by Gina Ranalli
“I’ll speak if I want to speak!” Andrew snapped at him. “I give the orders around here, not you!”
Rick was too busy smirking at Jude to notice the woman lunge past him, hands curled into claws as she tackled Andrew.
Andrew grunted in surprise as he and the woman crashed to the ground. Her long nails dug furrows down his cheeks, missing his eyes by mere centimeters. He howled in pain, grabbing her wrists as she screamed nonsensically. With her hands restrained, she clamped her teeth down on the bridge of his nose. Andrew heard and felt a sharp crunch and then she was being yanked off him, taking a chunk of his skin with her.
The world went gray and he would have been content to just lie on the blacktop and let everything fade for a while, but he was not afforded that luxury. Someone gripped him beneath the armpits and hauled him to his feet.
From the opposite end of a very long tunnel, Andrew thought he could hear his name being shouted, but he was in no mood to reply. There was pain. So much pain. More than he’d ever felt before. Someone had hurt him.
Someone had hurt him.
It was the rage that brought him back, out of the gray tunnel, blinking blood out of his eyes. Rick was before him. He held the woman up by a fistful of hair while his other fist pummeled into the woman’s stomach.
As always, Jude stood by Andrew’s side. “Andrew?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
But he wasn’t all right. Not by a long shot. Pulling away from Jude, he screamed with a fury he had never known before.
That woman had bit him!
He dove across the six feet that separated him from the woman with the muddy eyes. Knocking Rick aside, he let out a single, deafening roar and attacked the woman.
No one hurt him. Not ever.
Already weakened by the beating Rick had given her, the woman had no hope of defending herself. Andrew knocked her to the ground with one solid punch to her face, and once she was down, he pounced on her like a ravenous animal.
First kicking, then punching and finally, biting, Andrew had his revenge.
No one stopped him. No one dared.
Andrew had tasted his own blood and now he had tasted hers. He swallowed bits of her flesh and there was no denying it: he liked the taste.
Oh, yes. He liked it very much.
Chapter Thirty-three
When they came upon the crashed military helicopter, it sunk in for Lindy they were really alone in this.
“It’s a medical chopper,” Jackson said. “Maybe there’s still supplies we can use in there.”
It was all too surreal: a helicopter in the middle of a wide city street . . .
While the men searched the chopper for anything useful, Lindy sat on the curb, squinting in the bright sunshine. She hoped they at least found Aspirin in there.
Dusty sat beside her as Jado, Max and Monty stood nearby, eyeing the surrounding buildings, clearly on edge.
“How’s the headache?” Dusty asked.
“Not bad,” Lindy lied. It was better than it had been when the crows had been screeching at her, but it was still bad enough to make her stomach quiver. “I’ll live.”
Dusty smiled. “You will indeed.”
“I just want it to be over already.”
The older woman looked surprised. “Will it ever be over?”
“Yes. If we do it right.”
“But . . . the undead . . .?”
Lindy sighed. She felt so tired. “If we do it right,” she repeated.
“I’m not sure I understand. What’s ‘right’?”
Apparently listening to the conversation, Jado spoke up. “The undead will stay dead no matter what we do. But Lindy can give them peace. She’s the only one who can.”
Puzzled, Dusty opened her mouth to ask another question but a sharp crack shattered the world around them and Monty’s head exploded.
Jado was screaming, “Get down!” before the boy had even hit the ground.
Instinctively, Dusty threw her body on top of Lindy’s, shielding her from any more bullets. Jado dove for cover behind a mailbox, dragging Max along with her.
When Jackson and Sebastian emerged from the chopper wreckage, weapons drawn, Jado screamed and pointed to a third-story window across the street. “Up there!”
Both men whirled and opened fire, panicked and clearly not caring what they were hitting as long as it was something.
Lindy tried to wriggle out from beneath Dusty. Her crossbow was on her lap: useless.
“No!” Dusty hissed, her mouth against Lindy’s ear. “Be still!”
“I need to—”
From her position, she could see Monty in the street, the back of his skull wide open, a ragged flap of scalp with hair still attached stirring in the breeze while an impossibly huge puddle of blood spread around him.
Somewhere inside her, Lindy felt her heart snap in two and she wanted to wallow there, inside that black agony, but there was no time for it now.
She could drown in it later.
Now, this was all Andrew’s fault. Every last bit of death. It was all him.
“Get off me!” she yelled, shoving Dusty hard.
The woman cried out as she was pushed aside. Lindy sprang up, free.
Without knowing what she was going to do, Lindy ran for the building the men were shooting at, crossbow raised and ready to fire.
Behind her, Jado screamed her name and she was dimly aware the woman was now up and following her, but she couldn’t let that stop her.
Expecting a bullet to split her skull at any moment, she was stunned when she reached the front of the building unharmed.
Don’t let it be locked. Don’t let it be locked. Don’t let it be locked, she thought.
