A couple of gunshots rattled the night, from ahead. Her only hope was finding the wall.
Although…
“What if they just kill the guards?” she said to herself as she paced her run.
There were a lot of variables in play. How many were there? Why were they here? Would they follow her into population?
On the last point, she was fairly certain they would. If short guy survived her screwdriver strike, he’d be hungry for revenge. Hayes said they were built that way. The only consolation was that even if they caught her, she’d at least drawn first blood from them. Whatever they were going to do to her tonight, they were never going to let her go.
Her stomach swooned at the thought. The NIS men were there to kill her.
“We see you little girl. Run, run, run, but you can’t hide.”
“And you’re going to wish you hadn’t knifed my associate. He’s pretty pissed,” tall guy said with a hearty laugh. He sounded very close.
There was nothing for her to do, except run for her life.
Chapter 8: Victoria's Secret
Running was one thing Victoria knew she could keep up for a long time, even in the Apocalypse. Her good jogging shoes were comfortable, her pacing felt good, and because outrunning bullets was ridiculous, she continuously made swerves and turns to keep trees, statues, gates, and buildings between herself and her pursuit. She headed for the wall.
“You can’t get away, hot stuff,” a sing-songing man called to her.
To her surprise, a gaggle of students stood in front of one of the dorm buildings. Part of her was desperate to mix in with them and disappear, but she couldn’t trust that the men behind her weren’t watching. If they saw her go in, the presence of some students wouldn’t stop them. They might even kill them all, just because…
None of them had weapons. They stood in the low light of a few lanterns with dreary eyes and colorful pajamas.
She passed them without comment. Only select buildings had electrical power, and none of the courtesy lights on the walkways were functional. If she wasn’t seen, the men might assume she’d gone into the dorm…
She called back once she was past them. “Get back in your dorm, you idiots!”
She rounded a corner of an administration building and felt her stomach muscles clench at the sight of safety. Ahead were the large fires kept up by the men and women on the barricade surrounding the park, the university, and the hospitals. There had to be dozens of people. Surely it was enough to fight off two men, one of whom was wounded?
Most stood on car roofs and rested their weapons on large shipping containers, facing outward.
“Help!” she croaked. Her throat was hoarse.
The butterflies skittered across her tummy. She wasn’t safe, yet.
She picked up her pace. She ran across a large grassy space sitting on a gentle hill—once a pleasant place for students to study in the shade—and onto the street behind the barricade. Now that she could see how it was constructed, she judged she had aimed for the best possible place.
The line of containers and other debris was on the near side of the intersection, giving clear fields of fire out into the night. Someone had designed fifty-five gallon drums so they could be placed on top of the containers and burn brightly, toward the street beyond.
Altogether, it made her feel the people knew what they were doing.
Victoria clapped her hands, hoping to get their attention.
She heard snaps behind her. It reminded her of someone banging two pieces of wood together.
Ahead, a defender stood stiffly, then dropped to the ground.
Then another.
“Help!” she shouted, this time with more force. “You're being shot at!”
It took entirely too long for the people to get it. Another couple people fell, including a woman who she judged to be the closest to her on the wall.
“They’re behind me!” her voice broke at the word me.
She jumped behind a parked car off to the side of the barricade. She had reached her goal but brought trouble with her. The people had been ambushed from behind and were now hidden among the cars of the blockade, just like her.
She heard the zing of bullets on the frame of the vehicle.
“We told you, little girl, you couldn’t get away. The people of this cowbell town can’t help you.” She knew the voice was Tall Guy.
“I owe you one eye, you little bitch. I’m gonna collect from you.”
As emphasis, several more shots pinged off the car she was using as cover.
They know exactly where I am.
Across the street, next to the wall, she saw shapes moving inside an old time gas station building. Several ran out the back door, which she could see from her perspective, but a large hedge blocked it from most everywhere else.
“I’m over here,” she said with a tremble of fear in her voice. If her voice carried, they should hear her, even though she wasn’t yelling. “Help!” she said a little louder.
“Shut your mouth,” a female voice called from a different direction on the barricade.
“There are two men, dressed in black, shooting at you,” she said as loud as she could without screaming. “And they released zombies inside the Whitaker building,” she added with relief. If she died, she’d at least warned them.
She prayed in the flickering light of multiple fires.
Though the situation was dire, she asked herself the type of question Liam often presented to her.
“Can I pray for those two men to die?”
It didn’t feel right, but as much as she wanted to fight the truth of things, she had to admit there was going to be a lot more killing—and death—the longer the Zombie Apocalypse continued. And, if tonight were any indication of the state of the world, it would go on for a long time. Accepting that, prayers for the killing of evil people would become the norm, not the exception.
She tried it on for size.
“God, please help us kill those men,” she whispered in prayer.
That feels completely wrong.
