Cursing his memories, he tried to slow his heart and wandering mind. He didn’t want to remember the scorched bodies of all of the Russian children that became collateral damage. Bombs didn’t sort out the good from the bad. Bombs sucked the life out of everything within its reach. For a moment, he dwelt on the memories of the Winter War. Then he turned his attention toward the sky. He discovered a trace of rising smoke in the distance. His eyes followed it back down to a building several blocks away.
“Found you,” he said. It appeared as if using the buildings Bob had fashioned some sort of safe compound for his people.
By the time Abraham came back down, the abnormal boy had settled on top of Emme’s boots. The wild child lifted his head up for a second to watch the old man who punched him, and then lowered it back down and closed his eyes. “I see you’ve tamed the boy,” Abraham said.
“He’s just scared,” Emme replied. “I think I can get him to follow us over to Bob’s garage.”
“The boy is a risk,” Hunter blurted out.
“Right now the only risk is you and your loud mouth. If these buildings are stuffed with infected freaks, I don’t want to wake them. Do you understand?” Abraham gave his grandson a hard stare. He wanted to show the boy his place.
Hunter nodded and turned his back.
“So I can bring him?” Emme asked.
Abraham again thought of the innocent children who died during the Winter War. He wasn’t going to let this boy die on his watch. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered to show mercy. It always came back to bite him in the end. “Keep him quiet until I get this mess sorted out.”
Abraham caught a quick reflection of himself in an oily pool of water. Touching his wrinkled brow, he wondered if any of the dried blood on his skin was threatening to turn him into a savage beast. If it’s going to happen, there’s nothing I can do. Grunting, he realized he felt fine. He was just tired. But that was his age; at least that’s what he told himself.
“A storm is sweeping in fast. It might be best if we get inside. I don’t want to get stuck out here in a cruel storm without enough fuel to bring us to Denver.”
“Will Bob let us stay?” Hunter asked, hands holding up his stern face.
The real question was the price Bob would ask for gasoline. “He better,” he answered. Abraham begged Hunter to use one of his clean coats before they left, but his grandson had to wear his filthy denim coat. At least Hunter tried to wash it in the sink before they left.
“What if Bob’s dead?” Emme asked. “I can hear the infected inside the walls.”
Abraham had heard all her talk about hearing the dead. Kid games, he thought, trying to listen for the congested breaths of the infected. Judging by the amount of empty bullet shells, he thought Bob must have held the advantage.
“He’s alive. Lock up the Blazer and let’s get moving,” Abraham ordered. He didn’t like the approaching storm clouds. It looked like it was going to be a nasty storm. “Leave the big guns and supplies in the car. I don’t want Bob to know what we’ve got. And remember, let me do all the talking.”
Abraham climbed back up to the roof, and to his surprise, the wild boy followed Emme’s every step. The wild boy looked like a little monkey climbing the ladder. Abraham saw how this made Hunter’s stomach bitter and almost laughed. He hoped with time he could bring the wild boy out of his deep shock. Abraham believed it had to shock that left the boy dimwitted for the moment.
“Keep up,” he said, looking back. “And watch out for traps.”
“Traps?” Sam questioned, throwing up her hands.
Abraham pointed to a large metal grate with teeth. Inside the jaws was a hunk of infected meat. “Bob is one crazy man,” he said. “And traps were always something he fancied.”
It was growing colder as they climbed down a second ladder to a smashed balcony on the other side of the building. Abraham lifted his flashlight and led the way through the unlocked sliding glass door. A layer of empty bullet shells were spread across the tiled floor. The green couches in the center of the room were covered in foul stains and the smell almost floored him.
“Watch your step,” he whispered back to the kids, recognizing the throw carpet plugging up a gaping hole. “It’s another trap.” He pulled up the carpet and saw a series of sharp spikes ready to greet anyone foolish enough to walk without regard. The room below was stuffed with rotten bodies that assaulted his nose with every breath. Abraham thought about turning back as he laid the carpet back down. But they had to find fuel.
