Empty Bodies (Book 5): Damnation

by Zach Bohannon

  The door opened, and both Lance and Derek appeared in the doorway. Derek had the same neutral look on his face that he’d carried with him each other time Gabriel had seen him. Conversely, Lance looked like a rabid dog, ready to rip Gabriel’s throat out. Though he looked angry, a bandage now covering his nose, part of him also looked exhilarated; there was a slight glow in his eyes, perhaps.

  “Up,” Derek said.

  Gabriel sighed and stood up from the desk. Knowing what would come next, he extended his arms, offering to let the men cuff him. Lance stepped forward with the handcuffs while Derek remained ready with the rifle. Gabriel wondered if Lance would try and provoke him to make a move, giving Derek a reason to use the weapon in his hands. But it didn’t happen.

  As Lance cuffed Gabriel, he said, “Boy, you’re in for a treat today.”

  They led Gabriel down the hall, following the same path they’d taken him along when he’d been forced to watch the atrocities on the football field. He assumed he was heading back out there now. Was Ambrose trying to intimidate him? Threatening him with the possibility that he might send him out into the sick and twisted game?

  They exited the building through the exit in the stairwell.

  Outside, the sun worked to peek through clouds in the sky. The asphalt had darkened, signaling that it had recently rained. Though the sun had soaked up any standing water, except that gathered in cracks and dips in the concrete. The air carried with it a humid breath, though an Autumn breeze still attempted to blow through.

  Unlike before, Gabriel didn’t hear a commotion coming from the football field. There was no woman standing at the gate, accepting canned currency to get inside the stadium. Even so, death was in the air. Gabriel could not only smell it, but he could feel it.

  Derek and Lance pulled Gabriel through the front gate. As they walked down the tunnel, the field became visible. As Gabriel had expected from the silence, the seats were empty. Four armed guards stood down by the fence, just below where Gabriel had entered the stadium.

  “Go,” Lance said, nudging Gabriel forward.

  Gabriel walked down the stairs and he swallowed the dryness in his throat as he looked down to the end zone at his left.

  Parked on the five yard line was the armored box truck that had unloaded the Empty competitors onto the field during the game. Two guards stood at the back of the truck.

  Enough sweat seeped from Gabriel’s pores that he felt like he might have been able to slide right out of the handcuffs if they hadn’t been essentially welded to his wrists. A bead of perspiration dripped down the side of his face, tickling and irritating him.

  When they reached the first row of seats, Derek said, “Stop.”

  Gabriel stopped, and looked back.

  “Take a seat,” Derek said, pointing to the first row.

  The four armed guards stood with their backs against the wall, facing Gabriel. He sat, elbows on his knees, staring into the eyes of each one of them. While each of the men, and the one woman, appeared tough, he could see the fear settled deep in their eyes.

  “We’re here,” Derek said into a two-way radio.

  Gabriel stared into the eyes of the guards for a few more moments before he saw a figure in the near distance beyond them. The figure of the man walking through the end zone, down to his right, was unmistakable.

  Ambrose.

  As per usual, Ambrose had a cigar pressed tight between his lips. The tip glowed bright orange, and the smoke polluted the air. The closer Ambrose got, the more the smell of cigar stirred with the rot in the air, which permeated from the battlefield below.

  Ambrose approached the fence and the guards didn’t turn to face him.

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Alexander,” Ambrose said.

  His back stiff, Gabriel sat up straight. He nodded toward the truck. “Let me take a guess what you got for me in there. I’ll only need one.”

  Ambrose pulled the cigar from his mouth and pushed a thick cloud into the air. “I told you that things could be much easier for you if you’d take my side. But you didn’t seem to wanna listen yesterday.”

  “I listened.”

  Nathan chuckled. “Saying ‘fuck you’ didn’t exactly tell me that you understood what I was trying to do for you.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re trying to do for me,” Gabriel said. “What I give a shit about is where my friends are, and how the fuck I get out of this hellhole.”

