“Whoa now,” Moto said coolly. “Take it easy. We're with you, remember?”
The guy looked like he was thinking about it a moment.
He's contemplating gunning us down anyway, I thought. You can see it in his eyes. He looks terrified. I'll bet there's even a part of him that would be happy to take out John and Desdemona right now, and just abandon the cause.
“Francis!” Desdemona shouted, knocking him out of his murderous stupor. He snapped his head her way, and waited for further instructions. “Pick up the other gun and start heading west now!”
Francis, I thought. No wonder he didn't tell us his name before.
He did as she said at once, leaning over to grab his fallen pal’s weapon, then darting off into the well-lit corridor to our right. I could smell the rotten flesh of the advancing horde again filling up the hallway, permeating my senses and making me involuntarily gag.
“Hurry up,” Moto urged, “before they overrun us and eat us alive.”
He took off running after Francis, and Benji and I followed. I could hear the clack of Desdemona's shoes as she followed behind us, and knew John was right on her heels. We passed room after room before moving through the big double doors I had remembered seeing earlier when being led back to our cell.
“We're close,” I said. “I recognize this hallway.”
“You're right,” Benji agreed, coming to a stop. “There's an office up ahead where I took my physical when I enlisted.”
“Why are you stopping?” Desdemona shrieked. “Do you want to get us all killed?!”
“We have to block these doors off,” Benji replied, “otherwise they will just corner us wherever we end up, and break down the door.”
“He's right,” I verified. “I've seen them knock over entire buildings before.”
“So what's the point, then?” John asked.
“It will buy us time,” Moto explained, jumping in. “Hopefully long enough to get what you came for, and get the hell out of here.”
John looked rapidly back and forth between Desdemona and us.
He thinks it's a trick, I thought. But he can't figure out what the angle is, because there isn't one.
“Come on, man,” I yelled. “We're running out of time.”
“Well, what do you suggest I do about it?!” John yelled back.
“There are file cabinets and a big heavy metal desk in that room,” Benji instructed, pointing to the examination office. “We could prop them up against the door and create a barrier between us and them. They wouldn't be able to knock it over or go around it. They'd have to take it apart one piece at a time.”
“That's impossible,” Desdemona sneered.
“Exactly,” I said. “Which is why it will work.”
“Okay,” John said, jumping in and trying to sound like he was still in control. “Get in there and start moving them out. And remember this, if you try to pull anything you won't live long enough to regret it.”
I didn't bother trying to explain that we'd all be dead in that scenario. There wasn't enough time to play games now. Benji pulled the door open and Moto and I dashed in, pulling the desk out and carrying it as quickly as we could to the double doors. Benji asked someone to help him move the big metal file cabinets, and Francis tucked his guns into his belt and went to pitch in. Desdemona looked petulant at the idea of breaking a sweat, like a cat being offered a bath. She slunk behind John, who made a big show of telling us where to put the furniture and how to stack it. With great effort and strain, Moto and I managed to tilt the desk on its side. By a stroke of luck it neatly covered most of the passageway, and there wasn’t enough room for a person to fit through. Benji and Francis had leaned the file cabinet against it, anchoring it into place. The muscles in my arms and back were screaming from moving the desk. I was sure I had lifted it wrong. I bent over and put my hands on my knees as I harshly panted.
“Took you long enough,” John chastised.
An unearthly howl erupted from the other side of the barricade as the doors shook. One had already found us and I knew more would be coming soon, drawn in by the tortured cries.
“Is that enough to hold them off?” Desdemona questioned. “It doesn't seem like enough. Maybe you should put more of those cabinets behind it just to be sure.”
Resentment shot through me, but I bit my tongue.
Don't give them the satisfaction of knowing they're getting to you, I thought. They don't deserve it.
Working in teams, we quickly piled up the rest of the furniture in the room. The doors rattled like crazy, but showed no sign of giving way. Benji's plan had worked.
