to her right and shooting the other two once each in their heads. Another leprotic woman dragged herself out from a rain gutter, eyeing Lauren from behind.
Isla hit Lloyd in the chest; her miniscule weight knocked the frail old man over. As if her bare foot touching pavement would mean instant death, blood or not, the girl stood on top of Lloyd’s chest, shrieking and crying out for her Mommy or Daddy.
Lauren landed on her ass, the Infected on her legs, grabbing and pulling at her dress.
“Gramma!” Micah freaked; his eyes bugged almost out of their sockets as he fired six shots as fast as he could into the Infected’s back.
Abby, hands clasped in front of Tris’ chin, let go of her wrist to point at the other side. “Tris, more!”
“Get offa me you devil-sent thing!” Lauren stomped at the man’s face.
Five fast-moving Infected raced past a tangle of razor wire, oblivious to it tearing up their clothes and skin. Two rushed for Isla, three went at the group of Tris, Abby, Micah, and Trisha. The one on Lauren’s legs hadn’t stopped moving yet either. Two on Lauren, five threatening children, Tris didn’t have to think.
Reflex boosters were fast, but after shooting the five rushing at the kids in the heart one after the next in a barrage any normal person would’ve heard as a rip of automatic fire, she fully expected to find Lauren with an Infected chewing on her face. Instead, Sergeant Ellis had leapt across her, letting the crawling, one-legged fiend chomp on his armored side.
“Get off my Dad!” roared Trisha. She jumped forward, put the tip of her Beretta against the Infected woman’s head, and fired. A glop of skull and brain splattered onto the street less than a foot away from Lloyd and Isla.
Isla’s jeans darkened in the crotch. She leapt off Lloyd’s chest, emitting a high-pitched, glass-shattering scream as she bee-lined for Tom thirty or so yards ahead.
The dead woman rocked back and up, a water-fountain arc of blood gushing from the back of her head. Sergeant Ellis rolled onto his side and kicked the body away before any got on him. Trisha froze for a second, gawking at the gore she caused.
Tris whirled to aim the AK in Isla’s general direction; her instinct paid off, and she sniped two Infected who ran out of hiding amid dumpsters at the charging, panic-stricken seven-year-old. Tom turned toward the sound of his screaming sister, and scooped her up.
Cassie, gritting her teeth and emitting a growl like an angry hamster, spun around from a doorway that had been spewing Infected and fired her Uzi into the alley from which the Infected had charged Lauren. She mostly controlled the weapon on full auto, but it rattled her around.
Sergeant Ellis helped Lauren upright. After recovering her balance, the older woman casually raised her handgun and shot another Infected emerging from the same alley. Her bullet caught a man in priest’s garb in the right cheek, making him spin.
“Damn.” Lauren lowered her arm. “This town sure has gone to Hell.”
Lloyd examined himself, shrugged, and stood. “Guess I get lucky again. I tell ya, they don’t make zombies like they used to back in my day. Brittle old man like me should’a been dead days ago.”
“Move!” shouted Zara from the head of the line.
Warren hurried over and studied Ellis’ side. Apparently satisfied the armor absorbed any damage, he patted the man on the shoulder.
“Shit,” said Micah. “Gramma’s got blood on her dress.”
“It’s only dangerous if it gets in your eyes, nose, or mouth… or an open cut.” Tris grimaced at the blood-soaked garment.
“Aww heck no.” Lauren flung the dress off and used the clean part to wipe at her legs, though she only managed to smear blood around with the soaked thing.
Warren removed his blue windbreaker and wrapped it around Lauren. “What about that vest, Mike. Got some blood on you.”
Sergeant Ellis lifted his arm to look. “Not that much and this is armor… I’ll sterilize it later with fire.”
“Come on,” yelled Zara. “What’s going on back there?”
Motion caught Tris’ eye to the left. Two more Infected climbed up from inside a dumpster, knocking it on its side in their effort to get out. An echoing metallic slam reverberated down the street. She shot them both before they could stand.
Abby gurgled and coughed, stretching sideways to spit so it didn’t get on Tris. “You’re a good shot.”