  “Oh, you won’t be getting out, of that I can assure you,” Ambrose said. “But if you had just listened to me to begin with, your stay here could’ve been so much more pleasant.” Ambrose put the cigar between his lips again, inhaled deep, and snapped his fingers toward Derek.

  “All right,” Derek said, speaking into the radio. “Let ‘em out.”

  One of the guards at the rear of the truck gave a thumbs up, and then said something to his mate. The other guard backed up, while the one with the radio opened the back of the truck. He pulled the ramp down, and then backed up ten feet from the truck.

  Gabriel waited, fully expecting to see a mob of Empties spill out of the truck. Instead, only two walked out. He chuckled.

  “You think just two of those things are going to be able to kill me?” Gabriel asked. “You can throw me out there with these cuffs on, and I’ll still have no problem taking those fuckers down.”

  Ambrose smiled and drew in another long, deep inhale of his cigar. He pulled it from his mouth, looked at Gabriel, and shook his head.

  “They aren’t for you.”

  Gabriel turned when he heard feet stomping on the steel floor of the grandstands behind him. Two guards led Jessica and Claire to the front row of seats, one section over from Gabriel. He looked back to Ambrose.

  “Please,” Gabriel said. “Take me. Don’t send them down there.”

  Ambrose smiled. He flicked the butt of his cigar onto the ground. As he stomped it out, he said, “Mr. Alexander, you really need to learn some patience.”

  Jessica and Claire stared over at Gabriel as the guards forced them to sit. The two armed people instructed the two women not to speak to Gabriel, to which they abided. It hurt Gabriel to see Jessica. She looked tired and malnourished. Her eyes had sunk into her head, and her face had developed cracks that hadn’t existed before. She looked far more exhausted than Gabriel felt. She looked defeated.

  Ambrose nodded to Derek again, who picked up the two-way radio and said, “Okay, we’re ready.”

  Ambrose turned back toward the field-house, and Gabriel stared beyond him. Behind Gabriel, Lance chuckled, but Gabriel didn’t turn around.

  Through the open fence at the back of the end zone, two men appeared. One sat in a wheelchair, and the other, another guard, pushed the wheelchair out onto the field. The man in the wheelchair was missing one of his legs, and something about him looked familiar.

  In the next section over, Claire cried out. Gabriel looked over at her and saw she was mumbling something, but he couldn’t make out what. Then Jessica made eye contact with Gabriel, and mouthed one word. His eyes widened as he looked back out onto the field.

  “Thomas?”

  The chair stopped on the fifteen yard line, and Gabriel could now make out his face. It was Thomas. He must’ve lost his leg in the accident, Gabriel thought.

  “Nathan,” Gabriel said. “You can’t—”

  An open palm smacked Gabriel in the side of his head, boxing his ear.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Lance said. “And when you address him, it’s ‘Mr. Ambrose’.”

  “Just enjoy the private show, Mr. Alexander,” Ambrose said.

  ***

  Thomas breathed heavily. The sun shined into his eyes, blinding him. He looked into the stands, using his hand as a visor. He saw the small contingent of people who sat on the front row bleachers, and he immediately recognized his sister, sitting near Jessica. He shifted his gaze to the other side of the field, and he thought his heart stopped.

  A box truck raced off the field,
trailed by two of the creatures. Once the truck had driven to the other side of the gate, a guard closed and locked the chain link fence. He then gave a thumbs up toward Thomas. The guard standing behind Thomas blew a referee’s whistle. The high-pitched squeal rang into Thomas’ ears. He looked back and saw the guard waving to the opposite end of the field. The noise caught the attention of the beasts, and they trudged toward Thomas.

  “What the fuck?” Thomas asked.

  The guard stepped away from the chair, smiling. Thomas swung at him and the man laughed as the attempted blow didn’t come close.

  “Good luck,” the guard said.

  “You fucking cowards,” Thomas said. He writhed in his chair, almost tipping it over.

  “Be careful there, squirt,” the guard said. “I’m not helping you up if you fall out of that chair.” He pulled a knife from his waist and looked at it for just a moment.