It was true, she wished them dead, but asking God to go around killing people...well, it just didn’t seem appropriate.
She tried to build in nuance. “God, please help us eliminate the threats to your good people.”
“Arg. That can’t be right.”
Secretly, she knew she was distracting herself from the situation she was in. From time to time, a bullet spanked her car. Like they were taunting her. But they also shot at others.
A new noise peaked her interest. A low hum and whirring sound. From above.
She looked for the source, and saw a dark shape up in the sky, barely visible above the blockade. The little black helicopter hung in the air, appearing frozen.
I shouldn’t pray for those men to die. I should pray for their threat to be eliminated.
She could pretend, for a moment, that the goal was to capture them and get them to convert to goodness, but it seemed unlikely. They weren’t soldiers fighting for a lost cause. They were zealots. There could be no negotiation with zealots.
“God, though our side may not be righteous, please give us the strength to dispatch true evil. Please help the good guys.”
It wasn’t perfect, but it felt right.
Would God even deign to get involved in an obscure gun battle on some dark street corner in the middle of the Zombie plague? Probably not. But it made her feel better and gave her strength.
And why is that helicopter coming down?
2
The turbulence of the tar-black drone swept over the nearby fires, tilting them heavily too and fro. Something about it made it seem ominous. As it descended into the firelight, she saw an apparatus on the undercarriage.
When it was about ten feet above her, the long tube swung her way.
“Okie dokie. A gun,” she whispered, not wanting to believe it.
Though she’d just calmed her nerves through prayer, the jittery feeling of nervousness
came back at the sight of the drone’s weaponry. It wasn’t being operated by the people on the roadblock.
“Duh, girl.”
She rolled over, then tried to get underneath the car. Her eyes were on that gun the whole time.
The problem was the car. It was a sports car, and sat low to the ground. If she had unlimited time, she might be able to shimmy herself into the tight space, but on this night, under these conditions…
Her legs went under, but the rest of her hung out the back end. She looked like a mechanic trying to get underneath. Or a mechanic that had a car drop on top of her.
She scooted sideways, hoping to go toward the side. It occurred to her that would put her in view of the two shooters.
Die by drone, or by ass—jerks.
She sighed. “I just can’t win.”
“God, forgive me my trespasses...”
She closed her eyes.
Gunshots started nearby. The drone fired its gun, too—very loud because it was so close. She panicked, pulled out her legs, and stood to run. If she were going to die, she wouldn’t do it lying down.
The men over at the gas station fired their rifles at the drone. It fired back.
Shots dinged off the vehicle, and she crouched back down where she’d been. There was so much going on, she didn’t know what she should do.
Run.
Stay.
Hide.
Surrender.
“Ha!”
She wondered who would accept her surrender?
A lull in the gunfire gave her inspiration. It wasn’t suicide, exactly, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.
She jumped up on the back of the sports car, then leapt for the drone. She’d judged it perfectly. She caught hold of the running gear, and the extra weight caused the drone to tilt dangerously. Her momentum carried it so it fell behind her. She stayed with it as long as she could, but let go before it impacted in the turn lane.
The rotor blades jangled loudly for a fraction of a second as they struck, then the whole drone skipped to its other side—her side—where it also banged angrily on the street. It was too much for the fragile thing. The blades sheered off, and the motor sputtered sadly to a stop.
She kicked it, so the gun faced away from the blockade.
More shots echoed in the night from behind her. This time, the reports were loud and burly, not the relatively silent snaps of the assassins. Maybe they’d given up with their weak guns and were now using heavier ones.
She crouched behind the drone, which was now between her and the shooters out in the darkness. It caused her to wonder if the drone was solid enough to protect her from bullets.
It has to be.
“God, thank you for letting me help out.”
She had time to wonder if it was God that gave her the idea to take out the drone? Or was it her, all along? Did it matter? She couldn't decide.
The shooting sounds came from multiple directions now. Either there were more assassins or the blockade people were engaging Tall and Short guys.
“This isn’t over!” Short Guy shouted.
His voice was drowned out by a swarm of gunshots.
Silence followed.
She got close to the drone and was no longer able to move. Her fear was that Short Guy was approaching her—ready to make good on his promise. If she lay perfectly still, maybe he would miss her. Much like she kept still to keep the zombies from being attracted to her.
They’re both extreme evil. Maybe what works for one, works for the other…
Her thoughts turned inward while she waited. Though there had to be living people nearby, no one made a peep. Her imagination ran wild, and pictured a horde of infected coming over the blockade, now that no one was manning it. That would be the ultimate insult to her intentions. She wanted to find these people so they could prevent zombies from getting out of the research building, and here she was making sure zombies broke into the rest of the camp.
It was a full ten minutes before a gravelly man’s voice called out.
“All clear, people. The shooter is dead.”
Only one?