Pushing open a bedroom door, he realized the building was some sort of apartment or hotel. Through the soiled destruction, it was too hard to tell. He observed a queen-sized bed with tight hospital corners. Resting on top of the bed was a brainless corpse threaded in contagion. When Hunter tried to push past him to see, Abraham pulled the door closed. “You don’t need to see that.”
Hunter didn’t question him. He must have known whatever was behind the bedroom door was gruesome. Still, he knew his grandson wasn’t afraid of such sights. His grandson believed he was a man. But Abraham wasn’t so sure.
Abraham rushed across the space and exited out into the pitch-black hall. His pistol was already out and followed his flashlight down to the deep corners. He had no objection to shooting infected freaks, or regular people as long as they deserved it. He knew the bright light would call the infected. But then again, he didn’t think the inside of the compound would be infested. Plus he didn’t want to step on one of Bob’s traps. Each careful step came after searching for wires and gaping holes in the floorboards. When he reached a broken stairwell, he turned back and pointed down.
“The flashlight will attract them,” Emme reminded. “And believe me, they’re near.”
“At least this way I can see them coming.” Abraham grunted, accepting he had no choice in the matter. As the beam of light shone ahead, he noticed a small fishing wire stung across at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes followed it back to the swollen wall. “More traps,” he rasped, taking in the pipe bomb attached to the wire. “The whole place is probably booby-trapped. Stay behind me and look high and low.”
He took out a knife and cut at the string. Again he experienced a flashback of the Winter War. Abraham had been part of an advanced raiding party set to infiltrate a political fortress near Ukraine. He defused hundreds of similar-fashioned bombs strung throughout the vast sewer system. The Winter War turned men into savages and broke every rule of engagement. Bob was his partner during the deployment and an experienced soldier in explosive removal.
After studying the improvised pipe bomb, he plunked it off the cheap mount and held it in his hand. He was confident the thing would explode on impact. “This may come in handy,” he said, entering the next set of halls.
“Are you sure carrying that is safe?” Sam asked, buttoning up her borrowed coat.
“I’m not sure of anything.”
After a few more steps, Abraham saw the devastation of the hall. A taxing fire fight had riddled the walls with holes. The footsteps of his companions echoed down the blurred space. Bob must have fought the infected.
Shadows shimmered as his flashlight stressed the warped timbers of the building. The wooden floors were bathed in crimson guts that bloomed up in moldy florets. He noticed the charred wood on one of the other door frames and recognized one of the traps had detonated long ago.
“Here they come,” Emme warned, cupping her hands over her hearing aids. Before Hunter could fully call her a lair, a gurgling buzzing sound erupted.
Abraham scrambled to the kill the flashlight. To his dismay, it fell out of his hand with a rolling bang. “Shit,” he whispered, pushing his grandchildren back into one of the nearby rooms.
The trudging of dead, infested feet tore into the hallway as Abraham inched the door closed. Quiet as possible, he turned the dead bolt. “Get to the window,” he whispered, running that direction. The mind-numbing wail blared louder and then stopped at the base of the warped door.
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“More are coming,” Emme squeaked.
Could she really hear them? Abraham didn’t know.
In seconds, the front door handle jiggled. Then, something squishy slammed against the wood. Abraham heard the flashlight scatter across the floor as at least one of the plague-ridden creatures attacked the spinning light on the other side of the door. At that time, the heavy fists of a corpses beat against the door. Dozens of infected were screaming in hideous tones throughout the structure. Abraham saw the worry upon Hunter’s face. He was sure the boy saw it on his own.
“Be still,” he said soft and discreet. The pounding against the door increased with each icy breath he drew.
Then and there, in a moment of rage, the wild boy said, “Dr. John.”
“Quiet,” Emme warned. For a second, the wild boy simmered down. She wrapped her arms around him as if he were a teddy bear. The quick comfort worked.
