Bad enough the fucking deaders were running rampant in the streets. Now there were gangs of thugs to contend with. Looting, fighting and hurting anyone who made an easy victim.
She had to think about them as a group, because thinking about the stench of the man who had just raped her made her want to flee back down the rabbit hole of consciousness. She wanted to disappear forever. If they would just kill her, get it over with, she wouldn’t have to deal with all the pain.
He stood over her. She had been unconscious, but he picked her up and slapped her. She came to and reached for his throat, but it was a half-effort. She could barely lift her arms. Her head felt like it was filled with cotton, and the back of her neck was a mass of pain. It ached like she was carrying a throbbing water balloon back there.
She was next to an old table, a solid piece of oak. He had tied her hands tightly to the table legs on the other side with bungee cords. There had been no feeling in her wrists and hands. She had scratched at the tabletop, but it was a futile effort.
She had been bent over, hips pressed against the top. The asshole kicked her legs apart and removed her pants. She kicked back but got her head pulled up and slammed into the table for the effort. Her nose made impact and practically exploded. She saw stars and thought she was going to pass out. That was when he did it.
She screamed, so he took her pants and panties and jammed them against her mouth. He held them there while he did the deed.
She thought about it. Thought about his long, lank hair rubbing against her face. She thought about his sweat stench and his disgusting breath. Smelled like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in weeks. There wasn’t enough mouthwash in the world to fix it.
She wanted to fight, but she had nothing left. Kate waited for some opportunity to present itself, but the man was smart. No, he wasn’t a man. He was a rapist. He kept a grip on her the entire time, and if she tried to struggle, she was punished for it.
When the men in the hotel rooms abused her, the Other came with cold, calculated anger. It was a hunger that fed on revenge.
But now she couldn’t think about revenge. All she could think about was the small puddle of water that had somehow collected on the floor. It was summer, and the dilapidated building into which they had dragged her was hot as hell. Shouldn’t the water have evaporated long ago?
So someone must have spilled it. She wanted to reach out and touch it, see if it was still cold. All she could think about was the water and why it was there.
Kate had no tricks left up her sleeve.
“What do we do with ‘em?” one of the other men asked.
“Don’t know. Leave ‘em, I guess. Hey, you sure you don’t want a turn with her? She’s sweet on me, but she might could see some sense in doing you too.”
“No, man. I don’t want nothing to do with that. Comes down to it, they gonna do DNA or some shit and nail us to the fucking wall.”
“They aren’t going to do shit! The whole city is about to burn, and those dead fuckers are going to watch it happen after they get their fill. They’re going to fry this city with a nuke. No way they will let the virus escape. I seen enough movies. I know the end game.”
“We should kill them, then.”
Please, Kate wanted to whisper. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to beg for mercy or for a quick bullet to the head. She didn’t want to live with the shame.
She hurt everywhere after the deader that had rolled on top of her earlier, and now this. It was too much. She couldn’t take any more.
“Please kill me.” She tried, but the words didn’t come out. Her mouth was swollen, and she could barely breathe, let alone talk. If she reached the water, would she be able to get enough in her mouth to at least feel like she wouldn’t die thirsty?
“Just do her while you can. The other boys won’t be back for a while. I left her other hole nice and clean. Doubt she’s ever had anything up it. Hoity-toity fucking bitch. Remember when she was up on that ladder and looked at me like I was a rat? She ain’t lookin’ so hot now, is she?”
Movement. They shuffled around her, and one of the men set his shoe close to the water. A drop fell from above and joined it. So there was a leak or maybe a hole in the ceiling. That was silly. It was the middle of summer, and there was hardly a drop of water to be found. Even in Seattle, it didn’t rain all that much this time of year.
She edged toward the water. If she could just get close enough for her mouth to align with the drip, she might actually get a few drops across her parched lips. But it wouldn’t be enough. A whole jar of petroleum jelly wouldn’t be enough.
She spat out a clump of blood and mucus.
“She’s still moving around!” the second voice called. “Kill her, man.”
