by Steven Pajak
“Let’s do it,” I said.
* * *
After using strips of the dead man’s flannel shirt to tie up and gag the woman, we traded candle light for darkness as we slipped quietly from Kappy’s office into the corridor. With no windows, no light reached the confined space. To our right was the rear exit, directly across from us were two small bathrooms, and down the hall on our left was the kitchen, and beyond that, the main dining room. Using hand signals, I indicated my intention to check the bathroom on the right.
I crossed the corridor in two steps and slowly pushed the door inward, stepping into the restroom. With my flashlight cupped in one hand, the 1911 held out in front in the other, I swept to the right and saw my own reflection in the mirror above the double vanity. Turning away quickly, I scanned the restroom. Two urinals, separated by a small panel. A fold down baby changing station on the wall beside two hand driers. At the rear the only stall, a large one, to accommodate the handicap. Of course, the door was closed.
Only my breathing and the sound of my boots broke the silence as they tread across the tacky porcelain tile. To my own ear, these sounds were loud, exaggerated. If there was anyone in the crapper, for sure they were aware they were not alone. Yet I continued my approach in stealth mode, or as stealthily as I could given I was a mouth breather with sticky boots.
Standing now in front of the door, I reached out with the hand that held the flashlight and pulled the door, stepping back at the same time to move out of the way as it swung. Instead, the door made a clacking sound as it bounced against the frame, and then it opened slowly into the stall, vibrating as it moved on its hinges. Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I moved rapidly into the stall. My flashlight revealed an empty toilet.
Trying to calm my nerves, I took a deep breath, then gagged and almost coughed. In here, the smell of stale urine and feces was pungent. Leaving the stall, I started toward the door to the hallway then froze as it swung open and the beam of a flashlight pinned me in place. I sucked in another deep breath, this one caught in my throat, capturing the scream that tried to rise up.
“What the fuck, dude?” Brian said. He lowered the flashlight beam to the floor and I was able to see the disappointment on his face. “I could hear you in the next room. Be quiet for fuck sake.”
“Sorry,” I said, feeling like an asshole. I shook my head, as if trying to shake off the stupid.
“Forget it,” he said. “For all they know the dead dude or his lady needed to take a piss. Let’s get moving while we still have the element of surprise.”
We moved out into the corridor and Brian made an “after you” gesture, indicating he wanted me to take the lead. After all, I knew the layout. Knowing Kat’s life was at stake, I knew I had to get my shit together. No more foul ups. I had to be careful, but we also had to be quick. In front of us were two choices: the kitchen, where Kat was most likely being held, or the main dining room, where the rest of the gang was probably holed up.
The kitchen would be a deathtrap. Once inside, we could easily be surrounded. With no doors or windows, we’d never get out. We needed to scout the dining room first, and take out any threats there before storming the kitchen. There was no other way.
Having made a quick decision, I moved now with a sense of urgency and a confidence I hadn’t felt in months. I could feel the fear in my belly, but I also felt the thrill of the mission coursing through my veins. The warrior within was pushing through, rising to meet the challenge, with deadly force, if necessary.
For a moment, I remembered the disappointed look on Kappy’s face after I dispatched the crazies that were milling around the front of the restaurant. He told me a story about a man in his unit who was so focused on killing the enemy that he’d begun to enjoy it. With all due respect, I pushed the memory out of my mind. Right now, I needed to focus on the enemy. Right now, they deserved killing. Right now, I was ready to give them their just deserts.
We passed the kitchen doors on our right and came to the end of the corridor, and the dining room beyond. From memory, I knew there were tables and chairs to the left where larger families or parties could gather, pulling the tables together if needed. To the right were booths, fifteen or twenty, if I remembered correctly. Also to the right was the host station with registers, behind which the servers would wait for their orders to be up in the two-foot opening from the kitchen.
Pausing at the end of the hall, I crouched down beside the wall. The dining room on the left was completely visible from this angle; I could easily see that no one occupied the area, which I had hoped. Several tables strewn with plates and cups, probably leftovers from a meal taken before the raid on Randall Oaks. Piles of clothing and blankets thrown haphazardly across other tables and chairs. More importantly, a cache of firearms against the far wall, lined up like soldiers. My hope was that anyone who might be in the building would be unarmed, having lain their weapons down, feeling safe within their lair.
On hands and knees, I crawled forward, keeping low, and poked my head out around the wall to get a look behind the host counter. It was empty, so I crawled forward a bit more and peeked around the counter, into the section of booths. At a glance, I saw two men sitting at two booths, nearest the counter. They sat across from each other and it appeared they were playing a card game.
From my vantage point, I could not tell if there were others. The backs of the booth seats would hide anyone who might be laying down, taking a nap or resting after a long, hard day of pillaging. The quiet way in which the men sat and played cards made me think there were others, though, sleeping in other booths.
Brian crouched beside me, taking in the scene. After a moment, he said, “Stay here and watch my back.”
Before I could ask what his plan was, he was already on the move, crouch-walking toward the men playing cards. I watched anxiously as he crossed the distance gracefully, as though he were casually skating across a frozen pond. I expected at any moment one of the men would spot him and jump up in surprise, alerting all to our presence. Instead, both men died quietly.
