He hit the biter square in the chest, dropping it to the ground where it lay motionless.
Monte had two bullets left in his gun for the second biter. But as he turned his attention toward this new target, he noticed something on the path behind them. Back toward where the path met with the street, more figures were approaching.
“Shit!” Monte hissed.
Victoria turned and looked behind where her and the kids stood.
“Monte?” she cried, more fearfully this time.
Monte turned back to the nearest biter in the forest. It had adjusted its angle toward the path, obviously in an attempt to block their easiest way forward, or maybe it thought its fallen comrade was food. Monte wasn’t sure.
Monte aimed and fired. But he rushed the shot and missed badly, hitting a large tree several yards to the biters right. He was trying to aim in advance of the moving biter. He was used to shooting at and hitting stationary targets; and even that didn’t occur often.
The biter moved behind a large tree, and Monte took a deep breath, trying to calm himself for his next shot.
Monte moved forward slowly, advancing toward his target and off the path. He wanted to close the distance between himself and the biter so he had a better shot when it presented itself. The biter moved out from behind the tree and Monte fired again, the last bullet in his handgun.
This time, he hit the biter. The biter stopped and let out a sort of screech.
“Yes!” Monte celebrated.
But the biter didn’t go down.
“Damn!” Monte hissed when he saw the biter still on its feet.
The biters approaching from their rear were maybe 100 yards away now. And Monte wasn’t sure how seriously he had wounded the biter he’d just shot. It was standing there, as if it was unsure of how to proceed. Monte figured that it was probably weighing its options, deciding whether the potential meal was worth the pain it was currently experiencing.
Moments later, it started moving again, slowly disappearing behind another tree.
Monte used the opportunity to his advantage. He fumbled in his right coat pocket, finding his box of ammo. He didn’t want to waste time with more biters approaching, but he also didn’t want to move on without a loaded gun. He figured that with a good distance still between his family and what he gathered were more biters down the path behind them, this might be his best chance.
Pulling the ammo box out, he opened it and withdrew a bullet, ready to put it into his gun. It was then that he realized that in his haste, he’d forgotten to open the handgun’s cylinder for reloading or to eject the empty bullet casings inside. He fumbled for a minute, trying to push the small camber-release button on the side of the gun, but it was an older weapon. The release was worn smooth, and it stuck occasionally. Finally, Monte finagled it forward, and with a twisting flip of his wrist, whipped the cylinder out and away from the gun. Then he tilted the gun back toward him in an effort to eject the empty shell casings. Four tumbled out. One remained in place. Monte jiggled the gun, trying unsuccessfully to shake loose the final casing. He tried again, shaking the gun harder. But in the process, he tilted the box of ammo he was holding too far, spilling almost all of the spare bullets he had out onto the ground.
“Goddamn it!” he spat, angrily.
“Monte, we need to go!” Victoria hissed to him from where she stood doing her best to comfort their children.
“Give me a second!” he hissed back, kneeling so that he could set the nearly empty box of ammo on the ground, something he realized he should have done to begin with.
With a free hand now, Monte used the fingernail of his forefinger to dig the last empty shell casing from the gun’s cylinder.
Then he put the three remaining shells from the box inside the gun and began to hunt for more.
“Monte!” Victoria, hissed, more urgently this time. “We need to go!”
“I know, goddamn it!” he gritted his teeth in frustration.
“Dad-deeee!” Rebecca whined from the behind the clutches of her mother.
“Hang tight, baby doll,” her father frantically rummaged for the bullets, tearing through twigs, leaves, and other forest debris as he scanned for the shiny brass and lead color-combination of the bullets he’d spilled.
He saw one, picked it up, blew on it to remove any debris, and then slid it home into its chamber. He scanned the ground again, spotting two more rounds. He picked them up, gave them another quick blow, slid one into its chamber and dropped the other one into his pocket. Then he closed the gun’s cylinder, hearing it clicked shut, and restarted his search, hoping to come across at least a couple more bullets before he rejoined his family.
“Dad!” he heard Anthony call. “Hurry!”
“Honey!” Victoria echoed her son’s concern. “We need to move…now!
Monte glanced over his shoulder from where he crouched. The three figures on the path had closed the distance between them and his family rapidly. They were now maybe just 40 yards apart.
As Monte turned back around, he could now see the other biter, the one he’d shot moments earlier. It had reappeared from behind the tree ahead of them. It was coming toward them again, quickly.
Monte looked back down scanning for more bullets. He saw none. He glanced up. The biter ahead of them was really close now – maybe just ten yards away and closing fast. Monte looked down one more time around where he crouched. He saw the glint of another bullet and grabbed for it, collecting a handful of leaves along with the bullet in the process.
He crammed the whole handful of gathered materials into his pocket, and then looked back up, aimed, and fired, dropping the biter just feet from where Monte crouched. Monte glanced back over his shoulder, ready to yell to his family, but his commands were unnecessary. Victoria already had the kids on the move up the path toward the suspension bridge. The biters behind them had picked up speed as they sensed an easy meal within reach.