She pulled open the entrance. Thank God! And bounded up the stairs, the third floor her destination.
“Lindy!”
Jado was close behind. Soon she would be able to grab her, stop her.
Pushing herself faster, taking the stairs two at a time, not registering anything around her, she climbed higher, listening for the sound of gunfire. It was the only way she’d know which apartment the sniper was hiding in.
And then: BANG!
She stopped in front of a door.
Dull brass told her it was apartment C-3.
The same mantra flew through her brain: Don’t let it be locked.
Her hand grasped the cool knob and it spun easily in her grip.
Again, unlocked.
She felt Jado’s fingertips slide off her shoulder as she crossed the threshold, moving forward, sweeping the crossbow back and forth, high and low, ready to launch an arrow into anything that moved.
The living room was straight ahead and that’s where she found him, kneeling before an open window, his back to her.
She let the arrow fly.
It sank deep into the nape of his neck, so far it protruded from the front of his throat. The rifle he held clattered to the floor and he slumped to one side with a wet gurgle.
Lindy lowered her weapon and walked over to the man, staring down at him with hard, soldier’s eyes.
He returned her gaze, his own eyes dark. He was bald and mustached. Probably Italian or Greek.
She wanted to remember his face forever.
“You are not forgiven,” she said as Jado stepped up beside her, knife in hand. “You will never be forgiven.”
From one dark eye, a tear trickled down the man’s grizzled cheek. He made that gurgling sound again and, finally, one last rattling sigh.
Lindy, shoulders straight and strong, glanced briefly at Jado before turning to leave. Her headache was back, but for a while, when time seemed to almost stand still, she hadn’t felt any pain at all.
Chapter Thirty-four
Jude was looking at him differently today.
At first, Andrew had hoped it was with an added sense of fear, but after studying the albino he realized it was disgust. The revelation amused him. People were such hypocrites. Jude had watched countless people be dev
oured and though he hadn’t seemed to take any enjoyment from the experience, he certainly didn’t mind the end result.
He didn’t care if Jude was disgusted with him because he was disgusted with Jude. Who was that freak to be getting all high and mighty with him, anyway? He had given him everything; Jude was the right hand man of a king! He would be ruling the world at Andrew’s side and yet, he didn’t seem to appreciate it at all.
Andrew had to wonder if he’d ever appreciated it.
But Rick, on the other hand . . . . There was a man who understood the way things were. He understood that Andrew was the boss, the head honcho, the master of the universe! And he didn’t look down his nose at Andrew either. Didn’t think he was just a kid who needed to be told what to do every second of every day.
The more Andrew thought about it, the more he liked the idea of killing Jude, but doing it slowly. Very slowly. He thought about forcing Jude to eat human flesh before he died.
The idea made him giggle and he was still giggling when Jude himself came into the bedroom where Andrew laid in a king-sized bed with a twisting wrought-iron headboard.
They had commandeered a large house near the church. Andrew had wanted a mansion, but this was the best they could do for the moment. It was secure enough to satisfy Jude and there was a large kidney-shaped pool in the backyard, which Andrew was anxious to try out once his nose had sufficiently healed.
“How are you feeling?” Jude asked, closing the door behind himself.
“My nose almost got bit off. How do you think I feel?”
“I don’t know,” he said coldly. “That’s why I asked.”
“I want more Vicodin.”
Jude consulted his watch. “It hasn’t been four hours yet.”
“I don’t care. Bring me more.”
A silence fell between them as they stared each other down. Andrew was pleased when Jude finally looked away and said, “I came up because there’s something you should be aware of.”
“I’m aware that I need more drugs,” Andrew persisted.
“Okay, fine. I’ll get you your drugs. But first you have to see something.”
“What?”
“The front gate.”
“What about it?”
Jude’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and Andrew fantasized about ripping it out of the albino’s throat with his teeth. The thought of blood—red, red blood—splashed over that deathly pale skin made his stomach pleasantly flutter.
“I really think you should see for yourself,” Jude said.
Andrew blinked, the fantasy interrupted. “This better be good.” He tossed the silk sheet aside and swung his feet to the floor.
They left the bedroom, went downstairs and out the front door. It was very bright outside and Andrew thought about commanding Jude to hand over his sunglasses, but when he saw the crowd gathered at the front gate, his jaw fell open.
Between the crowd and the gate were a line of zombies—the undead guardians—some of which were crouched and feeding on people crumpled on the ground.
“Are they trying to break in?” Andrew asked.
A man in the mass of people had noticed Andrew and began shouting. “Anything for you, Andrew! Anything!”
The rest of the crowd saw him and began to take up the chant and to Andrew’s amazement, began to intentionally provoke the zombies into attacking them.
Watching for nearly a minute, Andrew said, “They’re committing suicide.”
Jude nodded. “Sacrificing themselves. Word is it’s happening all over the city. People just throwing themselves at the zombies.”
