The time it takes Brad to explore the shop feels like an eternity to her. The dead moan in the distance as she waits. Not a creature stirs in her field of view until Brad returns, and his sudden appearance almost causes her to discharge the weapon out of reflex and jumpy nerves.
“See? I told you it’d be easy,” he says, placing a brown paper bag into the back of the jeep. “I’d rather not travel at night. We’d better find a spot to hunker down.”
“I thought we were close?” she asks, returning to the passenger seat.
“We are, but I’m wiped out. We’ll just get some rest and hit it first thing in the morning.”
“All right,” she agrees. Catching some decent sleep actually sounds really good to her now.
Brad hits a button near the steering column that turns the engine over. He guides them through the ruined corpses, trying to avoid the large pieces of carnage.
After they park behind one of the town’s few motels, Vida once again mans the .50 caliber machine gun while Brad heads to the office to grab a room key. Her chest tightens, and that abysmal vulnerability she felt when walking to the bridge returns. She chalks it up to being alone while Brad secures a room for them.
Another lifetime passes in the ten minutes Brad is gone. Ten minutes of listening to the muffled moans of the far off dead and jumping at shadows. Every tensed muscle instantly relaxes when he returns, twirling a wide plastic key ring on his finger.
“We’re in Room 202. I figured the high ground would be best.” He takes the shopping bag he’d filled inside the abandoned shop. “The room is all clear.”
Vida follows Brad around the building. Though no danger is suspected, they move as quietly as possible. Brad keeps his assault rifle out and ready, just in case. They run up a set of concrete steps to their floor.
Vida waits at the room’s threshold until Brad locates a lamp. He had checked out the room very quickly, he tells her, and neglected to switch on any lights, but after a series of clicks the room is illuminated in a dingy yellow glow. The motel may look seedy, but at the moment it’s heaven.
Brad sits on the bed and unties his tall leather boots then pulls the cuffs of his fatigue pants out of them. “That’s much better.” He sighs.
Vida relaxes now that a locked door keeps the crazy world outside at bay. She drops herself into a plush recliner.
“The store was picked pretty clean. Probably by whoever made that mess on the streets.” Brad dumps the bag out onto a small end table. “I got all the major food groups: jerky, gummy, sugary, and salty.”
From the assortment of junk food, Vida selects a chocolate bar. She’s feeling quite hungry now that she’s had a moment to stop and let her body tell her what it needs. From the pockets in his cargo pants, Brad removes bottles Vida hadn’t even noticed before. Two twenty-ounce sodas and two glass flasks of liquor.
“Do you like bourbon or tequila?” he asks. “Everything else was taken or smashed. I found these survivors on the floor.”
“Just a soda, please.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” she admits. “I don’t like the loss of control.”
“Suit yourself.” He tosses her one of the colas. “Control is overrated. My personal opinion. You really aren’t from around here. Everyone in these parts calls it pop.”
“I’ve noticed that.” She smiles.
“I’m from Massachusetts originally. We got folks out there that call it tonic. I’ve met many folks from the south that call it all Coke no matter the brand.”
The inconsequential small talk is a good distraction. It makes the world outside seem farther away.
Brad switches on the television but is unable to find anything except test patterns and dead air. “No news is good news, I suppose.”
“This place we’re going to, Eagle Rock, it’s safe, right?” Vida says. “I promised someone I’d find a safe place.”
“It’s as safe as a place can be. There are fences, walls, barbed wire, around the clock armed sentries,” he says while mixing himself a drink. He takes a few sips of his cola while it’s still virgin to make room, and then adds enough alcoholic experience to make it a veritable harlot. “I’ll be one of the guys on a permanent rotating watch bill. No rest for the weary.”
“I’m sure everyone will appreciate your hard work.”
“I hope so.” He shrugs and sips deeply from his concoction. “We should rest up for tomorrow. There’s only one bed.”
“We can flip a coin for it,” Vida says.
“Or, we can share it…” Brad says, the alcohol already loosening his tongue. “You can properly thank me for picking you up. Show me your appreciation.”
Vida isn’t certain if he’s joking or not, so she gives his proposition a perfunctory smile before letting him down gently, “I’m fine on the recliner.”
“Are you sure? Army cots aren’t exactly known for their comfort. This could be the last real bed you see for some time.”
“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. Honestly, I can sleep anywhere.”
“Suit yourself.” Brad props himself against the headboard, adding more bourbon to his soda. “I guess there are worse things to wake up to than a sore neck.”
5
Jessie surprised Marko by suggesting the highway patrol station as their headquarters when Marko drew a blank as to where to go after ransacking the store in Worchester. It must be his turn with the brain, he thought. The place would be perfect since it’s practically invisible from the road due to heavy overgrowth, and it should yield guns and ammo. The only drawback is how far north it is, halfway to Fallen.
The men had taken all they could from the little market: booze, smokes, snacks, even porno magazines. They knew they could always come back, but were overwhelmed by the temptation to take more. With the booty stowed in the beds of their trucks, they have made their way to their safe house. Marko is compelled to settle in before nightfall and plans to return to Worchester first thing in the morning to get whatever they’ve left behind.