Abraham was surprised to find the window easy to handle; he punched out the screen and dove out into a long parking lot sandwiched between three immense buildings. The hairs on his neck were standing on end. “Hurry up!” Dozens of rotten bodies littered the space. The ground shimmered in the empty shells of a thousand hollow casings. Abraham felt like he was running through another war zone.
An RV blocked one of the exits leading out of the chokepoint. On the other side, a large pile of furniture webbed in barbed wire jammed the path. Barriers on top must have been the last stand for those defending that stretch of the city. Upon seeing the spoiled carnage, he wondered if he was heading in the wrong direction. The last thing he wanted to do was lead his grandchildren into a perilous situation. We have to keep moving.
Panting through clenched teeth, he led them to the back door to the closest adjoining structure and whipped open the uneven frame. Hesitant, Abraham ran a hand though his thinning white hair.
“This way,” he ordered, dashing to the left. He turned his attention to the end of the hall. A great cluster of fungus bloomed like a huge flower. It covered the entire base of the back wall. It reminded him of decade-old wallpaper. “Is this what the fungus intends to do with the human race?” A dozen butchered bodies were woven into the tangle of soft, pulsating mushrooms.
“Come on,” Emme slurred, tugging at the frantic boy.
“Dr. John,” the boy whispered.
“I’ll kill him,” Hunter said, pointing his rifle.
Abraham knew his grandson would hurt the boy if he made one more stupid sound. “Shut up,” he muttered, trying to focus.
Emme covered the boy’s barren eyes and hummed. Had she not been toughened at the barn, she might have screamed herself or so Abraham believed. It couldn’t have been easy for a twelve-year-old to process.
The sound of something bulky approached the corner. Abraham didn’t wait to see the full shadow of the staggering corpse. He tossed the acquired pipe bomb and ran through another hallway, waiting for the next infected freak to come into his line of sight. The dramatic explosion hammered the swollen walls. Still, he navigated the twists and turns and came to a lobby in shambles.
An infected freak turned away from a set of doors boarded up with thick slabs of wood. The dead woman’s skirt swirled around her large hips as she regarded them. Her mouth was stained in blood and guts as she came forward.
Abraham stuffed his pistol in his pants and plunked out his trusty hammer. “You do not belong in this world,” he muttered, thumping the thing across the top of its soft skull.
At that moment, an unseen infected staggered over the grand oak desk and lashed out, knocking the pistol from his body and the hammer from his hand. The weapons crashed and slid against the marble floor in a thunderous snap.
Hunter had his back turned, aiming at another creature emerging from the dense smoke behind them. His rifle boomed.
Emme sunk to the ground and scrambled forward on her fists. “Stay away,” Abraham slurred.
He struggled against the diseased oddity by grabbing its shabby blazer. The thing’s dull teeth mashed mere inches away from his scrunched face. It’s too strong, he thought, losing grip. Squeezing his eyes shut, he screamed.
Boom!
Emme stood, shaking like a dog shitting razor blades. She fired the handgun and tore the back of the infected freak’s skull from its base. “Damn,” she whispered, shivering in what must have been an adrenaline rush.
Abraham sprang up to his feet and took back the gun. “Oh, sweet girl,” he chafed. He didn’t have time to comfort her. He saw another plague-ridden oddity approaching from the shadows. His feet spun as the gun cracked. The creature was dead as its brains spilled. He had a compulsion to look back at Emme. But he understood survival required him to lead them out of this infested structure.
“We have to go,” Emme pleaded, picking up the hammer. Her serious face told of hearing more of the abominations. And this time Abraham listened. Desperate, he tore apart the wooden boards protecting the door. The glass door didn’t stand a chance against his hammer. The sharp, shattering sound caused him to cringe as he looked back.
“Hurry,” he said, waiting for the rest of his group to exit the verminous building. Nothing was coming as far as he could tell, but he wasn’t going to stay and find out.
A steady drizzle fell from the sky as Abraham sprinted. A large hole was burning in the side of the building where he used the bomb. A slow stagger of wounded creatures poured out into the dark streets. The clouds in the sky blocked out all of the sun’s consecrated rays as if to punish him.
