Unlike anyone infected who might simply be lurking about, the four friends have to remain on the move, exposing themselves no matter how hard they work to remain hidden.
“These are the experiences that stick with you, haunt you,” Miles had said. “This shit, right here, what you’ll be going through tonight is the kind of horror that builds up PTSD in trained soldiers.”
Only halfway through the night, they all understand the truth of Miles’ warning.
Every sound is a new threat.
The rain and thunder mask dangers from their senses.
Behind every darkened window are murderous, leering faces just waiting for them to break in.
Every shadow harbors a monster primed to lurch out and devour them.
This is fucking exhausting, Abraham thinks to himself. On top of the strain of knowing what awaits him as the disease takes greater hold, he is feeling worse than when the night had started. He simply doesn’t have the energy to cope with all of the added stress.
He is terrified he might slip up somehow, and turn on his friends or, god forbid, his son.
The hours of awful, strenuous labor take a toll on them all. Even Miles, as accustomed to violence and grueling conditions as he is, never experienced anything quite so mortifying.
They never know what they’ll be walking into from one house to the next. Some of the places resemble slaughterhouse killing floors and others are so pristine that it feels like they’ve stepped into an episode of The Twilight Zone. Sometimes these two types of homes are right next door to one another.
Only an hour before dawn they have successfully infiltrated and cleared 30 homes with fewer than 20 rounds fired between all of the firearms they carry with them.
The work itself was terrible, but it went more smoothly than any of them expected.
One more house on this block before they look forward to returning to the lab and resting until the next evening.
Abraham is relieved more than any of them, he has been slowing down.
“I’m going to stick around out here on the porch to keep watch,” he says, his voice faint and hoarse.
After a few moments of consideration, Miles nods and both Hewitt and Mariah follow suit.
“Take a break, buddy,” he says. “We’ll be out quickly.”
The house is empty and quiet. Even taking their time to be diligent in their search, they are out quickly. Back on the porch, they find only an empty seat where their friend had been sitting.
Hewitt is the one who notices the blood, but it’s Mariah who hears the inarticulate voices and the faint sounds of struggle just around the corner.
They move as swiftly as they can, only to catch a glimpse of three people hauling a man they know is Abraham down the next block, his form slumped and being dragged rather than carried.
Carefully, the three of them follow as close as they dare, venturing into a section of town they hadn’t cleared yet and weren’t planning to address until the following night. They know they are heading toward the town square and public park. They were all familiar with that location and what has been going on there.
Even in a disoriented state and being dragged along, Abraham recognizes the path he is being taken along. He knows where this journey will end.
Fueled by equal parts fever and terror, he struggles so much that he receives a solid blow to his temple as a reward.
He doesn’t lose consciousness, but he losses his fight.
Abraham goes limp and dazed, head slumping as the sound of frenzied groans and rumblings begins to rise over the sound of the rain and his own body dragging roughly against the pavement.
It’s all so familiar, like deja-vu.
Maybe it’s the fever or the probable concussion, but he finds himself drifting back and forth between memory and the present situation. Is any of this real or is he still wandering through town with Ben, making their slow progress toward Gale’s house?
As he is dragged into the park, surrounded by rabid townsfolk, Abraham continues along in the fugue state and it is a blessing as he is kicked, jabbed at cruelly, and pelted with rocks of various sizes on his path through the gauntlet.
His friends stop short, knowing now why they’d run into so few people in their homes.
Clearly, most of the population who hadn’t crossed over into that final, feral stage of the sickness are right here in the town square. Through the rain, it is impossible to make an accurate headcount, but more than half of the town’s residents appear to be milling about in the park.
Hidden, deep in shadows, they watch as their friend is led through the crowd toward the newly erected stake in the center. They all recall his and Ben’s account of what had happened in this place only a couple of days earlier and probably every night since then.
These people are active nocturnally, probably sleeping during the day, those who could still sleep at least. Judging by what they’d seen, hardly anyone was sleeping anymore, a symptom that is steadily pushing their lunacy further.
“We can’t get him out of there,” Hewitt says, his tone panicked and despondent.
“No chance,” Miles confirms.
They watch, feeling helpless, as Abraham is dragged closer to the giant stake jutting up from the center of the crowd.
“We have one thing we can do,” Miles says suddenly, feeling hollow inside as the words leave his mouth. “We can grant him some mercy, something those fuckers will never do.”
Hewitt and Mariah are quick to understand what he’s saying but neither of them knows what to say. Hewitt knows he can’t disagree with the cold logic of the suggestion or the compassion.
“Mariah’s the best shot here,” Hewitt suggests after a few seconds. Miles nods in response and Mariah glares at him with betrayal and contempt in her eyes. They all know, just like they’ve always known, Mariah is the best shot with a rifle in her hands. Military training or not, Miles knows he could never compete with her long-range.
“You can’t ask me to do this,” Mariah whispers. Her eyes have softened from the spiteful look they previously held and in those eyes, it’s clear that she knows this is the right thing to do.