Monte stood and bolted straight for the path. Reaching it, maybe 20 yards behind where the rest of his family was already fleeing, he turned, aimed, and fired. He could have sworn he had an exact read on the middle biter of the three approaching, but the bullet must have missed by inches – maybe just a fraction of an inch. Monte fired again, hitting his target in the left shoulder. The biter screamed, but instead of running away as Monte had hoped, it began moving toward him faster, the two other biters following suit.
“Shit!” Monte hissed, squeezing the trigger one more time and praying for better results.
His prayer was answered as he hit the middle biter dead center. It dropped to the ground, writhing in pain for several seconds before growing still.
But Monte couldn’t be content to rest on his laurels. He had two more biters approaching and just two bullets in his gun. And after that, he had only two more bullets in his jacket pocket with miles still left to go between the bridge and home. At this rate, and if Riverside and Brookfield were like this, they’d never make it. He had to save his last few shots for when it really counted.
He turned and looked behind him. Victoria and the kids were several hundred feet ahead of him. He was afraid that if he spent much more time handling these rear guard actions, he wouldn’t be close enough to help should his family encounter any biters up ahead. But if he could put another one of these approaching biters down, the other might find itself frightened enough to give up the chase and retreat, leaving him and his family free from pursuers.
He aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger. The hammer clicked but nothing happened.
“Oh crap!” Monte looked at his gun, perplexed. He wondered what had happened. Maybe a dud. He aimed again, less carefully this time since he was expecting a similar result, and squeezed the trigger. This time the gun fired, but due to his poor shot selection, the bullet only grazed the left thigh of the third biter, not even taking it down.
Monte pocketed the gun, turned, and took off after his family. Here they were, only a few hundred yards from their starti
ng point, and the wheels were already falling off – falling off badly. Maybe they should have just stayed put. Maybe they should have just stayed put at home in Brookfield too. Then none of this would be happening. They’d be safe at home right now. But it was too late for such considerations.
Monte caught up with Victoria and the kids just 50 yards from the sloped walkway leading to the steel and concrete suspension bridge. He had put some decent distance between him and the biters behind him.
“Go on,” he urged the others. “I’m going to reload.”
He stopped at the entrance to the bridge and dug his last two rounds from his pocket. He opened the gun up and dumped all the shells, even the one that hadn’t fired, from the weapon. He quickly loaded the last two shells into the gun, not taking the time to dust off all the leaf debris or even give them a quick blow before cramming the rounds into their individual chambers and slamming the cylinder shut.
Then he followed his family, the members of which were already almost halfway across the bridge. Monte looked behind him as he hurried onto the slightly swaying suspension bridge. He saw the two biters coming up the path behind him. The one Monte had shot in the leg was limping and slightly behind the other.
Ahead, Victoria had slowed, pausing at the halfway point of the bridge to allow Monte to catch up. A few seconds later, Monte had retaken the lead of his clan. He was guiding them along the bridge’s last 50 feet before it exited to a grassy spot just down the street from Riverside’s village hall. But before they could close the final gap between their spot on the bridge and open land, two biters suddenly emerged at the end of the bridge, blocking their path.
Monte stopped dead in his tracks. Anthony, who was right behind him, bumped into his back.
“What’s the…” Anthony began to ask his father but stopped when he saw the two biters at the end of the bridge ahead of them.
As Monte stood, deciding what to do, the biters in front of them started their way toward the Hines family. Monte looked behind them. The two biters who had been chasing them from the forest were approaching from the other direction. The Hines family was trapped on the suspension bridge in between the two sets of biters. It was like a horrifyingly twisted reenactment of the suspension bridge scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
Monte decided that it was time to fall back. At this point, things were far from going their way in the attempt to get home. Maybe their best bet would be to hole up in the abandoned house and wait for help to come to them after all. There were too many biters, he was too lightly armed, and he was straddled with too many children for this type of situation.
“Back!” Monte instructed. “We have to go back,” he moved around Victoria and the kids to take up the lead heading back toward the forest.
With two bullets left, he had to make them count. A bullet for each of the biters ahead of them, one of whom was already injured.
Monte led his family forward, wanting a closer shot to maximize his odds of hitting them when he fired his last two rounds. Plus, he wanted to put as much distance as possible between his family and the two biters approaching from the other direction.
With only about 15 feet between him and the limping biter he’d already shot in the leg, Monte aimed and fired. He hit the injured biter square in the chest, dropping it instantly.
It was then that Monte realized it wasn’t just the two biters from the forest who had been following them. They had been joined by two more he hadn’t seen.
“Oh shit,” Monte breathed.
He aimed at the next biter and squeezed the trigger. The hammer of his handgun clicked, but nothing happened. Monte pulled the trigger again, and again, cycling through the chambers of already fired rounds as quickly as possible until he got back to the still live round. But again, nothing happened.
The three biters from the forest were close now – too close.
Monte glanced behind him. The two biters from the other direction were close too, maybe 40 feet from Anthony and the others. The Hines family was going to become the meat of a biter sandwich if they didn’t do something quick.