“All right,” John called to us, puffing his chest up again and doing his best to still look in charge. “You know the way. Quit stalling.”
If we'd been expecting a reprieve, or even a word of praise for saving his life, we knew right then and there it wasn't coming.
Not in this lifetime anyway, I thought, as I turned and began slowly marching to what could only mean my certain doom. I felt tired and defeated, despite having just outrun a horde of zombies. My shoes felt like they were filled with lead as I followed Francis up the last stretch of hallway, and back into the viewing chamber once more.
Once again, I froze in shock at what I saw. Franco was curled up into a ball, laughing like a madman when we came in. It was a strange and unnerving sight to see him broken.
“Why didn't it work? It was supposed to work! He said it would work,” Franco mumbled, before launching into a fresh round of giggles.
“He's lost it,” I concluded.
“Step over there with the others,” John instructed, motioning toward the soldier, Francis, who had his guns out and pointed at Benji and Moto. John put my blade up against my left shoulder and turned it to move me out of the way quicker. I felt the metal bite into my arm and draw blood as I scurried to avoid having it cut off. John sauntered over to Franco and looked down on him, his face a mixture of disgust and pride.
“Alone and unarmed,” John gloated, leaning over and picking up Franco's gun. “That's just how I was hoping to find you.”
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” John waved the gun around comically. “I'm burning you. You should have seen this coming. The fact that you didn't says a lot about you. I mean come on, man. Get a clue! The real question here is what the hell are you doing? And where's my old pal, Haki?”
“See for yourself,” Franco blurted, letting out a titter of giggles like a rapid string of high notes being played on a piano.
We all turned at once, and followed his line of sight. The thick glass of the viewing room had been punched out clean, like a clear chunk of bulletproof ice the size of a car windshield. Jagged, star shaped glass spread out in a wide radius from the gaping hole, glistening like a fresh spray of powder blown from winter pines. On the ground, in the middle of this mess, was a tattered carcass made of flayed skin and bloody, shredded clothing. It was Haki, there was no one else it could be, and yet still my mind couldn't seem to wrap around the reality of what I was seeing. He looked deflated and lumpy, like a stuffed animal that's had its guts ripped out. His eyes were solid black and lifeless. Blood poured from his ears and nose. He was missing his lower jaw and his long pink tongue hung out, but it had turned scaly and purple, like something from a child's darkest nightmare.
“You're kidding! That's Haki? What happened to him?” John took a moment to scratch the side of his head with his pistol before pointing it back in Franco's direction.
“It's the serum,” Franco moaned, coming to his senses. “The effect doesn't last. In order to maintain itself, the host has to continue to consume fuel at an almost impossible rate.”
“And by fuel, you mean people?” Benji asked.
“Anything living will do, but yeah,” Franco replied somberly, looking lost in thought. “The problem is, sooner or later it's going to run out, and when that happens the biological agent will begin to eat the host in order to survive.
By the time I got here, he had already punched his way out of the room. Fortunately, he was halfway back to his normal size by then. Shortly afterward, he fell over and twitched for a long time. I think he's gone now.”
“So much for your big weapon, huh killer?” John laughed cruelly. Desdemona joined him, the sound of her cackling was like nails on a chalkboard to me.
If there is one thing that unites them, it's their love of other people’s suffering, I thought.
“Guess you're not so smart after all, now are you?”
The 'told you so' tone of his remarks seemed to set off Franco, who immediately launched into an angry tirade.
“You think you can betray me? You're nothing! You like to go around telling everyone you were in the special forces, but we both know that's a lie. You were in the reserves, for crying out loud! That's all you ever were. A weekend warrior at best. You don't have the discipline it takes to see something like this through,” Franco challenged.
“That's what I've been telling him since it started,” Moto chimed in, sending John into a fit.
“Shut up! Both of you! Or I'll start with your fingers and toes, feeding them to my pet monsters outside while you're still alive.”