Now they sit in the lot of the patrol station, watching for movement. Marko’s partners are getting anxious as they wait while crammed into the smaller red truck, but he knows they need to proceed with caution. The last thing he wants is to get bitten or killed and lose this once in a lifetime opportunity.
Marko finally exits his truck, holding a hand up to tell his companions to stay put. He heads to the door with his AK-47 and stops halfway up the walk. The lights are on, the patrolmen are still inside, but he can tell they are dead on their feet. They lazily travel over the industrial carpeting in aimless circles.
Marko pulls one of the double doors open and locks the hinge to keep it that way. There are four walking corpses, and likely more throughout the station. He knows this place will have guns and ammunition, but not for his assault rifle. That weapon will have to be used sparingly until he can get to a gun store. The dead he lures out are certainly worth spending the rounds on, but he has a better plan. Something he could only dream of before.
“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!”
As the dead cops exit the station, Marko waves for his buddies to join him. “Save your ammo for now,” he tells Biff when the man aims his shotgun at one of the deputies.
The zombies spread out to claim the closest meal. Marko takes advantage of the confusion to prepare himself, then he slams the butt of his gun into the first dead cop that closes in on him. Stunned, the zombie falters on his feet. Before he can find his balance, Marko beats him savagely.
Biff and Jessie aren’t so enthusiastic about the close quarters, but they do as they are told and resist firing their weapons. The two men back away from the three zombies that pursue them.
Looking up from the concave mess he’s made of his corpse, Marko finds his companions are in over their heads. “Either hit ‘em or grab a bow,” he says. “Save me one!”
Jessie rushes to the red truck, never taking his eyes off the dead. In the bed, under
cases of beer and sacks of various snacks, he locates his compound bow. Using the reusable projectiles, he takes down the first two ghouls that near him and Biff, leaving one per Marko’s instruction.
“He’s all yours, Marko.” Jessie keeps an arrow ready to fire as he retreats in a skipping shuffle to maintain distance between the zombie and himself.
“Grab him for me,” Marko commands.
“What?” Jessie asks with panic.
“Grab the pig. There’s something I wanna do.”
Jessie creeps from his position of safety to sneak up on the ghoul getting dreadfully close to Biff. He shoves the zombie cop down on his face then drops all of his weight onto the thing’s back. Though he weighs a considerable amount, the deceased thrashes and fights to get free.
“He’s got him,” Biff tells Marko.
“Good! Bring him over here.”
Biff grabs the cadaver’s ankles and waits for Jessie to hop clear of the gnashing teeth.
“Get him over here!” Marko’s points to a spot on the sidewalk.
Jessie and Biff struggle with the oddly strong and wiry corpse. Each takes a leg in their powerful hands, yet the movement of their frantic prisoner is almost too much for them. The creature writhes back and forth in his desperate desire to turn and get at those that drag it along the asphalt.
At the sidewalk, Jessie and Biff are given another order that they carry out. The cop has to be turned around for them to bravely force his face to the curb; it’s a difficult task to pull off with the thing fighting the entire time, but they manage to do as Marko pleases and get it to bite the concrete.
The cop’s mouth is wide open at a ninety degree angle on the curb. Jessie and Biff have him by the shoulders to keep him in place, since the rock hard surface isn’t what the thing wishes to be biting. Marko stands behind the officer and savors the moment before stomping on the back of his head as hard as he can.
A mess of blood and teeth are left behind where the corpse’s mouth was. Jessie and Biff release their captive and shiver at the sight of the violent act.
Bellows of joy erupt from Marko, who is too busy celebrating to realize his lackeys have abandoned their post. The zombie is loose and the cousins have scrambled away from the corpse that rises to his feet.
Exhilarated, Marko has his back to the vicious scene, with his hands held high over his head like a triumphant boxer. When he looks again, he stands face to face with what he’s done. The force of the savage kick caused the zombie’s mouth to open beyond its limitations, and the cheeks are torn open from ear to ear in a garish grin while the jawbone hangs loose from his skull. What teeth remain are cracked and angled like a jack-o-lantern. Relatively harmless now, the cop still advances on Marko.
Biff finishes the zombie with an arrow. He emerges from behind the red truck with Jessie, each having trouble looking at the stomach wrenching gore.
“Find me another one!” Marko orders.
###
Room by room, the trio clears the station, after Marko has his sinister fun with a few more unfortunate zombies. His companions witnessed as he lived out many dark and twisted fantasies, even worse than the first shocking display.
They celebrate their triumph with booze and a banquet of junk food. Marko schemes for their future while staring at a large map of the highway system. He wants to accrue as much as possible: all the guns and ammo he can hoard, all the food they could want, electronics and gadgets. He wants everything. He wonders if he can find more people willing to join his kingdom, creating an army for him to command. And some girls would be nice, he adds to his infinite wish list.
It’s well past midnight by the time he and his men are ready to turn in. Their trucks have been emptied of supplies and superfluous weapons they won’t be bringing with them tomorrow when they return to Worchester. Offices have become storage areas for their camping gear and food, and the chief’s office is now Marko’s personal throne room.
