by LC Champlin
The rabble reverberated with disapproval.
“I should just run you over.”
The driver—the Maori giant from earlier—revved the engine in response. Beside him sat Wong.
“Stop.” As if facing down a pack of roving mutts, Nathan held his ground. If he fired a warning shot, they would likely scuttle back to their homes. While it would address the immediate unrest, it wouldn’t solve the underlying cause of their rebellion. “The authorities will be here soon. Until then, give the Red Devil Goats what they want, and they’ll leave you alone. But in the meantime, the Goats aren’t going to protect you from cannibals or rival gangs if you’re rioting like this.”
Eduardo raised the megaphone. “The devil we know, eh? I don’t want to serve any devil.”
This stimulated a cheer from the sheep.
Nathan rolled his eyes. His ribs ached. Hell, his whole body ached, not only from injuries, but also from the longing to make these fools understand. Bowing his head, he gave a grunt of resignation. “As you wish. I’ve warned you. If you want to invite the devil’s revenge, it’s on your own heads.”
“Eduardo!” One of the little cult climbed into the Sierra’s bed. The man leaned in to whisper in Eduardo’s ear. The fearless leader blanched under his tan and sweat, making him look ill. Bingo.
Bullhorn up, Eduardo faced them. “The lookout sees a few cannibals on the edge of Heron Court Apartments.” Near Redwood’s western border.
The crowd began to stir. People looked about, some with fear, some with anger.
“Now’s your chance!” Nathan called. “Those things are going to crawl in here and kill anyone on the street. If you think you’re a match for trained, armed raiders, a few sick people shouldn’t pose a problem.” Smirking, he folded his arms over his chest. Would the mutts chase the treat into the kennel? Would the sheep follow the leader into the pen?
Eduardo shifted the bullhorn from hand to hand while the assembled’s murmurs rose to a babble.
“Well?” Nathan taunted. “Don’t you care about your homes and families?”
Shooting him a baleful look, Eduardo keyed the mic. “We have to send a message. Together we can stop these . . . these affected. We’ve fought them before; we can do it again!”
When? During the fake MS-13 confrontation? The retort, I didn’t see you kill any, but perhaps I was too busy killing them myself to notice, balanced on the tip of Nathan’s tongue. No, they needed to learn their lesson firsthand.
“For Redwood!” Eduardo punched his fist in the air.
His people took up the chant. Apparently the nitwits wanted more of a challenge, since their clamor would draw the Dalits’ attention.
“Everyone, go home and gear up!”
Retreating to the shade of the fence along the sidewalk, Nathan watched the party scatter. After the Sierra rolled out of sight, he reached for his HT. “Albin, I’ll meet you at Dory and Marlin.”
“Yes, sir.”
Switch to the others’ channel: “Showtime.”
Chapter 87
Shape Up or Shoot Out
Taking Back - About a Mile
“I copy.” Marvin.
“Roger that.” Jo.
Weapon up at compressed ready, Nathan set off for the rendezvous intersection.
When he arrived, Amanda’s Genesis already waited, Albin at the wheel. Nathan slid into the passenger side and buckled up.
“Is this wise, sir?” It sounded like a question, but when Albin said it, he meant have you lost your last fucking marble? “They could create even more cannibals.” Rather, they could become more cannibals.
“It’s a risk we have to take. If they do, we can use them as well.”
“In theory.” Albin pulled away from the curb, then accelerated down the street, passing empty houses on either side.
“It’s not an optimal plan, I know, but rebellion cannot be tolerated. It will bring down the whole community.”
“If, however, they can be delayed until law enforcement arrives, the government may be able to silence the unrest. Or the issue may resolve spontaneously when they are no longer beneath the Goats’ thumb.”
“What happens after the authorities leave?”
“There are too many variables to formulate a concrete strategy. Perhaps we can negotiate a guard for the community—”
“I’m assuming greatest probability based on precedent.” Nathan watched the houses pass as he spoke. Homes. Families. Sheep. The predators circled. “The government’s control is crumbling. The authorities may not be willing or able to respond to Josephine’s call.”