“But . . . why?”
Jude looked surprised by the question. “Because they want to be zombies. They want to fight for you.”
Andrew shook his head. “That makes no sense. They don’t have to die to fight for me.”
“They think if they do die, they’ll be able to fight for you forever.”
Looking back at the crowd, Andrew cocked his head as though he was studying a group of particularly interesting insects. He stayed that way for a while, remembering the beetles he would crush and resurrect when he was a little boy. The memory was a fond one.
“Cool,” he said at last.
Ignoring Jude’s expression of shocked distaste, Andrew waved to the crowd, which was quickly diminishing as they fed themselves to the undead. “Good job,” he called. “Keep it up!” He giggled as their shouts increased.
“Andrew,” Jude started, “I don’t think you should encourage them.”
“I don’t care what you think,” he replied. “Haven’t I made that obvious enough yet? Now where is my Vicodin? Or did you forget a sow nearly bit my nose off last night?”
“Your nose is perfectly intact. It just—”
“GET ME THE PILLS!”
Jude flinched. “Whatever you say, Father Andrew.” He spun on his heels and disappeared back into the house.
Andrew stayed outside a while longer, enjoying the sounds of carnage and reminding himself that if any mess remained outside the gate, he would make Jude clean it up. Every drop of blood. Every speck of brain matter. Every white sliver of bone. Jude would be on his knees scrubbing the sidewalk until it gleamed like a new mirror. Until it reflected the sun like a flat pond of mercury.
Until he learned the true meaning of respect.
Chapter Thirty-five
At every moment, they all expected to have their heads blown off by some coward hiding high above them.
They took to traveling snug up close to the buildings, weapons at the ready, watching for any movement whatsoever.
“Everyone wants to kill us,” Max said. “It’s as if the whole world has gone insane.”
“Not everyone,” Lindy told her. “Some people are hiding, hoping it will all end soon. Most people, probably.”
“Well, it seems like everyone,” Max said. “They all believe that Andrew kid is . . . I don’t know . . . the second coming, I guess.”
“Bull crap.” Sebastian grunted. He was leading the way up the street, while Jackson took up the rear. They were moving out of the city proper and into the outskirts where Lindy knew the real battle would begin. “People can’t believe that. They just want him to think they believe it.”
“That’s true of some of them,” Lindy said. “But not all.”
“My parents believe it,” Max said quietly.
Dusty took the younger girl’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She looked like she wanted to offer the girl some sort of reassurance, but could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie. Instead, she gave Max a sad smile.
Sebastian abruptly stopped, causing Jado to bump into his back.
“What the—” he said.
Frowning, Lindy then saw what he had: dead birds littering the street and sidewalk. Probably close to a hundred of them. “How . . . ?”
“They didn’t just fall out of the sky,” Jackson said, moving forward and kneeling to examine a dead crow. “They’ve all been shot. Small caliber. Looks like a BB gun, actually.”
Everyone exchanged worried glances.
“How can there be so many in the same area?” Jado said.
“Someone’s been baiting them,” Lindy said matter-of-factly. “Tossing crumbs and stuff around, waiting for them to land, and then . . . bang.”
“Why would anyone do such a thing?” Dusty asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Jackson said, standing up. “They’ve probably been told to do it by his royal highness. To keep Lindy from getting . . . getting . . .”
“Messages,” Lindy finished for him.
“That’s absurd,” Jado said. “They can’t possibly believe they’ll be able to shoot every bird in the entire city.”
“No,” Lindy replied. “But it doesn’t hurt to try.”
“Shoot,” Jackson said.
“I agree,” Dusty told him. “Such a waste of innocent little lives.”
“No, I mean, shoot!”
The others l
ooked up to see a horde of zombies rounding the corner of the next block.
“Oh, man,” Sebastian said, raising his weapon. “I’m starting to hate this job.”
Lindy almost laughed, but the memory of Monty prevented her from doing so. “You and me both.”
“Why do they always seem to travel in packs?” Dusty asked as she pushed Max behind her.
“Same as us, I imagine,” Jado put in. “Strength in numbers.” She already held a blade in each hand, though the zombies were not yet close enough for her to use them.
“Five of them,” Jackson said. “Piece of cake.”
Exactly what Monty would have said, Lindy thought, aiming the crossbow.
But in the end, only Jackson and Sebastian opened fire on the horde, taking down the zombies easily.
“Dang,” Lindy said when it was over. “That was a bad idea.”
“What?” Jackson asked.
“Firing at them.”
Something pinged off the building behind them, sending shards of brick onto the sidewalk.
Everyone ducked and raced ahead, taking shelter behind a parked station wagon.
“We just announced ourselves to the neighborhood,” Lindy said.
One of the side windows of the vehicle exploded as it was struck by a bullet. Max screamed.
“What are we going to do?” Dusty asked. “We’re sitting ducks.”