The Longest Road (Book 2): The Change

by Thompson, A. S.

  “So let me get this straight,” Collin said, fidgeting nervously. “You want me to use your shirt and gag the zomb, wrestle it to the ground, then stab it with my imaginary spear?”

  Nick snapped out of the memory and turned to Collin. He smiled, and with the precious seconds that remained, he said, “Gag? Yes. Wrestle? Not recommended, but if you have to. Imaginary spear? Certainly not.”

  “I must be missing something. Then how do you suggest we kill these bastards?”

  “When the moment presents itself, and it will, I plan on driving the line to the back of their mouth. Then, I will wrap the slack around their head so the line is tight. Last, I use leverage and snap their neck.”

  Collin spared a glance at Nick. The old Native American seemed to be in the zone; mentally running through his plan, step by step.

  “Oh, just like that, huh?” Collin replied with a touch of blunt sass.

  “Do you have any better ideas?”

  “Nope, the shirt-neck-break technique seems good to me.”

  “Trust me, Collin, it will work. Besides, at least you have the flannel fabric protecting your hands,” Nick said assuredly. “Now get ready. Remember, move quickly, jam the line forward to obstruct the jaw muscles. Tighten the slack and break the neck.”

  Standing at the entrance, were a pair of obese undead. The man and woman looked freshly infected, connoted by their lack of deterioration and full mobility. They wasted no time sniffing out their prey. They released a hoarse moan and then trudged their massive two-hundred and fifty pound frames through the sand.

  “Which one do you want, Nick?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Not really, just being polite. Alright let's spread out and do this thing,” Collin said, moving left.

  At first, both infected continued on toward Nick, but after Collin shouted and kicked sand in their direction, the woman broke away.

  “Remember, Collin,” Nick said circling to his right. “The deeper you press the line, the harder it will be for the jaw muscle to close the mouth. But be quick. Be efficient.”

  ***

  After what seemed like minutes spent dodging and performing various defensive maneuvers, Collin and Nick found themselves backed up to one another.

  “I guess this is it,” Collin said, tightening the slack as he waited for the inevitable.

  Nick didn't take his focus off of his target. “Good luck, Collin. Godspeed.”

  With that, the two men almost simultaneously lunged at their opponents.

  The fight was on.

  Collin’s timing was perfect. The woman had just opened her mouth to bite, when he jammed the thick cloth line deep into her oral cavity. Then, Collin squatted low, and fighting through the pain in his leg, he pushed with all of his might.

  Initially, the infected woman’s superior weight created a standstill, but seconds later, Collin's momentum triumphed. As she took a few awkward steps back, Collin curled his right leg around her left, tripping her.

  The impact against the sand wasn't pleasant, but the fall did drive the line further into her mouth, past the molars. Unfortunately, though, as Collin braced for the fall, his right knuckle slid to the corner of her mouth. The thick layer of flannel material was all that came between the infected saliva dripping from her teeth and his knuckle.

  Collin could feel her jaw muscle straining to close against his knuckle. He hadn't felt any puncturing yet, just the painful pressure of her vice-grip like jaw.

  It’s only a matter of time,he thought.She’ll eventually overpower you. Do it now!

  Despite the pain, Collin wrapped the line around the back of her head and pulled it tight.

  “Die, you fucker!” He screamed through clenched teeth. With all of his might, Collin pushed with his right hand and pulled the line with his left. He knew it was enough when he heard the "pop" sound of her upper vertebrae breaking.

  Then, the infected woman's body no longer struggled and her jaw loosened up.

  Like a barbaric warrior, Collin howled, and then released his grip. Quickly, he unraveled the cloth, hoping, praying, there had been no impact into his flesh.

  “Please don't have punctured! Please don't have punctured!” he repeated like a crazed mantra. As he withdrew the last of the saliva soaked flannel, he sighed. The skin around his knuckles bore red marks and a partial indentation of the outline of teeth, but the skin was not perforated.

  “Didn't I tell you it'd work,” came a voice from behind Collin.