When Brian reached the booth, he pushed his knife through the back of the neck of the man who sat with his back to us, then quickly he sprung to his feet, dislodging the knife from his first victim, and in one fluid motion, he jammed his knife into the neck of the second man, who barely had time to register a shocked look before the knife pierced his flesh and severed his spine.
Although surprised by my brother’s attack on these men, I sighed with relief, thankful he’d dispatched them without raising warning. My relief was short lived when a head popped up from the booth beside Brian, an older man in his forties balding on top, but with long black hair streaked with gray hanging down from the sides. He wore a thick handlebar mustache and I could see his neck inked, but I could not make out the detail of the tattoos at this distance.
“What the fuck is going on?” the man asked. Sleep still clung to him, but his eyes quickly widened when he saw the blood that flowed freely from the card players. He started to rise up from his booth, but before he could get to his feet, Brian fell upon him, grasping his neck with both hands, pushing him back down onto the padded seat.
Just as I rose with the intention of helping my brother, a voice startled me from behind.
“Hey Mikey, you still tapping that ass?”
Whirling around, I raised my pistol and pointed it at the man who stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his body holding the swinging door open.
“Be cool,” I said, but the way his expression quickly changed on his face, I knew he wasn’t going to be cool.
“Who the fuck?” he asked as he reached for a weapon tucked into his waistband.
I shot him in the chest point-blank before I could find out what he was reaching for.
As his body fell backward and slid to the ground, I rushed into the kitchen and stopped in my tracks when I saw Kat. My heart raced suddenly in my chest; I could not tell if she was dead or alive. Taped into a chair and naked from the
waist up, her hair, dirty and caked with blood, hung down over her eyes. Her nose was bleeding and both of her eyes were already beginning to swell.
The two men with her looked up, surprised by the gunshot. The first person, the younger of the two men, stood behind Kat. He held a fist full of her blonde hair, as though he were in the middle of yanking her head back when I came in. His face was pale in contrast to his black, unruly hair. The second man stood beside Kat leaned forward, a cigar in his right hand. Even from this distance, I could see the angry burn marks that pocked Kat’s breast and stomach, so many I could not count the red welts of flesh.
Blood and brain fragment exploded onto the wall behind the young man as the bullet I fired struck his face, caving in his nose, and destroying his right eye. Calmly, I reached out and lay my pistol on a stainless steel rack to my right. The man slowly stood as I approached him. He watched me with cool eyes and let the cigar fall from his grip.
“All right, then,” he said. “Do your worst, bro.”
No sooner the last word came out of his mouth, I struck a devastating blow to his larynx, severely damaging the Vagus nerve, impairing his ability to create sound. His hands rose reflexively to his neck; his eyes were no longer cool, but instead ringed with sudden panic. I delivered a heavy front kick to his hip, knocking him off balance and onto the floor. Before I realized what I was doing, I brought the heel of my boot down onto his head and face, once, twice, repeatedly, not stopping until his face was an unrecognizable, gelatinous mess.
Suddenly sickened by my actions, I turned and wretched, vomiting yellow liquid onto Kappy’s black and white tile. I wretched again, this time only a dry heave and nothing came out. I sucked big gulps of air into my nose and out of my mouth, trying to keep myself from throwing up again.
When I looked up, I noticed Brian standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He stared at me for a few long seconds before finally moving toward Kat. He crouched down in front of her and gently brushed the matted hair out of her face. He gently caressed her cheek as his fingers slid down to her neck. He checked her pulse.
“Well?” I asked. “Is she…?”
“She’s alive,” he said.
I nodded my head and suddenly went down to one knee. I felt like all of the energy had suddenly left my body and I could not support my own weight. Brian started to come to me, but I put up a hand, stopping him.
“I’m fine. Go get Sam and Phil in here.”
He remained for a few seconds, as though he were contemplating ignoring my order, then he turned and left the kitchen without a word of protest. My brother understood I needed to be alone and I was grateful he gave me the space.
After cleaning my lips with the sleeve of my shirt, I spat a few times trying to rid the bile taste from my mouth. After about half a minute, I stood up. I grabbed my pistol from the shelf where I’d left it and returned it to my holster. I went to Kat then and knelt down in front of her. I took off my coat and let it drop to the floor beside me. After unbuttoning my shirt, I slipped out of it and gingerly lay it over Kat’s exposed torso. I could not stand to look at what they’d done to her, not right now. I was afraid something inside me would snap.
Using my knife, I cut the tape that secured her arms, legs and torso to the chair, but did not remove the tape from her body, afraid I might tear her skin. I could not bear the thought of causing her any more pain. She slumped forward in the chair when I severed her bonds. I caught her, and eased down onto the floor, maneuvering Kat into my lap, letting her head rest against my shoulder and neck.
I stroked her hair and rocked her. “I’m so sorry, Kat. I’m so sorry,” I repeated. Finally, tears fell and I let them pour.
* * *
“What do we do with the girl?” Brian asked. He hopped onto the cashier’s counter and slid back from the edge.