“We have to find higher ground,” he ordered. Bob’s garage was near. He cut the corner at the edge of the block, fighting to keep his grandchildren in front of him. “Keep running,” he spat, holding the pistol in one hand and taking Emme’s tiny hand in the other. He sprinted by a bakery, antique shop, and barber, recalling the way.
The rain turned heavy and blinded him as he smeared his hands across his face. He couldn’t believe his granddaughter was forced to kill. This put a stain on his wits.
Anxious, Abraham didn’t see the large man spring out at him from inside the barber shop. The brute dove at his knees and tackled him hard. It was impossible to see any details in the hammering rain. He knew he had to fight his way back to his feet to escape the brute and coming horde of infected. He twisted and turned, throwing punches. A straight right to the jaw took his breath. Still, he spat out the blood, and resisted. Then, something sturdy like a bat or pipe bounced across the back of his head as he heard Emme cry out to him.
It was hard to sort out all of the noises, and there was the buzzing screeches threaded with the heavy voices of men. “We are living,” he slurred, giving way to unconsciousness. On the contrary, he did manage to hear one last thing before he passed out.
The troublesome wild child was howling the only words he seemed to know. “Dr. John.”
IV
A fine, salty liquid dripped down the threads of Abraham’s hair. It felt like most of his blood had flowed to his pounding head. He managed to open his swollen eyes and the world appeared strange. Blinking, he realized he was suspended upside down in a warehouse. His blurry vision followed the concrete floor with cracks. The cracks stretched back to a wiry man with patchy pale skin. This blur of a man had shoulder-length hair clotted in dirt and grime, and a greasy smile curving his lips. Shit, he thought trying to settle back into reality. Everything in his body hurt. He felt like a summer pig hung in a meat locker.
“Who the fuck are you?” asked the man.
Abraham braced as the man shoved his suspended body without regard for his injuries. The sheer force of the sway caused Abraham to spew. It spattered down his aged face. He choked on the tiny pieces of vomit, spilling out of his arid mouth. The stains of puke burned as it bled into his eyes.
“You tried to break into my home. That, my friend, is a crime deserving of death.” The man raised a fist and snorted a curious laugh.
Abraham tried to focus, but all he saw was a peg board of tools that swayed wit
h every wink. This was followed by a nasty grinding sound. He felt his legs lift higher toward the roof stacked with support beams. “That’s high enough,” the man said.
“Are you bitten?”
“No,” Abraham muttered.
“Why then are you painted in blood?”
“It’s not mine. Why don’t you let me down, asshole?”
“Next time you speak out of turn, I’ll drop you against the cement,” the man promised. “Back to the first question, who are you?”
He murmured through his swollen lips, “Abraham. Abraham Heinz.” Now his carnal fear came into focus. “Where are my grandchildren? I will do whatever you want, but leave my grandchildren alone.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Oh shit! Get him down. And be gentle about it.” Again the grinding sound initiated and soon after he felt his numb body spill back to the bitter ground. Abraham raised his sore head and cranked his neck to the side. “Bob,” he murmured, “is that you?”
Bob Hatchet smiled at him, showing the space where he was missing a tooth. “My old friend, you should have knocked. We’re not generous to thieves. Most of the time we shoot first and ask questions later.”
“I was trying to find you,” he said as one of Bob’s cronies sat him up and began to untie him. The rough leather straps rubbed his ankles raw as he winced at each touch. Looking around, he realized the warehouse-sized garage was where his son Benjamin worked for over a year. At the far end, he observed some of the mechanics unloading his grandchildren from a truck in the back of the shop. Thank God.
Stacks of salvage were piled on the floor—bald tires, rusted pipes, and old car parts. A spot of color caught his eye near a window next to a big roll-down door at the front of the garage. An infected freak hammered at the folding metal door. Then he heard it, the shotgun erupted and the sound of the thing slithering down the door echoed with a thump. “We were running from them,” Abraham said, touching his swollen nose.
Infected Freaks (Book 2): The Echo of Decay Page 4