Though Albin said nothing, the veins in his hands stood out as his knuckles whitened on the wheel.
They parked at the intersection of Bowsprit and Lanyard Drives, then made their way toward the hot zone: Heron Court.
Parallel rows of big-box apartment buildings ran in a diagonal, like spaces on a chess board that had slid together to share a portion of their edges. They composed the complex’s borders, forming a rectangle within a rectangle when viewed from above. Two rows of similar structures projected into the middle of the neighborhood, splitting it.
The cannibals approached from the northwest corner—or so Sarge had reported before Nathan left the Goats’ HQ.
Nathan and Albin advanced from the northeast via Ensign Lane, which terminated in a combo roundabout and mini parking lot. McMansions flanked Heron Court’s driveway. Entering along a covered walkway, the men reached the rectangle of apartments. Paved paths connected the buildings.
The two-story cubes hadn’t updated their architecture since the ’70s: gray, drab, with wooden fences of the same color walling in microscopic yards.
“Never a drone around when you need one,” Nathan muttered as he leaned around a building corner. He hit the PTT. “Jo, updates?”
“The affected are past the outside buildings. They’re between the rows of buildings that make up the northwest border. Are you sure this is all right? It seems dangerous. The cannibals could kill all—” Wheeling the volume down eliminated the noise pollution.
Albin raised his HT. “Mr. Bridges?”
“The first cars are here. Looks like we have a good turnout. Mm, I see a few pistols. Four at the most. Everybody else has standard angry-mob implements.”
“Keep us informed.”
“Sure.”
Arm against his ribs, Nathan squared his shoulders. He turned to backfist his friend on the shoulder. “Be safe, Albin.”
“Likewise, sir.” With a curt nod, the blond headed down the path that threaded between the two central rows of houses.
With his .45 ready, Nathan set off for the two-story building that occupied the north half of the rectangle. A sandlot playground with a tetherball and standard swing-set equipment branched off the structure’s southern corner.
The single-story section of the building nearest the slides housed administration, according to a door marked Office. The residents had locked it, but a punch through the window with the pistol made keys obsolete.
Inside, he shoved the reception desk against the door. His ribs glowed with coal-hot pain. “Serves me right for not learning to pick locks.”
A little exploring located the stairs. On the second floor—mainly storage, judging by the boxes and furniture—he unlocked a window that opened onto the roof of a one-story level. He dropped a chair over the edge of the roof to act as a very long step to the ground. Putting a chair on the roof allowed him to scramble onto the second level’s summit. Panting, with pain wrapping around his chest more tightly than the bullet-resistant vest, he gained the peak. Albin, Josephine, and Marvin occupied similar vantage points around the complex.
Cars had begun pulling into the roundabout that interrupted the rectangle’s southern border. Nathan took a pair of compact Bushnell binoculars from his jacket pocket to survey the gathering. As Marvin said, people with yard implements and sports equipment milled among the vehi
cles.
The black Sierra rumbled up. Nathan smiled as if a moose had wandered into rifle range. Megaphone out, Eduardo began giving orders: form groups, don’t get separated, keep alert, don’t get splashed. If they needed instructions this basic, these idiots didn’t stand a chance against a real threat like the Goats. The upcoming cannibal encounter should teach them this.
“Maybe I should have requested more Dalits.” No, he’d already pressed his luck by asking Sarge for the six cannibals and the extra pistols. The hulking lieutenant had drawn the line at providing a rifle, though. Unlike Russia and the US, Sarge knew better than to arm his “allies” too well.
In the distance, Eduardo worked the crowd into a lather. In pre-disaster life, he must have held a position in sales or broadcasting. Or politics. As predicted, the sheep charged into the fray, leaving him to bring up the rear.
