Stay still.
Play dead.
He wasn’t a bear. She didn’t think she could do it. Her grunts and cries could not be contained.
“Shut up,” he said. It came out like a snarl. His words a whisper that escaped between bared, clenched teeth, but he’d stopped.
Char stayed on her stomach, knees drawn and arms protectively wrapped around her head. Breathing was difficult. She sucked in air; each breath sent pain radiating through her. There was no means of comfort. She didn’t dare move.
She didn’t dare move, until she was certain she knew how to gain an upper hand.
“Where did you come from? Wha. . .are you a girl?”
She heard it then. It was in his voice. He went from angry to something else. The slur of his words was not lost on her. The excitement in his second question was telling. The man’s beard was thick and black. It was the only clear feature she could make out in the darkness. The rest of his face was cast in shadow.
“I said, where did you come from?”
She whimpered. A small cry slipped out. Her head throbbed. The butt of the assault rifle broke skin. Warm blood spilled from the gash, a pungent odor of copper filled her nose. The scent trapped in the tight space; her head on the earth, her arms around her head.
“Who else is with you?”
The longsword was useless with no way to unsheathe it from her curled-up position on the ground. The knife on her hip was the best choice. It was a serrated ten-inch blade, but she couldn’t reach for it, not with it strapped on the same side where the man was who stood looming over her.
“I’m not here to play games.” It was back. The lust in his tone of voice. It filled her ears and sparked her memory. Mexico had been a horrible country. The uninfected far worse than the walking dead. No mistaking that both were hungry for flesh.
Char learned quickly to best avoid getting into sticky situations —when possible.
“Maybe you need to be taught a lesson?”
At least one rib had to be broken. She knew if she tried to move, to straighten out, her insides would violently protest.
She heard his belt buckle jingle loose.
A foot pressed against her side.
She cried out in pain.
He rolled her over.
She kept her knees up to her chest. Blood and tears mixed on her face.
“You need to shut up,” he said. She couldn’t see his face. The available light was above and behind him and he was merely a shadow before her. His breathing was fast, labored. He was working himself up, eager.
She bit her lip. “Sorry.”
“That’s better,” he said. The man dropped to his knees. He grabbed her legs and pulled them apart.
She offered no resistance other than a timid cry and turned her head to the side.
When he climbed on top of her, Char did not hesitate.
When she’d been kicked over onto her back, her hand unstrapped the knife. She had it in her hand.
She punched the knife deep into his side and dragged it up to his first rib.
He fell off her. The blade protruded from under his arm. He writhed, kicking his legs.
Char forced herself up onto her knees, pushed herself up onto one, and then stood. The man screamed.
Standing felt better than being balled up on the ground.
Breathing was not any easier.
The man continued screaming, rolling back and forth, covering himself in blood and dirt. “I’m going to die.”
Char ignored her pain as she took a few steps and stood over the man. She raised her foot in the air and brought the heel down on his skull. “You need to be quiet,” she said.
This was not a good person.
She was not a murderer.
He had planned to rape her, she had no doubt. He would have killed her after, or worse, kept her around, just barely alive but useful for days, and then killed her. Either way, he’d of taken her life.
She looked around, but the thicket and darkness that surrounded them made it hard to find her machete. There wasn’t time to search, not with him making so much noise.
Her mind spun as her brain was pumped full of endorphins. She knew her pulse was fast. She thought about drawing her sword, but instead, forced herself to kneel down next to him. He couldn’t keep still.
Being that he was alive, he was still a threat.
She wouldn’t let her guard down.
Not around this one.
Char pried his hand off the knife with one hand, and grabbed onto the handle with the other. There was a wet sloshing sound when she yanked out the blade, and the man let out a curdling cry that pierced her ears. She thought she smelled the contents of food in various stages of digestion emitted from the long, wide wound, and nearly vomited.
In one fluid motion, she reached across his chest and slid the blade across his throat.
That stopped the cry, mid-scream.
He lay still, finally.
A moonbeam shown on his face. Blood filled and gurgled out of the corners of his mouth. He attempted to cough, to breathe, and to hang onto life. His eyes were locked on her. Rapid blinking ensued as the life behind the retina slowly clouded over, leaving a vacant look in his expression.
The blood still oozed from his neck.
It bubbled inside his mouth.
She watched him until she was certain he was dead.
It was when she smelled urine and feces that she knew it was safe to get up.
Char went back to the horse. It snorted, as giant eyes strained to watch her every movement. Like her, the animal did not trust people. She unbuckled the belt on the belly of the horse. She didn’t want to leave him tied to a tree. The man’s death cries gave away their location. He would become an instant meal for not just potential infected, but also dangerous wildlife in the area. The mountains were filled with black bear, mountain lions, coyotes, and wolves. She removed the nylon halter and head collar as she pet his nose and whispered into his ear that everything would be okay.