“I take it back,” Franco said, straightening up as if things had suddenly taken a turn for the better. He took a moment to get to his feet, and then dusted himself off. He was like an actor finishing a long performance as one character, and switching immediately into another. He cocked his head at John as he strutted like a proud professor watching a particularly difficult student finally coming into his own.
“I always knew you had a spark in you, I just could never get it to come to the surface. That's why I kept pushing you. That's why you're standing where you are right now, instead of ruling over a few blocks of forgotten suburbia in the middle of nowhere. You will never have to apologize for being greedy, not to me. I applaud your ambition. In fact, I want to reward you for it. Together, we’ll make sure you get everything you deserve and more. I promise you that, friend. You have my word.”
“Why thank you,” John sarcastically replied. “Coming from you that means exactly nothing to me.”
John made a big show of loading a round into the Glock's chamber and pointing it back at Franco's head.
“You've put up a good front,” Franco said in a condescending, but friendly, tone. “You've proven your worth of taking on more responsibility, of being my right-hand man, but this has gone far enough. Lower your weapons and I'll make you my new commander. You'll continue to oversee the horde and troops, keeping spoils and plunder beyond your wildest dreams, as we take down California town by town.”
John looked hard and seriously at Desdemona, who returned the glare.
It's like they're communicating telepathically, I thought.
After a tense few seconds with my guts twisted up in knots, John broke his stare and began shaking his head. Desdemona's wicked grin told me all I needed to know about what he was going to say.
“Gosh,” John said, the familiar, charismatic 'ah shucks' smile returning to his face. “That is one heck of an offer, buddy. I almost wish I could take you up on it. I really do. But you see, here's the thing. The misses and I just have our hearts set on declaring ourselves King and Queen of California and, thanks to you helping me assemble a gigantic zombie army, that's exactly what we're going to do. But don't you worry for a second. I'm not going to forget about you. I'm not like that.”
John’s smile seemed to grow in proportion to Franco's frown, so much so that it was as if the more John's lips turned upward in delighted smug self-satisfaction, the more Franco’s lips turned down in displeasure, bordering on visible fear. It was clear now that Franco knew he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this. He'd made a mistake, taken a calculated risk, and it hadn't paid off for him.
“In fact, I'm here to personally see to it that you get exactly what you've got coming to you,” John went on, loving every second of his planned-out revenge. “I'm going to walk you down and watch as you’re turned. I'm only sad that my actual friend Tank isn't here to see it. He was really looking forward to seeing you killed. He talked about it all the time.”
“If you think I'm going to just let you march me out into a pack of wild monsters,” Franco said in a low growl, “you've got another think coming, pal.”
“Oh, this is happening,” John said, psyching himself up as he locked eyes with Franco. “We can do it the easy way or the hard way, but mark my words, it's going down.”
“You'll never take me alive,” Franco declared, a wild look in his wide-open eyes. “I'll kill every last one of you with my bare hands if I have to, or die trying! I am a trained operative of the Central Intelligence Agency! I answer to no one but the President! I've been waterboarded in Caracas! I've stared down the Shah in Tehran! I've had the soles of my feet beaten before being dumped in the Gobi desert with a bag of snakes tied around my head, and survived to exact revenge on my enemies!”
The veins in his neck bulged as he ranted, but John seemed nonplussed.
“You don't scare me! You and your dirty witch of a wife are so far beneath me, I have to strain to even see you!” Spittle flew from his mouth as his face went red with rage.
“The hard way it is then,” John said, before firing three shots into Franco's legs and sending him face first, down to the floor. Franco moaned as fresh blood leaked out of the wounds.
“You shot me?” Franco said, looking surprised.
“Don't look at me,” John shrugged, “I gave you a choice, after all. It's not like I didn't warn you.”
Franco began to laugh maniacally. It was an eerie sound, hollow and evil and devoid of all humanity. I felt the nerves in my stomach begin to tingle and a growing sense of discomfort filled me as the laughter went on, echoing off the walls of the room.