The girl Brian had knocked unconscious earlier was now awake and tied to a chair in Kappy’s old office while we decided her fate. “What are our options?” I asked.
“We take her with and pump her for information or we throw her into that horse trailer out back.”
“Hold on a minute,” Phil said. A moment ago, he’d been leaning on the counter massaging his temples. Now he stood up and took a step back. “You’re not really considering letting those things kill her, are you?”
Brian hopped down from the counter and walked over to Phil. “Take a look at what they did to Kat,” Brian said. When Phil didn’t move, Brian grabbed his face and turned it in the direction of the booths in the main dining room. “Look at her damn it.”
Sam and Kat sat in a booth nearest the front door, and furthest away from the bodies Brian had left in his wake. Sam had one arm around her partner. In her other hand, she held a wet cloth and was gently wiping away the dried, caked blood from Kat’s face. The poor woman had been through unthinkable torture and there was no way to know yet whether she could come back from the trauma.
Phil tried to pull away, but Brian held his face firmly. “Do you see her?”
“Yeah, damn it, I see her,” Phil said in a harsh but hushed voice. This time when he tried to pull away, Brian let him go. “What they did to Kat makes me sick but that doesn’t mean we can just feed that woman to those creatures.”
“We absolutely can,” Brian said.
Phil let out an exasperated sigh. He stepped around Brian so that he was facing me. “Matt, I know you’re not seriously considering this, right? You’re not like that.”
“Like what?” I asked.
For a moment, he was silent, trying to consider his words carefully. Finally, he said, “You’re not like them; you’re not a monster.”
“You don’t know me, Phil. Maybe I am a monster. Perhaps we’re all monsters now.”
Exasperated, Phil turned and walked toward the other half of the dining room and started sorting through the weapons.
“So it’s your call, bro, but we need to make it quick. We’re wasting daylight and we have a ride ahead of us still.”
I nodded my head, knowing it was on me, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. What Phil said was true; I was not a monster, although sometimes I acted the part. But only when I had reason, when my anger clouded my judgment. There was no way I could kill the woman in cold blood, though I had no doubt Brian would volunteer readily for the assignment.
Truth was, the woman could prove to be of value. Although she had not been cooperative earlier when we tried to get some answers from her less than half hour ago, while tied naked in a chair that did not mean things wouldn’t change if the circumstance changed. Once we got her back to Randall Oaks, provided her with food and water, and had Ravi look her over, she might be more forthcoming.
“Help Phil gather whatever looks useful,” I said. As Brian turned away, I said, “And do me a favor; don’t mess with Phil too much. He’s a good guy. He means well.”
Brian raised his hand in salute, then gave me the middle finger and grinned.
* * *
A half hour later, we gathered around the dusty blue Ford F-150. Phil and the woman sat in the rear bed of the truck amongst weapons, clothing, blankets, canned food and other items that he and Brian looted. He sat across from the woman; he could reach out at any moment should she try to jump and run. Sam and Kat sat in the cab of the truck: Sam behind the wheel and Kat in the passenger seat, looking out at the main road.
I reached into the open window and dangled the keys in front of Sam who accepted them. I noticed a smudge of blood on the key fob that must have gotten there when I retrieved the keys from the pocket of the man with no face. Sam didn’t notice. Instead, she jammed the key into the ignition and fired up the engine.
“You go on ahead,” I said. “Brian and I will follow on the horses.”
Sam nodded her head.
“Go straight back to Randall Oaks. Don’t stop for nothing, you hear.”
“I won’t,” Sam said. “I want to get back home; Kat needs a nice hot shower and she’ll be fine, right baby?”
/> Surprisingly, Kat turned her head and smiled. “A hot shower sounds nice.” She turned her eyes toward me, the smile still on her face. She said, “I’m so happy to see you, boss. I can’t wait to catch up with you. Wesley must be growing like a weed, huh?”
“He sure is,” I said. “We’ll catch up soon. Get on home now. I’ll see you all soon.”
I backed away from the pickup as Sam shifted into drive and slowly eased the gas. As they drove out of the parking lot, I waved at Phil and he waved back. I continued to watch as they pulled onto Route 20, turned left, and then drove out of sight, beyond the curve in the road.
The light of day had faded and for a moment, I stood relishing the quiet, cool evening. The sky was cloudless and not a breeze stirred. Suddenly, I missed the farm. Lara and I watched many a sunrise and set across the beautiful landscape, sometimes forgetting that those creatures were out there and the world as we knew it no longer existed.
After a while, I walked to the rear of the building and joined Brian. He sat on the hood of one of the parked cars smoking a cigarette and watching the crazies jostle each other in the confines of the horse trailer. I was suddenly aware of the horrible sounds the cursed things made, almost like the buzzing of locusts that just drove you nuts after listening too long.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
Brian tossed his cigarette in the direction of the river, hopped off the hood of the car, and grabbed the red fuel can from the ground. Following behind him, we walked to the horse trailer. The wet, guttural sounds that emerged from the infected grew more intense as we drew closer. Horrible, mottled colored faces pushed against the bars and mangled appendages reached out toward us and the hungry creatures mindlessly trampled and pushed each other against the steel.