“They’re going to torture him,” Hewitt says. “We can’t let that happen. He’s dying already and we can definitely make it quick and painless compared to whatever they’re planning to do to him over there.”
She nods solemnly, agreeing with the truth of what he’s saying.
“Let’s back up a bit here,” Miles begins, skirting back through the lawn to demonstrate that he means the words physically. “There’s a house midway down the block that has a perfect window for the shot.”
They all know the house he’s talking about. They sweep the vacant home as quickly as they can manage before Mariah gets herself installed in the third-floor window, facing the park from just under three blocks away.
“The rain isn’t going to make this any easier,” she points out.
“Are you able to make the shot from here, or do we need to get somewhere closer?” Miles asks, tension clear in his voice as a silent countdown ticks away the time they’re wasting.
“Of course I can,” she replies. “The rain lets up here and there and I’ve got a clear shot.”
Hewitt looks over her shoulder, taking in the scene and nodding in agreement.
“Hewitt,” Miles says, “You’re with me. We’re going to end this shit tonight if we possibly can.”
“I’m with you.”
“Mariah, give us five minutes to get in place for ourselves. You’ll know where we are when the time comes,” Miles says with a grin of determination spreading over his features. “Let’s go!”
Hewitt turns to Mariah before leaving the attic, “Brace some shit against that door before you get into position.”
Mariah nods and stands up after setting the timer on her phone. She reaches out to Hewitt’s cheek and runs her fingers along the familiar contours. “Come back to me, please.”
Hewitt silently walks to th
e door and pulls it shut behind him, wondering if this is the last time he’ll see her and refusing to say goodbye because that would be giving voice to that fear. Either one of them, probably both of them, could wind up dead. They are probably all going to be dead before this night is over.
This is all for nothing, Hewitt thinks to himself as he jogs to follow after Miles.
This is one small, secluded community, and Gale had warned them that the same thing was going to be happening globally. It had probably already started.
One small town had already cost them so much.
Miles stops short and gestures for Hewitt to do the same, distracting him from thoughts he was better dismissing as they were eating away at any last bits of optimism he had left.
“You and I are going to set up a zone here,” Miles points to the front doors of two houses at the corner of the block, across the street from each other and directly across the wider lane separating the park from the residential homes.
“We don’t have time to clear the houses and dawn isn’t far off,” he continues, looking around nervously. “Not that it’ll make much difference.”
“What’s the plan?” Hewitt asks.
“I’m sort of making this up as I go, but we’re going to set ourselves up with a kill zone right here to pick these fuckers off as they go after Mariah.”
“Sounds like a good way to get ourselves fucking murdered, locking ourselves into those houses,” Hewitt replies.
“Oh no, my friend, you’ve got it wrong. We’re staying right down here, outside and at the ground level. Our girl is a champ with that rifle back there. You and I are going to be much more close quarters.”
Hewitt laughs even though he can feel his testicles crawling up into his abdomen. “You’re out of your fucking mind!”
“Maybe,” Miles concedes after a moment’s thought. “But this is our best shot if we plan to intervene on Abraham’s behalf.” He gestures to the park.
“I can’t argue with you,” Hewitt says, still laughing with what he feels appropriate in calling gallows humor.
“She’ll keep on shooting, once she’s seen our play down here, and we have to trust her to cover us as best she can.”
Hewitt glances toward where they’d left Mariah behind. “She will.”
“We’ll be playing this by ear, pulling back and continuing to fire as we go. We have a lot of room behind us and we’ll need to be conscious of our surroundings as we retreat. No rushing. Make every shot count.”
Hewitt takes in the advice and encouragement from his friend, not entirely certain whether he can manage to live up to the expectations Miles is setting. The people up there in the park may not seem to be quite as in charge of their faculties as they had when this had all started off, but there are hundreds of them and only the three of them to hold them off.
Miles looks away, thoughts in line with Hewitt’s, his expression distant for a moment. “This is gonna be tense as shit.”
“Well, I’d have to say that’s an understatement,” Hewitt replies.
“Don’t worry, my man, I have a few surprises that should help us out. You just stay here behind cover until I start shooting. Stay the fuck out of sight, and do not go out in the open until you see me do the same.”
Miles winks at Hewitt knowingly, leaving Hewitt to wonder what the hell his friend was talking about.
They dart as quickly as they can through the intervening space toward their separate destinations, checking their guns as they run.
43
Hewitt shivers. Tucked into a door frame and willing himself to be smaller and less visible, he is terrified by what comes next. He can’t make out where Miles is situated across the street. There’s no chance of picking Mariah out in the window of the house further down the street. When the rain lets up a little bit, he can see the house, but she is hidden in her perch.
He’s armed, and Miles made sure he’s armed well, but he is nervous, more nervous than he’s ever been. This whole thing feels like a distorted, nightmarish version of the OK Corral. He’s a good shot and he’s quick thinking on his feet, but he has no illusions regarding the fact that he’s the weakest link out of the three of them.