Hoping to catch a few winks on fold-out cots, the men rest up for tomorrow. While Biff and Jessie snore away, Marko lies awake, too excited to sleep.
6
In Room 202 of the Worchester Motel, Vida awakens from nightmares. She remains still, afraid to move lest she shake loose the ghouls that have plagued her mind all night. A moment of temporary amnesia makes her play back the past to remember where she is. Brad Larsen picked her up on the Washington Bridge, then they drove north and took a break from the road after finding shelter.
Once the lights were put out, Vida actually found it difficult to drift off to sleep. It had come naturally on the road, but though drained from the day’s events, she had too much time to think. She felt guilty for surviving. Brandon should be here, she ruminated in the dark.
Her recent loss made Brad’s advances rather offensive, despite the fact he couldn’t have known about her fallen band mates. Seeking carnal comfort in this world of death and gore, fear and uncertainty, is the last thing on her mind.
Time heals all wounds, she thought before succumbing to slumber, but she doubts it can lick this one. She hadn’t been with Brandon long, but she loved him. If she ever does decide to open her heart to another, it’s going to be a long time coming.
The night terrors abated, she opens her eyes to find sunlight entering the room through slits in the thick drapery. She wonders what time it is and if they’ll be leaving soon. Above this, she wonders why she can’t move.
“What the fuck?” Vida reacts to the bonds around her wrists and ankles. She struggles against the lashings but can’t break free. A yellowed lamp cord has been used to secure her hands, and her feet are bound by her own shoelaces.
Brad sits on the bed. “Good! You’re awake.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Her Latin temper flares as she casts daggers at her savior turned captor.
He ignores her question. “I laid awake all night thinking about the future…”
His casual tone enrages her even more, and she must contain the volcano bubbling inside of her to look around for anything that may be of help. Brad has drained the liquor bottles while she slept.
“I’m about to go back to base and return to a life of absolute slavery. That’s what it’s like. Being told where to be, what to eat, and when to sleep. When I bring you there, they’ll call me a hero. I’m no hero…”
No shit, Vida thinks, but keeps the thought to herself lest she worsen her situation.
“The guys on the bridge weren’t overrun. I left them because I was scared. I didn’t want to die…”
His eyes hold genuine sorrow for his actions, but that doesn’t make up for imprisoning her. All she can do is listen and hope for a miracle.
“I remember seeing you at the blockade and thinking ‘even in such an ugly world, beauty exists’. You were so captivating. The guys stopped paying attention to what we were supposed to be doing…”
So, it’s my fault? she thinks sarcastically.
“Don’t go blaming yourself.”
I won’t.
“They were fresh out of boot and should have known better. They weren’t synchronizing their fire. They were shooting at the same targets and not accounting for reloading,” he tells her. “They both ran dry at the same time! One should have been covering the other so he could… I picked you up. I couldn’t bear to let such a vision die like that. I figured we’d go to Eagle Rock. I’d tell them we lost our foothold on the bridge, and I’d be commended for bringing in a survivor.
“Once we’re there, you’ll be given a safe place to stay and meals. I’ll just be sent right back out in harm’s way, put on endless watch bills. All I asked was for one night with you before returning to all that. That’s how it’s supposed to be. You save a girl, she shows you some kindness, right? Like a gratuity for a job well done.”
“My boyfriend, Brandon, sacrificed himself so I could live. He led dozens of those things away so I could get someplace safe. I promised him I would get to safety,” Vida tries to reason with him.
; “And, you will,” Brad says while removing his uniform blouse. “After.”
Every muscle in her body tenses when he lifts her from the recliner. She looks around for any sort of weapon or way out and finds nothing. Her mind is racing but getting nowhere fast. Vida can’t believe this is happening. Almost to the bed, she does the only thing she can think of--she thrashes in his arms. It’s no use. He’s too strong.
He dumps her on the bed and she lands with her face buried in one of the pillows. Clothes rustles as he sheds his remaining garments, and his belt jingles as he removes it. His breathing is heavy with anticipation and she’s powerless to fight back.
Brad was angry when Vida rejected him last night, although she was polite about it. He stayed up drinking and remembering boot camp. The instructors had the recruits sleep with their rifles out in the field, as if the weapons were their girlfriends. Now he looks at Vida on the bed. Her slender waist and raised backside give her an almost feline posture. Sleek and sexy. Sitting next to his new girlfriend, sliding a hand up her shirt, he favors warm flesh over the cold steel of his rifle.
Still drunk and running on very little sleep, he had bound her limbs together, limbs that he must now part. Plus she still has her clothes on. Before he begins, he must untie the shoelaces that bind her ankles tightly. So he sits on her left leg to undo the knots he had so stealthily made in the dark. Once he has her legs free, he must extend his body to the corner so he can tie her right leg to the bedpost. While he does this, his knee keeps her other leg pinned painfully to the mattress.
Brad doesn’t care what position he takes her in. He just wants to take her. With the one leg lashed to the bed, he moves to the next. As far as her clothing, he figures he can just cut it away with his knife.
Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory Page 7