  Thomas stared at the weapon like it was a porterhouse steak. He was as desperate for that knife as he was for food, and he could feel the inside of his mouth water.

  “Fetch, doggy.” The guard reared back and threw the knife as far as he could, toward the two oncoming creatures. He laughed and said, “Good luck.” Then he turned, and jogged off the football field.

  The sun reflected off the steel blade, the knife lying twenty yards in front of Thomas. He circled his lips with his tongue, gripped the wheels of the chair, and pushed.

  Even if he’d had more experience in a wheelchair, he wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to make it to the knife in time. The turf made it difficult enough for him to move, an attempt that was made even more so by the rain that had soaked the grass. It had made it thick and soggy. He’d only progressed five yards, and the monsters continued to encroach upon his space.

  In the stands, he heard his sister scream. He looked up just as a man slapped her across the face. She slumped in her seat, and the man who’d struck her pointed and shouted in her face.

  “Son of a bitch,” Thomas said.

  This sight seemed to give him new life. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and pushed at the wheels of the chair as fast as he could. At first, they just spun in place, sunken down in the mud. He lunged the weight of his entire body forward, and the chair moved.

  By the time he reached the knife, the Empties stood only fifteen yards from it. Thomas pushed himself up onto his foot, which slid from under him. He fell, landing on his side in the grass. The fall didn’t hurt, but he felt a burn in his side. He rolled over and touched his ribs. Raising his hand to his face, Thomas saw the blood and realized he’d fallen on the knife. It had cut his side. He grabbed the weapon and pushed himself up to his foot just as the creatures’ shadows passed over him.

  The first one lunged at him, pushing him back into the chair. It toppled backward, he with it. Fortunately, the Empty fell beside the chair and didn’t fall back with Thomas.

  Thomas’ head hit the turf as he fell back. He now sat in the chair, facing the sky. As he started to try and roll onto his side, the second beast appeared. It stumbled over the chair and fell on top of him.

  Raising the knife, Thomas caught the creature, but only in the chest. This didn’t seem to faze it, as the Empty swung at Thomas, snapping its jaw. Thomas kept the knife lodged in the creature’s chest, using it as leverage to keep its mouth away from his face. But as the knife dug deeper into the rotted flesh, the Empty snarled and moved closer to Thomas’ face.

  Thomas withdrew one hand from the knife’s handle and grabbed the creature by the throat. He then pulled the knife out and jammed it into its temple.

  The Empty fell limp, leaving its weight on top of Thomas.

  And that’s when the other creature lunged on top of him.

  ***

  Seconds after the Empty had made it to its feet, Gabriel turned at the sound of a human scream.

  “No!” Claire cried. She writhed in her seat, trying to break free from her handcuffs.

  One of the guards shouted at Claire, trying to get her to calm down. Gabriel heard a shallow laugh behind him. He turned, and saw Lance staring over at Claire. His mouth had formed into a huge smile, and he continued to giggle at the sight of Claire and what was happening on the field.

  Gabriel jumped to his feet, and in an instant he was over the top of his seat. It happened so fast that Lance hadn’t had time to process it. Catching Lance off guard, a handcuffed Gabriel slammed his forehead into Lance’s already injured nose. Blood spewed from his nostrils and he fell backward, crying out.

  Gabriel smiled as he watched Lance clutch his nose and cry out in pain.

  “Son of a bitch,” Derek said.

  Then an object hit Gabriel upside the head, and he was out cold.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A bang on the outside glass, combined with a guttural howl, woke Will. The scream was not human; it came from an Empty. Will grabbed his pistol as he sat up; he had laid it on the ground next to him before he’d gone to sleep. Holly awoke at the same time, crying out as she shot up.

  An Empty stood outside, banging and spitting on the glass. It didn’t have the sense to reach in through the broken front door and open it. When he realized the creature was outside, Will sighed in relief and lowered the gun.

  “Damn,” Charlie said. Holly’s scream had woken him and both the children up.

  Will slipped his gun into its holster and squatted. He opened the bag holding their other weapons and pulled out the machete.

