Dead World: Hero

by D. N. Harding

  Billy’s head vaporized upon impact. One of her abusers was dead. She dropped the rifle, wrapped her arms about herself and wept.

  Sheri Mason leaned forward and hugged the kneeling woman. “It’ll be alright,” the girl whispered.

  * * *

  Colonel Berkley turned his face just as Billy’s head exploded. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he plucked embedded pieces of Billy’s skull from his cheek, forearm and shoulder. The room was awash in crimson and Billy’s corpse was still standing as it leaned heavily against the window, shivering. The nerves in its right arm still twitched as Berkley crawled past. The silence was punctuated by the dripping morass from the ceiling. On the other side of the counter, he found Billy’s source of inspiration.

  * * *

  Randi’s eyes dragged open as if they were lifting dumbbells. She could hear voices. It took her a moment to register her surroundings. The events that lead to where and how she now found herself came a bit slower. What confused her more was how the room could suddenly bloom a deep dark pink. At first, she thought she was seeing things until a chunk of something dripped from the ceiling onto her belly. The air tasted like copper. It had to be blood.

  Someone chuckled and Randi squirmed around until she could look past her bound feet. A man slathered in blood crawled around the edge of the counter. What she remembered the most about him was his smile.

  “Well, happy birthday to me,” the man said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  T he world seemed surreal. The look in the marine’s eyes said that he was going to force Jack to kill him. That look shifted to one of complete surprise when Jack pulled the trigger. The man didn’t think Jack had it in him to drop the hammer on the little Walther PPK in his large hands. The gun went off two more times before Jack was conscious of what he was really doing. All he could think about was removing a serious threat to those he’d promised to protect.

  The soldier tipped over and landed hard on his back. His lips bubbled red froth. Three wounds in his chest blossomed crimson as Jack lifted the pistol and took a bead on the man’s head. The soldier was talking frantically. His hand was extended. He wanted mercy.

  The world moved in slow motion. Jack could hear nothing. It was as if he was standing in a void. There was no emotion. There was no thinking. There was nothing except what needed to be done.

  The fourth shot sent a spray out the rear of the soldier’s head. The killer had been killed. Then, like a thunderclap, the world returned to normal. Jack flinched at the rush of sound that suddenly assaulted him. It was as if the movie reel had spun back to normal.

  An explosion above him made him duck beside the corpse of the former marine. He looked around him feeling disoriented. The second explosion brought the horrible death of one of the soldiers near the chopper and gave him a renewed sense of what was going on. He turned his eyes toward the blood soaked interior of the helicopter. He could not see Carol.

  Another soldier stood next to his discarded weapon behind the aircraft. His hands were in the air and he looked on the verge of weeping. He was very young. Jack would have guessed him to be too young to be in uniform.

  Jack was just getting ready to call the soldier to come to him when a fourth soldier sprinted out from behind the helicopter. The man was fast and apparently in great shape because he had a gait that bespoke great athleticism. There was no place for the soldier to go. Ahead of him was a veritable wall of undead just waiting to sink their teeth into the first living being to traipse into their midst. Yet, the man appeared not to be concerned about the obstacle. It wasn’t until a third explosion erupted from above him that he was able to identify the explosions as gunfire. The pavement directly behind the running soldier spewed chips as the shooter missed his shot.

  “Get over here!” Jack urged the young man and waved him over. It was clear from the boy’s expression that he was relieved to be addressed in some fashion. It meant that he was seen as a person. “Inside,” Jack instructed, nodding toward the interior of the store. As the soldier passed him, Jack removed the young man’s pistol and then watched him disappear into the darkness of the store with his hands still raised.

  The helicopter looked like a gruesome mess. It reminded him somewhat of the field trip he’d taken in elementary school when he’d visited a slaughterhouse. He could smell the . . . the smell! Immediately, Jack turned his eyes on the distant shambling masses. There were thousands of them swarming into the parking lot. Many were the running, aggressive sort. They were being drawn by the sound of the chopper and the smell of fresh blood.

  He figured he had about a minute to rescue Carol before rescue would be impossible. Jack stepped forward to make a run for the chopper when a fourth explosion above him made his ears pop. Instinctively, Jack ducked his head and looked around to see where the shooter was aiming. He nearly fell in the process.

  The helicopter blades were still churning the air when he passed beneath them looking for Carol. A headless body lay slumped over her.

  “Help me,” a weak voice cried from inside the vehicle. “Somebody? Please help me!” It was Carol.

  Jack found her fumbling with the body. She was nearly hysterical. The whites of her eyes stood out stark against the blood soaked skin of her face and made her look like a frightened child waking from a horrid dream.

  “What happened? Why am I here?” Her voice was timid and quivered with confusion and horror. One hand clutched her forehead.

  Jack lifted the corpse off her and pushed it out onto the pavement. He then helped her sit up. His fingers were all thumbs as he closed her blood soaked blouse to cover her chest. The clumsy footfall of the approaching dead could be heard across the parking lot and was intermingled with the much faster footfall of the others — the “Ragers,” as Randi once called them. “Carol, we have to move now. There’s no time to wait,” Jack said urging her toward the open door.