The “don’t split up the party” principle disintegrated on contact with reality: people spread out, some ranging ahead, some pairing with friends. Like fish swimming toward a net, they headed for the cannibals’ location at the complex’s northwest border.
Eduardo remained at the staging area, swinging a baseball bat in one hand. The hulking driver waited beside him and the truck. No Mrs. Wong thus far.
With a grunt, Nathan made his painful way to the ground. No one appeared to notice him hurry across the yard under the trees to the central apartments.
As he edged along the wall’s step-like perimeter, he deployed the HT. “The target’s clear.”
“Got it,” Marvin responded.
The trees and covered parking structures hid Nathan’s approach. They also concealed the target. One, two, three—He emerged from between the garage and fence, onto the parking lot. “Eduardo.”
The ringleader and his broad-shouldered driver did a doubletake. “Come to see us in action?” Eduardo raised his bat to rest on his shoulder like he’d just hit a homer.
“I’m not surprised to see you cowering here with your guard.” Nathan drew up fifteen yards from the pair.
The Maori moved in front of Eduardo. “We don’t want people like you sneaking up behind us.”
“If I were the raider you call me, you’d already be dead. Come to think of it, it would make the community safer if I killed you.”
“What a humanitarian,” Eduardo chuckled as he pointed the bat at Nathan. “You want us as slaves, not corpses, right?”
“I’m giving you two options, Eduardo.” Two fingers up. “One, you agree to toe the line. Two, you leave. There are plenty of places to shelter while this blows over. You might even have better luck out there.” A too-casual shrug indicated the doubtfulness of this idea.
“I got a better idea.” Eduardo sauntered closer, the bat on his shoulder and a smile on his lips. “You, your friend, and that witch get out of town. She can take her bitch Amanda, too.”
Fucking bastard! Nathan’s trigger finger ached to put a round through Eduardo’s skull.
Shorty continued, “We can take care of ourselves. Right, Loto?”
His crony nodded, growling.
The HT at Nathan’s side squelched three times, paused, then gave another three chts. Marvin. “That’s not going to happen. You might want to check your ride’s tires, though.”
Loto sprinted to the other side of the Sierra. “They slashed one of our tires!”
Chapter 88
High and Dry
State of My Head - Shinedown
“Bastard!” Eduardo raised the bat.
As an equal and opposite reaction, Nathan raised his pistol. “That could have been your throats. You’re outmaneuvered. Leave.”
Anger twisting the wannabe-leader’s face, he held his ground.
“Eduardo!” A man sprinted through the garage, from between the house rows at the community’s southwest edge. Face bloodless, chest heaving, he staggered to a halt. “Ed, they’re—it’s—”
Josephine’s voice over the radio obscured the rest: “There are more affected! They-they’re coming over the fences from inside the apartments. There are at least fifteen. My God, they’re fast! Oh shhhh—They just tore out that poor man’s throat.”
Albin responded, “They are on the northeast border as well. The original cannibals must have attracted them, or they were already lying in wait. There are . . . eleven here. They are far more aggressive and agile than previous cannibals.”
Worse cannibals? Nathan’s mouth went chalky. Wait, a crisis unfolded before him, opening new possibilities. “You know what to do. Shoot first, ask questions later. Stay on high ground. Marvin, go. I’ll handle this.”
O God, protect my people from the Dalits, and I will offer up my victories to You.
“Get in the truck!” Eduardo yelled at his driver and the messenger.
“But the tire—”
“It’s a cage, stupid!” Then he whipped around to face Nathan. “You’re responsible for this. You led us here! You probably even let them loose.” Sun glinted off the bat as it swung back.
At the opposite corner of the parking lot, a figure appeared from the trees. It threw its head back, pale face to the sky. Ssssssaaaahhh.
The Sierra’s engine roared to life, drowning the hiss in V8 EcoTec3 power. Flat be damned, the truck swung around the lot, then lumbered away up the street.
“Impressive loyalty. Follow his example: leave,” Nathan repeated, Rock Island Standard along his right pectoral.