  Collin pivoted on his knee and saw Nick, standing up over the body of his own kill.

  Nick, apparently more efficient, had already risen from the sand, and was in the process of unraveling his belt. “It's amazing the things you learn as a child, and never think have another application later in life.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken.”

  “Here let me help you up,” Nick said, moving to Collin's position. He extended his hand and grabbed a hold of Collin's.

  “Thanks, Nick,” Collin said, pulling himself up.

  For a brief moment, Collin shared Nick's exhausted, but thankful-to-be-alive smile. But that brief moment was shattered by a terrible surprise.

  With his back to the entrance gate, Nick was unable to see the thing charging him like a bull.

  Collin caught a glimpse of the surprise attacker and screamed, “Look out, Nick!”

  ***

  The unsuspecting attacker, a well-built man in his mid-twenties, was courtesy of Ruben Torres; who was following the order of Jimmy Sanchez.

  Jimmy had wanted to make it a great fight, and what better way than to add a surprise attacker. The timing couldn't have been worse for the recent victors.

  The new combatant was dressed in nothing but navy blue cargo shorts. The blood staining the skin around his lips and running down his hairy chest made him appear more like a savage than a man. He was more limber than the previous infected had been, and as such, sprinted wildly for Nick's unsuspecting backside.

  “Behind you!” Collin shouted.

  The Native American was completely blind to the attack. When Nick’s mind finally processed the warning and realized what the terror on Collin's face meant, it was too late.

  There was no offensive action Collin could take from his position, so he reacted. He grabbed onto Nick's shoulder and pulled him inward. The two men fell to the sand in a twisted heap, with the third body landing on top in a vicious dog pile.

  The second fight was underway.

  As the rain came down in a steady pour, it thickened the sand making it extra sticky. The two alive men and their dead opponent wrestled violently, rolling around and around and around. A flurry of fists and kicks caused clumps of sand to fly and scatter all around them. The entire scene was like watching a small tornado churn, pick up and fling bodies.

  “A little help!” Collin screamed through clenched teeth. His hands were pressed against Cargo Short's neck, keeping his clenching teeth at bay.

  From the man’s backside, Nick did his best to hold on to Cargo Short’s shoulders. But a lack of clothing and a shaved head made it incredibly difficult to apply a good restraint.

  “I'm trying!” Nick replied. “Hold on!”

  As the wrestling continued, Nick saw a bloodied rock protruding halfway through the sand next to him. Knowing neither he nor Collin could carry on much longer, Nick made a split second decision. He released his right hand, grabbed the rock and bashed it over the Cargo Short's head.

  The first impact sent bits of bone and brain matter flying through the air. It was jarring enough to knock Cargo Shorts off Collin, but it wasn't lethal enough to terminate the infected man.

  So, Nick pounced on top of Cargo Shorts and continued. He wailed on the man's head until it split open vertically, like a fault line through pavement. The Native American didn't let up until the man's jaw stopped snapping and his black eyes went dead for good.

  To avoid another potential surprise, Nick pivoted around and scanned t
he cage. Satisfied there were no additional threats, he rushed back to Collin.

  “I think we can put our guard down now,” he said, panting.

  “I hope so,” Collin replied, righting himself as he scooted back-up against the fence. Utterly exhausted, Collin ran a hand down his face, scraping off sand. Something felt different, though, more than just the exhaustion of an adrenaline dump.

  Nick grabbed on to the chain link fence and began shaking it violently. He was normally calm and composed, but the Wolf inside him, the animal itself, was taking over with furious rage.

  “We won! Twice! Even though you tried to screw us over, we beat your best! AND WE ARE NOT HURT, SO RELEASE US!”

  “Uh, Nick,” Collin said, tugging the Ranger’s pant leg.

  “What?” Nick screamed. His rage had carried over unintentionally. “I'm sorry, what is it, Collin?”

  “I wouldn't be so sure about not being hurt...”

  Then, just as the words departed Collin’s mouth, Nick spotted the unthinkable.