Cassie sprinted off after Zara and the front of the line. Lloyd followed with a blasé air, like he couldn’t care less if he made it or not. Sergeant Ellis took his daughter by the hand and hurried along. Micah clung to his grandmother’s arm. Kristen sprinted off as if she’d be left behind if she didn’t get to the van first. Though she had a handgun, she hadn’t fired a single bullet.
At the next corner, an Infected teenaged boy, faster than any of the others thus far, raced out straight at Kristen. The woman screamed and grabbed Lloyd, shoving him toward the charging teen. The scrawny, mindless boy mistimed a bite on a target flying at him and wound up head-butting Lloyd in the chest.
Zara skimmed a bullet across the back of the boy’s head, tearing open the skull and doing enough damage to kill. Lloyd pushed him off and recovered his balance. The teen fell over backward, twitching. After finding his shirt free of bite marks or blood, Lloyd shrugged in disbelief.
Two blocks up, Zara stopped at the door to Otto’s. The sight of the place made Tris’ heart swell with relief; not a trace of her disgust at the former owner tainted her thoughts.
The group gathered at the doors. Cassie ran over and slammed Kristen against the wall by her tank top, slapped her, and screamed, “What’s wrong with you?” over and over.
Kristen got her arms up to defend, muttering, “He’s old!”
Lloyd hurried over and put a hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “It’s okay… Maybe she’s rude and selfish, but she’s a third my age. I’d have jumped in front of him anyway to protect her if my reflexes weren’t shot.”
Kristen fired a sour, guilty, stare at the road.
“Bitch,” muttered Cassie.
Lauren glared at Kirsten disapprovingly.
When Zara pulled the door open, everyone piled in to Otto’s. At the sight of the grey van, kids cheered, Tom wept, and Lauren yelled, “Hallelujah.”
In a fleeting moment of total silence, Isla’s tiny voice half-whispered, “I peed myself.”
“I think we all did, kiddo,” said Lauren.
“There’s water in the van. You can wash her jeans if you want once we’re moving. Side door’s welded armor. Go to the back.” Zara climbed up into the passenger seat and put the gun goggles on.
&
nbsp; Tris set Abby down on her feet by the driver’s side door. “Be right back.”
While the others climbed in behind her, Tris worked the garage door chain hand over hand as fast as she could move her arms. The door clattered and banged, snagging halfway up. She screamed, “Fuck you!” at the top of her lungs and gave a yank that broke something at the side of the roll-top door’s housing and sent bits of metal flying and clanging to the ground.
But the door opened.
As soon as she let go to run to the van, the door came crashing down.
Jose walked over and grabbed the chain. “I got this. Pull it out.”
Tris darted to the van, shooing Abby from behind the wheel to the floor between the front seats, her back against the console.
Cassie stood into view in front of the van holding the charge cable. “Forgot to unplug it!”
The bright-eyed blonde let the wire retract and ran to the back doors. Tris hit the power switch and the console erupted with light. Whirring came from the gun turret within a half-second.
“Weapons hot,” said Zara.
“Alright, we’re in business,” muttered Tris. “Who’s ready to get the hell out of here?”
“God dammit; go already,” yelled Warren.
Tris reversed out of the garage, stopping a few feet after the front bumper cleared the door. Jose pulled the chain with him out a step, then let go once he’d passed where the door would fall. He flipped the M-16 up in his arms and fired three shots off to the right. Zara swiveled her head that way, and the gun overhead followed suit.
Half the people in the back of the van screamed in surprise when the .50 cal burped, slamming the air with a heavy thud. Isla clamped her hands over her ears and wailed.
Jose popped off a few more shots as he fast-walked to the back end of the van. Mike, Warren, and Emilio hauled him in bodily while Cassie and Micah pulled the doors shut.
Tris laid on the accelerator, squealed into a sliding reverse K turn, slammed the shifter to drive, and stomped on the pedal. With fourteen extra bodies, the van had no pickup to speak of, but the wheel motors still generated enough torque to bash down one of the ramshackle barricades in the road. Sandbags exploded over the windshield; razor wire scraped down the side. Zara wagged her head back and forth somewhere between a seizure and heavy metal, accompanied by a labored whirring from the roof. After a faint metallic plink outside, she stopped.
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