With a panicked look around the lot, Eduardo took off through the garage, the way his messenger had arrived.
“Run, little sheep.” Eyes on the cannibal, Nathan retraced his steps, staying close to the fence. The Dalit didn’t notice him. Retreating to the car might lead him into the snake pit, but leaving Eduardo could create a dragon instead.
On the other side of the trees, Eduardo jogged along the western line of houses. A man appeared on top of the fence line behind him. A cannibal. It balanced on the boards like a cat, then leapt to the ground to give chase.
Ed glanced over his shoulder—and broke into a sprint. Ahead, another cannibal sprang over the fence to land in his path. Almost losing his balance, he skidded to a halt. He bolted to the right—the only route open—toward the playground.
A third Dalit loped from around the far side of the admin building. Three prongs closed on the prey.
Shouts and cries echoed around the neighborhood as have-a-go heroes met reality. Everyone wanted a zombie apocalypse—until one arrived. Flashes of movement between buildings and trees: cannibals. This had not gone to plan. Scare the people? Yes. Give them a close call and perhaps a few casualties? Probably. Annihilate them? No. But with effort, it could still produce a favorable outcome. Some would have to sacrifice for the greater good, but every successful community claimed this heritage.
Following his instincts, Eduardo scrambled to the top of the monkey bars. Knees bent, bat poised, he balanced on the rungs.
Below, the monsters paused to eye him. They seemed unsure how to proceed, as if seeing prey above them lay outside their experience. It probably did.
The treed rebel looked back at Nathan, who sheltered beside the central row of houses and behind a stand of trees. “Don’t just fucking stand there. Shoot them!”
“Leave or submit.”
One of the cannibals, a male in jeans and a button-down shirt, jumped to swipe at Ed’s feet. Clang! Bat rebounded off rung, missing the Dalit. Another of the drooling bastards tried. This one came back with a fractured hand. It didn’t notice.
“All right! Just get these fuckers away from me!”
One of the cannibals looked in Nathan’s direction. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t blink.
Chapter 89
Splash Zone
Back from the Dead - Skillet
His yelling attracted more than Nathan’s attention: three more Dalits hopped over the western buildings’ fence.
“Shoot them!” Panic replaced anger in Eduardo’s
expression. “Come on!” His voice broke.
Fire a .45? Nathan might as well ring a dinner bell. He could toss one of the stun grenades Sarge had given him, but it might do as much damage to Eduardo as to the cannibals.
Wait, this ass clown wanted to run him down with a GMC. Moreover, Eduardo threatened the safety of the community. He reaped what he sowed.
The cannibals from the west approached not with the twitching electric-shock gait of two nights ago, but with the bent knees and the death stares of hunters.
Get to high ground! Instinct and muscles screamed it.
Ssssssaaaaahhhhhh!
“Mr. Serebus.” Albin’s voice on the HT. “There are approximately seven more cannibals moving in your direction.”
From the break at the northern corner of the complex’s rectangle spilled the horde.
Swallowing down bile, Nathan spared a shaky hand for the mic. “I copy. Everyone, get out. Kill as many as you can on the way, but don’t delay.”
The bastards under the monkey bars turned in his direction, weaving their heads from side to side like snakes. The closest two bear-walked on all fours for a few yards. Did they see him?
Then the seven reinforcements arrived.
Two broke from the mass to approach Nathan. His heart dropped a beat. The edges of his vision fogged. Instead of blistered faces snarling at him, Amanda, Denver, Taylor, and Carolyn gazed back. Then they morphed back into the Dalits’ contorted visages.
Keeping the .45 on line, Nathan waited. One, two, three, four. He met Eduardo’s glare. The source of the chaos shifted his stance on the bars, but his foot slipped. His right leg slipped between the rungs, though, and his knee slammed the metal. “Fuck!”
Like hounds at the sound of a dog whistle, the monsters snapped around toward him. They resumed their experimental hops at him. Hops elongated to jumps.