  “Collin!” Nick exclaimed, squatting down next to his friend. He grabbed onto Collin's wrist, and focused on the palm. “You're bit!”

  ***

  As Nick and Collin fought, Estrella had managed to land a concussive right hook to Sarah's temple. Subsequently, the enraged Latina pinned her knees against Sarah's small arms, immobilizing her. After delivering a pair of jabs to Sarah's cheek, Estrella spun Sarah around and put her in a choke hold. She forced Sarah to watch the potential demise of Collin and Nick.

  Pleased with his lover’s success, Jimmy had returned his full attention to the main fight, watching both fighters with anxious eyes. He jumped up from his chair when Collin and Nick had intentionally attacked both infected. In the months that he had watched these fights, never had he witnessed such a brazen, suicidal attempt. Ecstatic, he ran to the fence to get an up-close view of the action.

  As he watched the men fend off the third surprise attacker, Jimmy had a moment of serenity. It was as though his life was fulfilled. He was king, a god over the land. He had the support of dozens of loyal men. A woman who loved his black heart. And the pure, unadulterated entertainment that he had hoped to achieve from creating these games.

  But, as fate revealed, Nick and Collin defeated Cargo Shorts, and to Jimmy’s knowledge, avoided being bitten. The absolute worst case scenario had come to fruition; shattering his bliss like a rock through glass.

  Jimmy’s perverted smile twisted into snarling furiousness. The Grim Reaper had returned.

  Jimmy heard Nick demand freedom, but he wasn’t listening. His psyche had reverted to insane-mode. He was livid, irate. He didn't care that it had been a great fight. He had wanted more. He wanted blood. He needed someone to die.

  “No! No! No! No! No! You were supposed to die!” Jimmy screamed.

  He had bashed both fists on top of the picnic table, and then paced back and forth like a schizophrenic. Not the increasing storm, not his girlfriend's consoling efforts, nothing brought him back.

  Then, he calmly grabbed the revolver from his waistline and pointed it at the two men. “There needs to be death,” he whispered.

  The Grim Reaper pulled the hammer back, and aimed at Nick's midsection. But, before he could squeeze the trigger, a large explosion tore through Camp.

  1954 hours

  When Sergeant Major Craig West and his band of counterinsurgents were in position, West pressed the button on the detonator that relayed a radio signal to the C-4. The explosion created by the plastique explosive was majestic. It was a brilliant display of pure pyrotechnic artwork. It was equal parts beautiful and destructive.

  To the naked eye of those present, the explosion was nearly instantaneous. The violent expansion of gases, initiating from under the prison transport bus, created a destructive fireball that moved outward at a speed of over twenty-six thousand feet per second. The concussive blast lifted the bus more than twenty feet in the air, and simultaneously sent out a wave of powerful flames frying everything in its path. By the time the bus came crashing down in a twisted heap of metal shards and glass, the flames had dispersed.

  As fast as a blink, the explosion was over. All that remained was a devastated landscape; scorched earth.

  The unfortunate bikers nearest to the parked cars were killed instantly. Those inside the harsh blast radius were literally blown to bits. Others suffered severe organ failure from the concussive pressure, while a few sustained severe shrapnel related injuries. The lucky ones, those furthest from the explosion, were subjected to perforated eardrums, minor cuts, and other non-life-threatening wounds.

  As if living through an explosion wasn't traumatic enough, the violence didn't stop. Steve, Travis, and Larry took the explosion as "the signal" and began to open fire on the distracted and helpless members of Los Tres Demonios. They pulled trigger after trigger, only stopping to reload. The entire counteroffensive took less than five minutes from beginning to end, but to those involved, it felt like an eternity.

  The first victims were still recovering from the blast. They didn't even see, let alone suspect, a follow up attack. Buckshot and rifle slugs tore through limbs, cratered midsections and splattered brains. The lucky ones died with bullets. The not so lucky ones met the end of Craig West's blade.