Chapter 2
Char tried to follow the exact path she used back toward the ridge. She kept low, bent forward, and moved fast. There was no hiding the sense of dread that seemed to follow close behind. Something had to have taken notice during her struggle with that man. Something had to have heard them and was on the way to investigate further. It would not surprise her if a herd of infected were close behind.
It felt good having the machete back in her hands. She’d felt naked without it. It was her favorite weapon. She remembered dressing like her father. They’d uncovered an armory of sorts and stocked up on knives, both strapping a longsword into a scabbard about their waists, and a machete sheathed on their backs. They wore knives on their hips and secured to their thighs.
That was years ago. When the world was full of infected.
The world was still full of the infected; it just seemed like less, as if they’d died off, starved as a living food source ran dry. It was a war. The last three and a half years were full of battles she’d remember forever, but would always try to forget.
She would never forget her dad.
“You make any more noise, and I’ll have to kill you.”
Tony. He’d startled her, but she recognized the voice instantaneously.
Char hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving, and that she stood still in a clearing. The lack of tree canopy above had her spotlighted.
“You okay? Your head. . .you’re bleeding.”
“Got a little rough. I’m fine, and he’s dead,” she said. She spoke without emotion. There was no need to admit the rush that came with killing the man. He’d been evil and didn’t belong. That guy would not have added anything to this new world except a promise to deliver more pain, more suffering. She did what needed doing. It didn’t make her feel better about having killed. Nothing would. It was her sin. One of many, and she’d carry it with her forever.
“I hit mine. He took off on his horse. Ran south.” Tony stared at
Char just a little longer than he should have.
Char knew Tony was upset about losing an arrow. “You think he’s dead?”
“Dying, that’s for sure. I followed for a bit. Horse was far too spooked, ran like lightning down the trail and I couldn’t keep up. The guy was slumped forward, barely hanging on.” Tony reached forward and brushed hair off her forehead where it stuck to the gash on her skin.
She knew he wanted to ask if she was okay and knew he wouldn’t. He knew better. Neither of them was okay. They’d both suffered terrible losses and were desperate and depressed, but surviving. So there was no point in asking each other if they were okay; the answer was both assumed and accepted. What they knew was that the other did care, and that when it came down to it, that was what mattered.
“And the sleeping babies?”
“Still asleep.” Tony pointed.
Char couldn’t see the targets, but knew they must be close. It was a good thing he’d spotted her. Had she started running again, she may have trotted right into the enemy’s makeshift camp.
“I was just coming to make sure you were all set,” he said.
“I am. All set. How do you want to handle this?” Char slid her machete back into the sheath on her back. She winced and regretted the show of weakness.
“Char?”
“Might have busted a rib or two,” she said. Nothing could be done for broken ribs. They just needed time to heal. The bones would mend on their own with rest and nourishment, the two things she knew she’d never have. “It’s good. I’m okay.”
She rolled her shoulder around; it didn’t eliminate pain, but added to the discomfort.
“They’re in sleeping bags, feet to feet. Like a cross. I have an idea to do this quick and quiet. I just want you down close in case something goes wrong. If you can. Are you up to it?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got this.”
Char followed Tony. They made their way across tall weeds and around trees. He was smooth and moved soundlessly. They stopped at a giant rock not twenty yards from where the men slept.
“Guns by their heads,” Tony said.
“See ‘em.” She shouldered up to Tony. “The plan?”
“It’s simple. Get by the trailer. Stay hidden. I’m going to try and hit all four. Kill shots. I want you to run in, grab up the rifles and ride that thing out of here. You said you can drive a stick shift, right?”
“I can. I learned in Mexico. Seemed like all the cars out there were stick.”
“They get a lot of older US models. Okay, good.”
“What about—”
“We’ll take care of that after, once we have some distance.”
Char nodded, knowing he was right. “And what about you?”
“I’m going to run back up and grab our horses.”
“What about the two over there?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I want our horses.”
She knew what he meant. “Okay, but I’m going to free those two, then.”
“That’s fine,” he said, “just be quick about it.”
“You be quick. We’ll, what —meet down the road?”
“Exactly.” Tony reached back and removed four arrows from his quiver. “Now get in place.”
If anything went wrong, it would be in close quarters. She armed herself with the knives, wishing she’d cleaned the blood off the blade from her last kill. She ran to the side of the trailer, squatted by the sets of tires and listened for signs of movement from within the cargo. There was none.
Tony was well hidden behind the rock. Even in the moonlight she couldn’t see him. The only reason she knew he was there was because, well, she knew he was there.
She squatted by the wheel, staying low to the ground. Pain ricocheted inside her body, setting nerve endings on fire. She cringed and bent forward. Black stars passed in front of her eyeballs.
Her stomach lurched.
She fought it, refusing to vomit, and worried she might have a concussion. The temple struck by the butt of the rifle throbbed, a steady beat like a bass woofer booming inside her skull.
The air silently split as an arrow shot forward. It was no kill shot. The arrow protruded from the one man’s gut. The guy sat up, both hands around the point of entry, fingers encircling the shaft. The broadhead arrow tip resembled a pyramid, razor sharp on all three sides.