Kate looked up into the eyes of the man who was trying to pass judgment on her. He was shorter than the one who raped her, and he looked frenzied. His hair stuck up in every direction, and his eyes were wide like he was wired on meth. In fact, he looked like a goddamn deader. She should get up and wipe that smile off his face with her sword.
Her sword. Where was it? They took everything. Her pack, her clothes and her dignity. Now she was a mess, crumpled on the floor. Beaten and about to die.
The shorter of the two leaned over and poked her working shoulder with one finger. She wanted to bite it off and jam it up his ass. But she couldn’t even move; she was simply paralyzed with fear.
“She ain’t going nowhere,” the long-haired man said. He leaned over and slapped her ass, sending a jolt through her system. She fumed at the pain. Her face burned hot at the thought of herself lying on the ground, as useful as a newborn.
She reached out to take the guy’s hand in hers. Delicately. He started to pull back, but her fingers were insistent. Gentle. If she was gentle, they wouldn’t hurt her. She rubbed his hand against her face. He smelled like blood and rot.
“Look at this, Nojeck! I think she likes us. She’s, like, trying to get some loving feeling or something.” The guy talked around a grin. She looked up into his eyes with something approaching devotion. What the hell kind of name was Nojeck?
“See? I told you when we were on the street that she wasn’t such a big deal. Just look at her now.”
“Yeah. I bet she does want more. Want more, honey?” he asked in a simpering voice.
She nodded and made an effort to get on her hands and knees. She took her time until he put his hands under her arms, letting his fingers linger over the side of her breasts. He copped a feel, because she didn’t have a choice.
Then she was pushed back over the table. Kate leaned over like she was going to bend to their will. As if she were going to just give in and let them continue to rape her. But their guard was down because she had given in. Or maybe she liked it. The men would want to think that, except for the bald guy with the Nazi tattoo on his head. He liked hurting her. The others would want to imagine that she had given herself to them. She pressed back against his hips as he moved behind her. She even let a throaty groan leave her lips.
The guy guided one hand down her back and ass and between her legs.
“So fucking soft,” he muttered as he leaned over and pressed his lips to her neck.
“You like that, you fucking pig?” Her words were hers, but they didn’t seem to be in her voice. Then whose? It sounded like the Other, but it was her, wasn’t it? For a moment, she wondered who she was. It was a watershed moment as the Other struggled to rise.
Watershed moment. She had heard that phrase when she worked at the bookstore. The manager had been talking about the upcoming sales weekend and how it was in their best interest to not only show up on time, but sell everything they could. A major chain of bookstores was going out of business, and they didn’t want to be next. A real watershed moment that had been. Like they could have stopped the inevitable march of progress.
“What? I thought you wanted this.”
She struggled and even turned around to get a half-slap off. She caught him by his ear an
d could tell the blow rung his bell. But she didn’t have much strength to put behind it. His body stiffened, and he pushed her down. Or tried to. She resisted and even kicked him in the shin with the back of her foot.
That got his attention. He grabbed her head and tried to slam it into the tabletop. She got her arm in the way just in time to stop her already swollen nose from being crushed again. Then he hit her on the back of the head like she was a bad puppy. Kate resisted him trying to wedge one of his legs between hers.
He pressed one hand down on the back of her neck and tried to slam her again. His other hand worked at the catch on his pants. She squirmed as he tried to keep her in place, his legs blocking hers from closing.
Laughter from the other guy. He hooted and chuckled at her struggles.
“Enough foreplay; give it to her already,” he teased.
Kate planted her thighs against the side of the table and pushed so he was knocked back. It gave her enough room to stand up straight, turn and face him.
The guy was pissed. He was a few inches taller than she and outweighed her by a good forty pounds. His eyes were ringed in black, the tired lines of the all-but-exhausted broken only by his light gray eyes. They might have been handsome if they weren’t so filled with anger. But he wasn’t handsome. He was just another piggy.
She spat in his face.