  The front door of the store burst open across the parking lot and Denise came galloping toward the helicopter. She was screaming and waving her hands frantically. “Get inside and close the door! Quickly! There’s no more time!”

  With that, a hand reached through the watermelon-sized hole in the chopper that was left by the projectile that had killed Primrose and grabbed Jack’s arm. The zombies’ grip was firm and it took two pulls to get loose. The horde had reached the chopper and was coming around both sides when Denise leapt into the cockpit and closed the door. Jack just managed to slide the side door closed when the dead swirled like a massive eddy around the vehicle. He could see them running for the front of the store as well.

  “Come on, Steven, lock the gates, buddy,” Jack whispered across the wailing masses converging on the store. He heard the engine increase in pitch and the propellers follow suit. The aircraft shuttered and then began to lift slowly into the air. “What if they hold on to us? Could they keep us from taking off?” Jack yelled up to Denise.

  “Not a chance,” she said, her voice held a smile. “Watch this!” she screamed and suddenly the chopper lurched into the air so fast that Jack was glad he hadn’t eaten in the past hour.

  “Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick,” Carol said and leaned over, placing her head over Jack’s lap.

  Jack closed his eyes and sighed. He figured that at any moment she would wretch, filling his lap with whatever was still in her stomach. A thought occurred to him. If Carol’s vomit ranked among the worst thing he managed to get all over him, it would be a good day. He pulled Carol’s matted scarlet hair out of the way and gently stroked the side of her face as she rested her head on his lap. The creases in her brow softened and he turned his eyes to the store below. Steven had locked the gate in time, leaving the dead to moan and cry uselessly outside. “Good boy.”

  * * *

  Colonel Berkley heard the increased whine of his helicopter’s engine and knew it was leaving. He swore at the thought. Risking death, he peeked over the windowsill and caught sight of the helicopter settling on the roof of the surpl
us store. When it landed, all he could see of the aircraft was its rotor.

  All around the store was a sea of lurching and raging dead. The parking lot was still being flooded by them. He was determined that none of them would keep him from making an effort to get his chopper back.

  “I’m sorry that I don’t have the time to make your acquaintance properly,” he said over his shoulder to the young beauty that was bound and gagged on the floor behind him. “I promise that I will make up for it tonight.” The thought made him smile. When he turned that smile on the girl, he had expected to find fear in her eyes. He was wrong. His smile slid from his face like a pat of butter on the grill. The girl was looking at him. In that one look, he suddenly understood how she had managed to inspire a spineless wimp to such an act of nobility that Berkley almost respected the man. Even laying there in her filthy underwear, bound and unable to move, her eyes measured him with a keen awareness. She was calculating and weighing truths she could discern from the way he spoke, gestured, and moved. This girl was reading him as he had read others.

  The helicopter engine stopped running. Berkley turned his trained eye back to the problem at hand. He shelved the interest the girl had peaked in him, despite the burning lust that throbbed in his gut. He would have her in time.

  The building was long that housed the string of stores and shopping boutiques, which included the military surplus store. It easily covered several acres of real estate. The entrance to all the stores were located in the front of the building so he could surmise that the back doors would lock from the inside making it impossible to enter without letting the world know you were coming. That left two options — the roof or a basement. He had no way of telling if the building had a basement or a series of basements. The surest sign of a sublevel would be small windows at ground level. There were none around the building as far as he could see. That left the roof.

  Slowly, over the course of a half hour, Berkley moved his eyes over the exterior of the building absorbing minute details. The drain pipes, cracks and crevices might be used as handholds; cable and electrical wires worming down the exterior or suspended between the building and adjacent telephone poles might afford him access to the roof as well. He took in many other levels of information that were filed away for other tactical uses. In the end, he concluded that the metal stairs running up the side of the building and ending at a steel door with no handle would be his best access to the roof. It would be fast and use the least amount of his energy. From the top rail, he could leap and grasp the edge of the roof.

  He smiled again. It was his fourth smile of the day. I’m going to get my chopper.

  Rummaging through the small building, he discovered a tiny fridge with a half-empty bottle of soda. He poured the warm liquid down his throat and turned his attention briefly to the girl. He didn’t want his catch to escape before he could enjoy her. Inspecting the duct tape around her wrists, he found that she had nearly worked herself loose. The tape was split, meaning she would have been long gone by the time he returned. It also meant that Billy’s life expectancy would have been very short if Berkley’s measure of the girl was half what he thought she was capable of doing.

  “Now, now, little missy. I can’t have you running off,” Berkley said softly. “You and I are going to get to know one another very, very intimately.” Pulling the long wire from the back of the computer that sat on the counter, he wound it around her wrists then around her ankles so that lying on her stomach, she was effectively immobilized. He watched tears of frustration leak down her face. “It’s about over. We’ll get you a drink and make you more comfortable before the nights out.” With that, he reached between her shoulder blades and snapped her bra making her jerk. He laughed.