“What's so funny?” John said, looking amused.
“This is,” Franco howled, pulling a syringe out of his pocket and jamming it into his own neck. John instinctively fired off two more rounds, hitting Franco in the chest. His body convulsed wildly as he fell back to the floor. The empty syringe flew from his hand. It was too late. The transformation had already begun.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Franco began to shudder all over, like his body was hooked up to active electrodes, as violent spasms rocked his entire frame. His chest and arms swelled to the point where his shirt, unaided, tore completely off of him. The seams of his pants came undone almost immediately as his legs doubled in muscle mass. A terrible, high-pitched animal cry came bellowing out of him. It sounded like it started somewhere deep and wet inside his chest, and came rumbling out like an uncontrollable burp. His fingers swelled like sausages, and the nails came flying off like hot popcorn. Blood poured from the bubbled mass of knotted lumps growing on the top of his head, as he sat up and screamed in agony. His eyes had become solid black, just like Haki’s.
John and Francis began firing at Franco's head, but unlike regular zombies, the impact of the bullets seemed to make no difference whatsoever. Franco flinched like a small child being poked by a needle, his face distressed and confused, then he flew into a rage and slapped John with the back of his hand like he was swatting away a pesky insect. John flew across the room and into the pile of chairs on the other side with a loud clatter, dropping my katana directly in front of Franco. I began to crawl to it slowly, as Benji and Moto beckoned me back.
“Xander no,” Moto warned as I reached my hand out for the blade. An earsplitting crack went off again, and my blade jumped slightly as John fired off a round at me and hit the handle instead.
“Don't even think about it, Xander,” John screamed, climbing back to his feet.
I scampered back to Benji and Moto, who had propped up the broken slab of glass and were hiding behind it. Just as I ducked into place, John fired three more rounds, one hitting Francis and two slamming into the barrier we were cowering behind. I flinched and held my breath, certain that I'd been hit
somewhere, but the glass had held. The hot slugs were visibly indented in the surface above us, a spider web of cracks extending out from them like ripples from a rock thrown into a calm lake. I let out a small sigh of relief as Francis keeled over directly in front of Franco.
“Oh hell,” John yelled. “My bad, Francis. Sorry about that.”
If Francis harbored any ill will over the mistake of being shot in the chest, causing his lung to collapse, it didn't last long. Franco now loomed over him, having grown to nearly eight feet tall and almost tripling in size. The veins of his stretched muscles visibly throbbed as he leaned over and wrapped his massive hand completely over Francis's head, palming his face. Franco lifted Francis into the air, kicking and thrashing. A nauseating pop echoed in the room as Franco whipped Francis around, snapping his neck. Francis gave a series of final twitches before going limp. Franco then took Francis's legs in his other hand and brought the dead man up to his terrible mouth, chomping into his stomach and causing blood and guts to spill out over the floor. Desdemona screamed at the top of her lungs, and Franco stopped chewing his fresh kill to roar back in her face, silencing her. She sat down in shock, unable to close her mouth or even blink.
John came up behind Franco and once more let loose a volley of bullets into the giant’s muscular shoulders and the back of his bumpy head, with almost no effect. Franco raised his right leg, then kicked backward blindly, connecting with John square in the chest and sending him cartwheeling across the room once again.
Franco sullenly returned to devouring Francis, as if nothing had disturbed him; tearing the bloody corpse apart in big chunks and swallowing it down in greedy gulps. Benji winced and turned away, but I couldn't. I just continued to stare, spellbound and horror stricken. When Franco had eaten the middle out of the man, he threw the remains aside. Francis's legs came to rest near Desdemona, spraying her face and clothes with blood as they landed with a disgusting, wet thud. She didn't make a peep, but just stared at the carcass, a look of absolute terror now in her eyes.
Zombie Attack! Army of the Dead (Book 3) Page 16