Monte looked down at the dark and rapidly flowing river below the bridge. For a moment, he thought about having everyone jump over the side of the bridge and into the river. But the chunks of ice he saw bobbing in the current quickly changed his mind. The water was freezing – literally. And he and Victoria, who weren’t the strongest swimmers to begin with, would then have four small children to contend with as they were swept down the Des Plaines River.
“Monteee!” Victoria cried, clutching as many of her brood to her as she could. “What do we do?”
He looked back to the two biters approaching from the Riverside portion of the bridge and decided taking them on was their best bet. One of them was a female biter, and Monte hoped that with some luck, he might be able to overpower them.
Again, he turned, making his way back around the cowering and crying kids.
“I’m going to try to take out these two,” he explained as he passed Victoria. “Be ready to run when I do.” As he passed Anthony, he quickly instructed the boy, “You might have to help, Anthony. Don’t get bit, but anything you can safely do once I have the first one down will help.”
Anthony just nodded as bravely as any terrified eleven-year-old boy could in such a situation.
“Victoria…you too!” Monte called behind him. “Watch those biters behind us and follow me!”
Monte prepared for battle, moving toward the first biter, a black man in a blue work uniform, the embroidered nametag of which read, “Victor”.
CHAPTER 10
Wendell yawned, stretched, and then cringed, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder. With the amount of painkillers he had ingested last night, he’d almost forgotten about his injured arm. He had to admit, Chris had done a good job patching him up, not that he’d admit to it aloud.
He sat up in bed, more mindful of his injury. He took a deep breath and yawned again, careful not to stretch this time. Then he glanced over at Charla, still sleeping peacefully beside him.
It was cold in the condo. Without electricity, the furnace hadn’t come on. It felt like the temperature in their bedroom was at least a good ten degrees colder than when they’d gone to sleep.
Wendell looked at his watch. It was almost eight. Six hours of sleep. Not bad, but not good either. Wendell threw the covers back and climbed carefully from bed.
He stood for a moment, sniffled, and shivered in the chill. Clad in pajama bottoms, he’d slept without a shirt due to his injury.
He donned slippers set on the floor beside the bed and then managed to work a robe around his shoulders, draping it like a cape to avoid further distress to his injury.
Finally, adorned and warm enough to continue his morning routine, Wendell sauntered out to the kitchen.
It was bright in the condo. A cloudless, late-December sky made for what should have been a cheery morning had it not been for the fact that the apocalypse was occurring outside.
In the kitchen, Wendell filled the coffee maker, found his favorite mug, and hit the coffee maker’s “on” switch.
Nothing happened.
He flipped it off, and then back on.
Again nothing happened. “Ugh…no power,” he remembered, feeling foolish for the mistake and glad no one was around to see it.
“Forget there’s no electricity?” came a voice from behind him.
Wendell took a deep breath, let it out, and turned around to find a smiling Chris behind him.
“So are you planning to stay indefinitely?” Wendell ignored the question.
“Wasn’t planning to…but the situation dictates; not me.”
“I don’t believe you,” Wendell wanted to say.
“I’d rather be back in my condo sleeping in my own bed than your sofa, believe me,” Chris explained. “But those biters are still out in the hallway. I heard them bumping around all night, and I checked earlier this morning. I watched at least four
of them through the peephole as they passed the front door,” he moved by Wendell and over to the kitchen stove.
Wendell stood watching – actually, it was more like glaring – as Chris rummaged in a drawer and came out with a pot. He opened the coffee maker, dumped the grounds inside into the pot, and filled the pot with water.
“What are you doing?” Wendell watched, a disgusted look smeared across his face.
“Making coffee,” Chris shrugged as if it should be obvious. He turned the stove on beneath the pot and adjusted the flame.
“You’re going to boil the grounds with the water?” Wendell frowned.
“Sure. Why not?” Chris nodded. “Then you just strain them out when you pour your cup. All you have to do is put a filter over your cup held in place with a rubber band. Of course, I usually don’t. Once the pot stops boiling, most of the grounds settle to the bottom. The only person who really has to be careful is the one who takes the last cup. Winding up with a few grounds in your drink is no big deal, but a mouthful of them isn’t too fun,” he grinned at Wendell who didn’t return Chris’ apparent merriment at the thought.
Charla padded into the kitchen. “Morning,” she nodded at the two men.
“Morning,” they nodded back.
“Thought the power was off, but I smell coffee,” she frowned curiously.
“It’s MacGyver over here,” Wendell nodded toward the pot warming on the stove. “He’s brewing us up a pot of camp java or something.”
“Just making due,” Chris explained. “Still got water and natural gas, so I’m taking advantage. Speaking of which, we should probably fill up some containers with extra water while we can.” He moved back to the stove and flipped the other burners on. “Help warm this joint up a little,” he said.
“Good idea,” Charla agreed, hugging herself tightly against the cold. She was adorned in flannel pajamas and slippers, but she had a blanket wrapped around her too.
“Mind if I take a shower?” Chris asked. “Should help get the motor running, plus, who knows how long we’ll still have access to hot running water.”
The Last Bastion Box Set [Books 1-5] Page 29