The guy shook with anger as he drew his arm back and delivered a stunning slap to her face. It smashed into her cheek, and her head cracked to the side.
Kate let the blinding pain find her. She might be killed outright for the crime of assaulting her assaulter. Just another body in a city filled with the dead. Just another victim with a story no one else would ever hear or even care about. A statistic on the nightly news that would join many others. A city of the dead. That was where she wanted to live.
Kate should have seen stars. She should have been completely docile now, willing to do whatever the men wanted.
But Kate no longer felt the aftermath of the blow.
Because Kate was no longer there.
But the darkness was, and it was alive.
Lester
An hour later, Les was most definitely down from his buzz. He was so down, he felt every lump poking into every cranny of his body. After some quiet discussion, he decided to give Grinder’s idea a try. He rolled over in the filth, trying not to touch anything too disgusting. He was covered in sweat and the remains of at least one dead animal. If he took three showers, he still wouldn’t feel clean.
Grinder crawled over the filth and slimy shit in the space and managed to wedge himself between Les’s back and the top of the dumpster. Lester bitched and moaned the entire time. It hurt like hell having the big lanky frame on top of his.
Grinder pressed, but it was no use. He kicked, but the lid just bounced back down.
“All right, dude. This is it.” Then he kicked up so violently that Les was driven into the garbage. A bag burst around him, and putrid meat and discarded food filled his mouth.
The door slid open. Grinder gave a whoop, and Lester threw up.
The air was clean, but they were not.
The side street didn’t have any deaders on it, not yet, but the noise was likely to bring them very soon. Lester stood on shaky legs as he tried to find his balance. He was covered in filth, and every part of his body ached. He just wanted to go lie somewhere and sleep for about three days. Fuck that, take a long hot shower, then sleep until the week was over. But that was a dream from another reality. He would be lucky if he didn’t get eaten in the next few minutes.
The sun beat down, an uncomfortable reminder of a city at odds. Normally, this was a great time of year. The sky was clear, so the ladies dug out their skirts and shorts and put pale legs on display. Seattle wasn’t the warmest place on earth, but when summer arrived, everyone made the most of it … for the month it lasted.
But there was no way to get cool short of making a run for the waterfront—Seattle’s stretch of seaside buildings and piers that linked the city to the rest of the world. Les had other things on his mind just now, like finding a place to hide.
Grinder looked up and down the alley, then, head cocked to the side, long hair dangling like a curtain, nodded in the direction they had been going to begin with. Lester figured it was just as safe as any other way. They were fucked no matter what.
They jogged for a whole fifteen or twenty feet before Les got a cramp in his leg and nearly went down. His calf burst into fire as he struggled to stay on his feet. Grinder called for him, but whatever he said was lost as a low-flying helicopter thrummed by. It hung over the area, gun ports bristling along the sides. Les could almost make out faces in masks. He waved dumbly, wondering if they were looking for him. Yeah right, dumbass; they’re looking for a burned-out drug dealer covered in shit.
The helicopter swung around, lifted up and took off toward the center of town. Before much longer, a second chopper blurred by them. This one was moving like its ass was on fire. Les picked out a number on the side and guessed it was a news chopper. This just in: The city is going to hell. Film at eleven.
A few other choppers hovered overhead before departing. They were much larger and carried massive gas tanks dangling from chains.
“‘Sup with all the air support?” Grinder had his hand cocked over his eyes as he stared upwards.
“Damn, they’re carrying something big. Looks like water containers.”
“Wish they would stop and give us a shower,” Grinder observed.
Les smacked him on his arm and pointed at something. Grinder followed his finger.
“That’s where we need to be,” Lester said.
Grinder nodded, and just like that, they were off again.