  Berkley peeked around the glass in the front door. There was no movement on the roof of the building across the parking lot as he far as he could tell. He couldn’t see the sniper either. That didn’t mean much, however. He pried the pistol from Billy’s dead hand and pushed the body over so that it crashed, spewing its juice across the floor from a tattered neck. The weapon had two rounds in it.

  Berkley sighed and closed his eyes. He pictured himself strong and agile. He imagined himself sprinting across the parking lot slaying the dead as he made for the stairway on the side of the building. In his mind, he bound up the stairs two at a time and as he rounded the turn reaching the top, he leapt up with his foot springing him off the top rail where he caught a firm hold on the roof ledge. Yes, he thought to himself, I always win.

  “Be back shortly, sweetie. Daddy’s going to get you a ride,” Berkley said as he pushed the front door open and then did exactly what he’d imagined he’d do. He was on the roof of the building in no time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “L et’s make a chain, people!” Denise heard Jack say from across the store. “We’ll start here and pass the supplies one by one until the chopper is loaded.”

  Carol sat on a wooden crate in the hall next to the water fountain, letting Denise finish cleaning her up the best she could. There was a battery-powered lamp setting in her lap. Carol’s hair was damp and hung down her face in limp dark spirals.

  “We’ll get you polished up when we get over there, okay, hon?” Denise said softy. Carol looked about as forlorn as an abandoned house cat. “As soon as you’re up to it, you can join Jack’s ‘chain’ and we can get out of here.”

  Carol smiled at Denise’s implication. She wiped her nose and tears fell fresh down her cheeks. When Denise turned to leave, Carol caught her arm. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?” Denise asked.

  “For being such a bitch to you. You deserved better, especially after all you’ve been through. Thank you for saving me. I—.” Carol sniffed. “I didn’t deserve to be rescued.”

  “Nonsense,” Denise said and put her arms around Carol. “Did you know that your daughter nearly lost it when she thought you might be dead?”

  “Sheri?”

  “Yup.”

  Looking past Denise’s shoulder, Carol watched her children carry supplies up the steps. Little Charlie smiled as he waddled past with a small box that was probably empty. The box was nearly as big as he was. It made Carol chuckle. His nose was running. Sheri offered her mother a slight smile under eyes that seemed to want something more. Steven scowled as he passed and refused to look at his mother.

  “Looks like I have a lot more to make up for,” Carol said and then smiled weakly at Denise.

  “Come on. We’re family now. Let’s find a place to live,” Denise said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  From around the corner, PFC Michael Simpson strode, carrying two boxes that contained a large two-room tent in each. Carol watched a cloud roll over Denise as her eyes followed the young soldier. Denise stared with such intensity that Carol was reminded of a feral cat watching its prey.

  “What’s wrong?” Carol asked as she slid off the wooden box to stand next to the water fountain. She set the lamp down.

  “Keep an eye on him, Carol, especially around your children.”

  “Why?” Carol asked and then wished she hadn’t.

  Denise turned the fire of her gaze on Carol and said, “He’s a man, Carol. What other proof do you need?” It was a rebuke.

  Denise marched off and disappeared up the steps as Jack was coming around the corner. His eyebrows rose when he saw the hard look on her face. When he noticed Carol standing in the small hallway, his eyes said he suspected the source of Denise’s frustration. Carol lowered her head and gave the floor a grim smirk. Of course, he would think I had upset her.

  “How you feelin’?” Jack asked. His concern was genuine.

  “I feel like a toad,” Carol said and rubbed a hand across her nose.

  “Well, just don’t ‘croak’ on me, you hear? You are going to be a valuable part of this group,” Jack said with a smile.

  Carol couldn’t trust herself to say anything without crying some more, so she offered Jack a
smile and nodded. She heard the words “going to be” echoing in the air above her head. She silently wondered if Jack intended to say those words or if they came out subconsciously. However Jack meant them, he was right. Something had to change. She had spent her entire life chasing down men to fill the void left by her father. The value she placed on herself was tied to the type of man she had in her life. If he was successful, she was successful. There were times that she even hated her children for ruining her opportunities to be with men of greater stature. If I hadn’t had those stupid kids, I could have been . . . She’d said those words more times than she could remember.

  Jack turned with his supplies and headed up the stairs. She watched him go and then whispered, “I’ll try.”

  * * *

  After pulling himself up and onto the roof, Berkley found a position behind one of the large HVAC units. The helicopter was less than two-hundred yards away. He checked the ammo in his pistol for a third time. It was a nervous tick. It was something he did when he was forced to wait for long periods.

  There were two other HVAC units between him and his objective. If he timed it right, he could move between them and be within fifty feet of the chopper. They had no need to protect the aircraft from theft, so they probably wouldn’t post a guard. If the odds were in his favor, they might climb to the roof to find the chopper missing. The thought made him chuckle. The fools.