Around her, other defenders popped up from their hiding places. She let herself be the last to stand up. There was no confusion about her role. A man walked right up to her.
“You better have a damned good reason for getting my friends killed.”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
3
In minutes, she explained what she could. There were deadly assassins roaming the darkness, they’d released zombies inside Whitaker, and it was imperative someone get over there and terminate an entire building of them.
They were understandably hesitant. Their numbers were halved on the blockade by just two of the NIS guys—it turned out Short Guy was still out there—and going into the darkness to find more wasn't a high priority for them.
The gravelly-voiced leader introduced himself as “Sparks.” He was a fierce-looking black man clad in military garb. He was a lean six feet tall and moved with the same grace she'd seen in other long-serving military men. A complicated-looking set of goggles balanced on the top of his head.
“So if we don't go in there and clean them up, these super-soldiers—”
“They're with a group called the National Internal Security—NIS.” She wasn't going to keep that a secret anymore. Not after they'd just lost so many men and women.
“These NIS soldiers are here to release the zombies? They want to kill everyone in the camp? Little lady that makes no damned sense.”
“I know. I wouldn't believe it, either. But if you go to the building, it will be obvious what's happening. You have to stop them.”
He looked her up and down. “You have a weapon?”
“I had a screwdriver”
“Against zombies and assassins? You are either very brave or very stupid.”
“Stupid,” she said with an even tone. “I couldn't protect myself, or the camp. I had to run to get you.” She looked around at the survivors of the ambush. “I'm sorry I brought these guys to you. I didn't think they'd be that aggressive.”
Sparks gave her a look she couldn't read.
“I need three of you to come with me. I don't care who, but I need volunteers. I also need two of you to stay here until the morning shift arrives. Tell them to keep their eyes open on both sides of the blockade. Spread the word down the line.”
It didn't take long, and Sparks had his team. Victoria tried to explain where the building was located, but her directions weren't very good. She could walk him back there, but the campus was so big and convoluted…
“It's past the quadrangle. On the left.”
“That's enough. We'll find Whitaker from there. But we're taking a different way.” He pointed into the darkness of the campus. “There are too many places to get jumped if we head straight in. We're going to go south along the blockade—where it's hopefully safer—and then make our way up the south edge of campus and come at the building from the far side. It will take a lot longer, but we can take them by surprise.”
Victoria didn't like the word “longer”, but it did seem reasonable.
Sparks pulled a gun off one of the dead women at the blockade. He spent time at her body—praying perhaps—and returned with her gun. “You know how to shoot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We may need your help. Everyone has to fight, tonight.”
She thought of Hayes huddled in the security room, waiting for rescue. Here, Sparks was outfitting her to be on the team that pulls him to safety.
Hayes read me perfectly. I'm going to save him.
“Is there anything else we need to know?” Sparks asked as he looked squarely at Victoria.
“There's a scientist trapped on the third floor. He sent me out to get help.”
“He sent you?”
“He's…complicated.”
At best.
“Anything else?”
She could think of reams of information they prob
ably didn't know, but for this mission, there was only one really important thing they needed to know.
“He was working on a cure to the plague. As best I could tell from my time with him, he was close. But he also found that some of the people in his test group carried the plague, but didn't turn into zombies. They are Typhoid Mary's,” she said expectantly.
Blank looks in the darkness. She glanced up. Dawn was on the air. A faint glow in the eastern sky.
“You can't let anyone out of that building who might be infected.”
“So how do we rescue your boyfriend?”
“He's not my—oh, it doesn't matter, dang it. You have to save the scientist, but you can't free the zombies. There are at least thirty inside, that I know about. If they get out, they'll rip through Forest Park.”
Sparks pulled out a green pack of Newports. He removed one with deliberate care, then placed it in his mouth, but didn't light it.
“If you're lying to me, I'll make sure your life is miserable and short.” His eyes penetrated hers, but she didn't flinch. He was searching for deception, of which she had none.
“Sir, if there are no zombies in that building I'll happily take what's coming to me. But there are. And they're evil. And dangerous. I can't stop them on my own.”
The stare down continued for many moments. She looked at his eyebrows, rather than his eyes, so she could maintain his molten glare. Eventually, he struck an old-school Zippo lighter against his leg, then lit up his cigarette. After he sucked in a deep breath, he held it, then blew it out to his side.
“I think you're telling the truth. The guy we killed was a marksman, I'll give him that. The one that got away is gonna be none too happy we killed his compadre,” he said with humor.
“Terry and Jill, you guys are front. Me and the co-ed are in the middle. T-bone, you got tail gunner.”
“My name is Victoria,” she said a bit too defensively.
“Me and Vee are in the middle. Everyone good?”
She nodded. Others responded in the affirmative.
They walked into the night.
Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 6): Zombies Ever After Page 15