In the tense and silent minutes waiting for Mariah to kick things off, Hewitt has plenty of time to analyze his chances and to imagine the worst possible outcomes. He has ample time to internalize the fact that he is about to die and that his death will not be quick nor painless.
Miles and Hewitt are out of their minds, waiting down there at street level, Mariah finds herself thinking; knowing what they have planned only makes that assessment more concrete. She had watched them as they ran through the rain and posted themselves down the street and across from one another. It only took her a moment to discern what Miles had in mind and how he and Hewitt would be backing her up. There was no question that they were insane.
She takes her time lining up the shot, exaggerated care in preparation for something she never imagined she might be doing.
This is not what she wants.
What she wants is to get the whole disgusting thing over with.
What she wants is to wake up in her bed at home and find that this has all been some feverish nightmare.
Knowing that the choice has been made for her by circumstances beyond her control, what she wants right now is to never be asked to do anything like this ever again.
Mariah has Abraham in her sights, no question that she will fire true. He looks like he is in agony and she had taken her time in sweeping the crowd before focusing on her dying friend. The jeering, hostile rage painted across the strangers’ features is awful and terrifying. As near as she can tell, the disease is progressing just as Gale informed them it would, these people don’t have the same predatory glint about them as the mob had just a day before, they’re dulling and slowing down. None of this makes the situation better.
She breathes deep a couple of times, calming herself and finding a center, holding the last breath on the exhale and applying slow, steady pressure to the trigger at the same time. The rifle kicks against her shoulder, but she remains steady, sweeping her scope back to verify she had stopped Abraham’s suffering.
The hole, just off-center on his forehead is smaller than it seems like it should be, but she knows the exit wound will be substantial. There is no sign of life remaining in their friend.
Hewitt requires a moment to collect himself and realize what’s happening when he hears the report from Mariah’s shot. He can’t see Abraham from where he is, but he can hear the slight shift in the noise of the crowd.
Mariah is able to fire three more shots into the crowd before anyone there appears to have any idea what’s going on. They don’t see her, of course, but they do know the direction the shots are coming from. Two more clean shots and they are moving her way, the mob evenly split between those blindly setting off in her direction and those uncertainly seeking cover. The latter must be the ones who still have some of their faculties about them, though they still seem to ultimately be swept up in the mob, whether through some herd mentality or simply lacking the wherewithal to fight the tide. Soon enough, the whole cluster of crazed men, women, and children begin to flow like a slow river to where she’s still firing.
Mariah focuses on the people most likely to give away her position and those within the group who appear to be moving with the greatest zeal. She will continue firing until she is either out of ammunition or out of luck. Before the first members of the mob have reached the street running along the park, she has taken a total of nine of their number out of the equation.
Nine.
Nine more people dead all because of her friend’s madness. Nine more deaths to haunt and torment her for the role she’s playing in ending those lives. She buries those thoughts, to be exhumed later, as she relies on instinct and a clear mind to continue firing and reloading as quickly as she ever has.
Hewitt watches as this all takes place, sickened by what they’re doing to these po
or people and knowing there is no other choice. Hundreds of people press their way through the park and spill into the street while Mariah keeps firing. The teeming mass approaches the road where all three of them are in their positions.
Heart racing and feeling like his bladder is full and near bursting, Hewitt takes careful aim with his pistol, waiting to be seen or waiting for Miles to signal him that its time to begin opening fire, uncertain which will come first.
Only seconds pass, though it feels like so much longer. The mob is getting closer and the numbers seem overwhelming.
He doesn’t see the object landing amid the raging tide, but the loud pop and concussive wave of unexpectedly warm air tell him what Miles meant by surprises. Even with what has to be 70 feet between himself and where the grenade had detonated, he felt it.
Hewitt, now knowing what Miles has in mind, flattens himself into his limited cover just before another grenade detonates.
44
Mariah has no way to respond to what she’s just witnessed. She can’t even process what she’s seen right away. Before she even registers what happened, a second explosion happens and then a third.
Shock wears off and she continues firing, angry with herself for having stopped for just those few seconds of impotence. The crowd has noticeably thinned.
From her nest in the window, she can see that there had been probably close to 400 or maybe even more of the residents spilling out of the park and heading into the residential neighborhood where they’ve chosen to take their stand.
Only after she’s gotten back into her rhythm and fired a few more rounds does she realize that Miles must have had grenades of some kind with him. She would have expected the people to have scattered a bit after the explosions in their midst, but they did not.
“Crazy fucker,” she mutters to herself as she takes aim and removes another threat.
Shortly after the third blast, she hears as much as she sees Miles leave cover and begin firing. Three round bursts, separated by silence, she can tell he is taking careful aim rather than squandering the ammunition. Almost right away additional gunfire adds its noise to the crescendo as Hewitt fires single rounds from his pistol.
Innocence Ends Page 17