The man’s mouth opened and Char was certain the sneak attack was over. Once he screamed, it would become a free-for-all. She was just about to run forward, knives tightly gripped, when a second arrow struck. The broadhead perfectly placed —it smashed through the open mouth. Even in the dark she could see the tip sticking out of the back of his neck before his body fell back onto the sleeping bag.
Another stirred, but didn’t wake up.
Ever.
An arrow slammed into the center of his chest at an angle and it looked like it shot up under his ribs and into the heart.
Two down.
The men stirred. “What the fuck?”
Char was ready to attack, but waited. She didn’t want to race in and accidentally take an arrow not meant for her.
She waited.
The man pulled back the sleeping bag and switched on a light. A flashlight.
They had batteries?
The beam traced the others beside him.
“Ah shit, no, man!” He jumped to his feet, waking the other guy.
“What’s going on?”
“They’re dead. Fucking arrows.”
Thankfully the flashlight shown on the two dead men.
What are you waiting for, Tony? she thought. She couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. The waking men were frightened, still disoriented from sleep. They’d overcome that fast.
The guy with the flashlight reached down for his rifle.
Something was wrong. Tony wouldn’t let these guys get up.
She charged forward, ran fast. Their eyes would not be adjusted to the darkness yet. She used it to her advantage and hoped to strike quick, adding to their confusion.
She jumped over the man still struggling to wake up and landed directly in front of the guy with the flashlight and rifle. He’d fumbled with both, trying to ready his weapon without losing his control over the light. Perfect.
She plunged both knives like daggers into his chest, pulled them out, and slammed them back in. There was no getting used to the feel of a blade popping through skin and sawing against bones. The sensation vibrated through her palms.
Once her blades were free, she dashed forward as he dropped to his knees.
He released the flashlight.
She hit the woods, spun around, and dropped into the high grass. Her fists were by her face, white knuckle grip on the knife handles. She breathed fast, hard, and watched as the last man in the group of six reached for the flashlight. He seemed oblivious to the extent of the attack.
Just as she thought, Tony must be in serious trouble, the flashlight fell to the ground again.
The beam of light shown past the sleeping bags and under the trailer.
Then was blocked.
The man fell forward. His head a foot from the flashlight. His eyes were open. Blood poured from the man’s temple, pooled on the side of his nose, and then dripped steadily off the bridge.
Charlene thought she could see the shaft of an arrow sticking out from his temple.
Tony.
The plan. Throw the guns onto the trailer, free the horses, and high tail it down the road.
“Get my arrows. I’m going back for our horses.” He was a shadow. He stood by the trailer. She saw him now. No features, just his outline.
“Tony, what happened?”
“Infected. Three. They came out of nowhere.”
She waited. Silent.
“They didn’t touch me.”
She exhaled. “Go get the horses.”
“Roger,” he said.
Char emerged from the woods and stopped at each corpse. She placed a foot on the ch
est of each man and with two hands, yanked the arrows free. Penetrating a target with a broadhead was bad, it did lethal damage. Trying to remove the arrow just made a bloody mess. It would almost be easier and cleaner just to push them through and pull them out from the other side. She’d suggested that once. Tony said blood and guts ruined the turkey feather fletching.
With the guns and Tony’s arrows loaded into the rig, Char climbed in. “Okay. Okay. I’ve got this.”
She placed the rifles and arrows on the passenger seat and thought back to driving cars in Mexico. This was a bit different from a five-speed. She depressed the clutch and shifted into gear. The rig snap-hissed, and groaned. The steady chug of the running motor vibrated under her seat. The trailer was huge, heavy. She had no idea how fast she’d be able to travel pulling a full load.
Before long, she saw Tony. He was on one horse, the other in tow. When he came to a stop, she pushed the clutch and hit the brake. “What’s up?” she said, and could not help thinking Tony resembled a cowboy.
Tony trotted close to the rig. “I’m going to hitch your horse to the back of the trailer.”
“Will he be alright back there?”
“He’ll follow along just fine. Just give me a second. Keep an eye out. We’re making a lot of noise on the trail.”
“No kidding,” she said. Tony disappeared with the horse.
She heard him talking, holding a calming conversation. She couldn’t hear what he said but felt thankful. If they would of had more time she’d have done the same. Hopefully, there would still be time.
All she could hope was that they weren’t too late. . .and that her friends were still alive.
“We’re all set,” Tony said. He had his reins wrapped around the horn on his saddle.
“You hear anything?”
Tony shook his head. “But don’t worry.”
Char wanted to smash the lock, climb into the back of the trailer, and go through the stacked supplies now. She didn’t want to wait. Tony would argue against it. The important thing was to stick with the plan. Confiscate the trailer, take it as far off the trail as possible, and find somewhere safe before climbing inside and searching the contents.
Arcadia (Book 1): Damn The Dead Page 2