Johnny Lee
A pair of the fast ones hauled ass up the street. They got a bead on Johnny Lee and made for the fence. The first one to arrive was shorter than the other. He was foaming at the mouth and practically growling. He had a piece of something that looked like raw meat hanging out of his mouth, and when he got close, the smell almost made LeBeau, who swore he had an iron stomach, toss what was left of whatever food he had last eaten. It might have been a pair of sausage muffins he’d found in a trashcan behind the McDonalds on Fourth Avenue. Someone threw them out for no good reason. It might have been the half a Subway sandwich he found on a table before the city went to shit. He was wandering by a store where a customer had gotten up to talk to the workers. Maybe to ask for an extra napkin. LeBeau was quick. He ducked in the front, grabbed the slab of meat wrapped in brown bread and enough mustard to start a French invasion, because that shit was Dijon, and left without looking back.
Whatever he had eaten was about to hit the ground.
The first scrambled up the fence until he got to the top. Johnny watched him, amazed at the skill of the climber, who moved like a monkey hopped up on a gallon of coffee. The second one dropped to the ground and scratched at the bottom of the fence. He got a finger underneath and then tried to burrow under it like an animal.
Johnny strolled to the other side of the fence, where the slow one lay bleeding. He picked up his metal pole and dragged it back to where the intruders were trying to get in. He placed the end on his shoulder as the burrower got an arm through and then the top of its head.
The climber wasn’t having much luck. It reached the top, but slid back down, fingers snatching at the links as it went. It smashed into its friend, and they both went down in a tangle. Old Johnny Lee got a real kick out of that. He swung the pole around as he yelled at the pair.
“You two ain’t so bright. No sirree. I bet the pair of you ain’t even got a half-head of IQ. Look at you in that suit, all messed up. All covered in blood. Bet you didn’t see that coming!” He cackled and then swung the pole against the fence. It stuck and rattled the entire thing like the world’s largest alarm clock.
The old man was coming to join in the fun. All they needed now was a bottle to toss back and forth. Hell, maybe he would even share so
me with the deaders. Might change their disposition a little bit. Might put them in a good mood. Remind them of better times.
Johnny laughed again just as the old guy reached his side.
“Why don’t you go sit down? If they don’t see you, they might go away.” He patted at his head with a handkerchief, probably the same one ol’ Mabel, or whatever the hell her name was, had used on his sweating skull. “Damn, son, you smell worse than me. ”
The two deaders were back on their feet. The smaller one didn’t even mess with climbing again, just dropped to the ground and came under the fence like it wasn’t there. Slippery bastard, wasn’t he?
Johnny timed his blow. Just as the head broke though and a snarling set of teeth met LeBeau with a fucked-up smile, he swung down as hard as he could. The pole hit the fence and slid down, practically ripping it in half before hitting the ground. LeBeau was laughing so hard that he missed, actually missed.
Grandpa stepped back as the second one got his head under, then his shoulders. He was hissing and spitting like an angry snake, hands scratching at the ground, heedless of his torn fingers and broken nails.
Grandpa took off his hat and swung it at the one that was the closest to getting inside the perimeter. A hat. Johnny Lee looked at him and laughed. Then he lifted the pipe again and brought it down with a grunt.
Like he knew it was coming, like he wasn’t a mindless beast thirsty for blood, the creature looked up, got a glimpse of the pipe and shot forward. The heavy implement smashed into its shoulder, missing the man’s back.
The second one must have sensed a momentum shift. He surged forward with a tinkle of chain links and got as far as his upper body. Johnny lifted the pipe, which was getting heavy. But he could do it. He was the same man he was back in the war. The only thing missing was an M-16 or one of those sweet AK-47s he’d taken off bodies in Nam.
He swung it again and missed. This time, it hit the concrete. But it wasn’t his fault. Gramps had bumped into him while trying to back away from the other deader. Well, that was okay, because Johnny Lee LeBeau was having a fine old time with this pair. Most fun he’d had in years. He normally avoided scuffles. It was hard enough to guess when a crackhead with a broken blade might take something the wrong way and draw down. It was best to just turn and run unless there was a cop nearby. Then it could get real hairy. The guys in uniform were just as likely to shoot either one of you as offer any help.
Among the Dead Book 2 (Among the Living) Page 18