  The Delta Force operator moved with the elegance of a stage dancer; spinning, leaping and stabbing with graceful precision. Bodies collapsed in his wake, some already passed on, while others gargled fluids and tried to plug arterial wounds.

  By the time the bikers realized what was happening, more than one-half had perished. At first, many fought through the pain and hindering symptoms of the ingested Saxitoxin. They even managed to disregard their post-explosion injuries, ready their weapons, and return fire at unknown aggressors.

  Despite a three to one person advantage, Los Tres Demonios fought a losing battle. The surprise attack and superior positioning of West and company was enough to force the bikers into a slow retreat to the parking lot.

  As West waited behind a large Douglas-fir, preparing for his next advance, he noticed Larry struggling to reload the shotgun.

  “Shove the shells into the magazine follower! It’s underneath the weapon! No, not through the ejection port!”

  “Magazine what?” Larry screamed back. “Ejection, huh?”

  Hands trembling, the CFO fumbled reloading. He wasn’t sure what went where, and the deafening gunfire and torrential downpour didn’t help. Then, accidentally, he dropped a handful of double-ought buck shells into wet sand.

  “I-I don’t think I can do this anymore!”

  “Larry!” West growled. “I know what you’re thinking, so stop! We need the cover fire! So Ranger up!”

  A flurry of bullets whizzed around Larry’s head and kicked up sand next to his body.

  “Ranger up? I-I’m not a soldier!”

  “Don’t you do it! Larry-”

  “Screw this!”

  Then, caring only about self-preservation, Larry threw down the shotgun. He abandoned his post and scurried away like a rat, following the beach-line north.

  West ignored the bullets that blasted wooden chunks inches from his face.

  “Damnit, Larry! Get back here!” he shouted.

  He didn't expect the CFO to return, and he should have expected the betrayal, but still, Larry's cowardice made West’s blood boil even more. Had West been closer, he might have killed Larry and chalked it up to a "friendly fire" accident.

  But there were still more bikers, more filth to be eradicated. So, West dove behind the body of one of his kills and continued his assault. He borrowed the dead man's handgun, checked the chamber and picked his targets with prejudice.

  ***

  Across Camp, Steve fired from his stomach, creating a smaller target for the opposition. Travis took partial cover behind the corner of the Ranger station. Both fired unforgivingly.

  Then, Travis noticed Nick and Collin belly down inside the cage, defenseless. So, he changed targets
to protect his friends. He pulled out a grenade and chucked it forty feet. The bomb rolled up next to a pair of bikers and detonated, killing them instantly.

  “Steve!” Travis shouted, attempting to get the sniper's attention. As he waited for Steve to finish his last shot, the second lieutenant pulled back behind the concrete wall to reload. When Steve looked over, Travis continued. “I'm gonna move forward and get Nick and Collin the hell outta there! Make sure you cover us!”

  “You got it!”

  When he was ready, Travis tapped Steve on the back and moved forward.

  “Move fast!” Steve shouted, rolling to his right to find a new position. He rose to a knee and steadied himself.Only eight more rounds! Make ‘em count, he thought.

  Steve always knew how many bullets he had. So, he chose his targets carefully, focusing on the most prominent threats.

  Staring down the metal sights, Steve scanned the battleground, but had yet to locate Sarah. Before the explosion, he saw her on the ground crying next to Jimmy and Estrella. It had taken everything for him and a little from Travis to keep from rushing into the arena, guns blazing. He knew doing so would have been suicide, but such was the extent of his love for her. He would give his life if it meant her safety.

  After the C-4 explosion, negative thoughts and anxious fears lingered at the edge of Steve’s mind. Like demons on a shoulder, fear toyed with him, telling him that maybe Sarah was dead. His objectivity knew that Sarah was far enough away from the blast not to have been killed, but the doubt was convincing.

  Maybe the blast knocked her unconscious? Maybe she ran away after the explosion? Steve thought, but he was having a tough time believing in that. The only saving grace lay in the fact that he had not seen Jimmy or Estrella either.Maybe they were taking cover on the ground somewhere?