  As Will walked over to the exit, the Empty moved down the length of the window toward the door. Its palms lay flat, leaving a trail of blood on the glass. When it arrived at the door, it reached its hand through the opening Charlie had made with the shotgun. Will stepped away, avoiding the thing’s grasp. The creature waved its hand, trying to grab Will. He raised the blade overhead and swung the machete down with enough force to severe the Empty’s arm.

  When the arm hit the ground, he found himself having a flashback. He was in the woods. Dylan was screaming. Mary Beth and Holly were crying. It felt as if he was at the tree stump again, amputating Dylan’s arm. On the ground, the creature’s fingers wiggled. The hand opened and closed a couple of times, and then it stopped moving. The creature was unfazed by the missing limb, still pointing the nub of its arm at the hole in the door.

  Will opened the door.

  Before the Empty could break the barrier of the entrance, Will shoved the machete up through its chin. The other end of the blade came out the top of the thing’s skull, and its body fell limp. Will pushed forward, forcing the lifeless creature down onto its back. He let go of the handle and the Empty’s head cracked on the concrete. He stepped on its chest and bent down to grab the handle. As he pulled up, the creature’s neck cracked. It must’ve fractured after its fall, and the slight move of the machete, still lodged through its skull, finished snapping its neck. The sound and the feeling of pulling the blade out never became an easier experience. No matter how many times he did it.

  Will stepped out into the parking lot to make sure there were no other creatures around. There weren’t. The rain had stopped some time during the night, leaving puddles scattered around the parking lot. But the sun coming out would soon dry them. With not a cloud in the sky, the day would be a good one for travel.

  “Will!”

  The voice was Holly’s, and Will turned and ran back inside, jumping over the fallen Empty.

  Dylan lay on the ground, hyperventilating. Holly was over him, and Charlie stood across the room, hugging Mary Beth.

  “Holly, give him some air,” Will said.

  After a few moments, Dylan breathed easier. Will kneeled down to him.

  “It’s all right, buddy. Just close your eyes and breathe.”

  Dylan did as directed, shutting his eyes and drawing in long, deep breaths.

  Will stood up and pulled Holly aside. “What happened?”

  Crying and shaking her head, Holly said, “I don’t know. He just kinda had this blank stare on
his face after you cut that thing’s arm off. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the arm after it fell on the ground. Then he just fell down and started breathing fast. That’s when I called for you.”

  “P.T.S.D.,” Charlie said.

  Holly looked confused.

  “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Will clarified. “He saw the Empty’s arm fall off, and he had a flashback.” He looked back over his shoulder to the arm still lying on the ground. Then he said to Charlie, “Come on, let’s go clean it up.”

  Charlie ran to the storage room and came back with a box of latex gloves.

  “Better than nothing,” he said, pulling a pair out and handing the box over to Will.

  Will picked up the creature’s arm, wanting to get it out of Dylan’s sight. He walked around the side of the building and threw it on the ground. He’d dispose of it out back in a bit, but he wanted to help Charlie move the body first.

  When he arrived back at the front of the building, Charlie was standing at the top of the Empty’s head.

  “You get the legs,” Charlie said.

  Will kneeled down and grabbed the Empty under its legs. It was hard to distinguish the thing’s age, though it had definitely been a male in its living days. But it was too far decomposed to tell how old the man had been. Based on its condition, Will figured its reanimation must’ve come early on. It had likely survived this long due to the scarce traffic in the area.

  As they moved the creature around the side of the building, Will did his best to look away and ignore its face. The machete’s blade had shot straight through its skull and mangled what was left of it, leaving the top of its head open like a blooming flower. Charlie gagged.

  “Don’t look at it,” Will said.

  “I’m trying not to,” Charlie replied. “You’re not seeing what I’m seeing. You did a fucking number on this thing.”

  “Let’s just take it all the way to the back.”

  They walked down the side of the building until they reached the open parking lot in the rear. Shrubs lined the back of the property, and beyond them was nothing but undeveloped land.