“Can’t take any of that shit,” Jackson responded. “Let’s move on.”
The next unit was similar to the first.
“This floor seems to be mostly clear aside from the ones where we heard rotters on the other side of the door.” Grady took another look outside the window, seeing zombies still trickling into the pool entrance. “Jackson, why don’t you hit up the ones on the opposite end of the hall? I’ll take Brett with me, and we can meet in the middle. Forget checking for medicine. Let’s just do a quick sweep of the kitchens and grab what we can. We’re running out of time.”
“Copy that.” Jackson started down the hall.
“Make sure you knock first!” Grady reminded him.
As he and Brett went to the next apartment, Grady shook his head regretfully. “I shouldn’t have fired that damn gun in the stairwell.”
“They were already trailing us at the pool,” Brett assured him, watching Jackson pry his way into the last unit. He felt a pang of guilt for suggesting they scour the apartment complex instead of sticking to their original plan. He thought the complex would be a gold mine, untapped and full of supplies, unlike stores and supermarkets that would have been ransacked. But if they were trapped due to the limited escape routes a high-rise provided, he would never forgive himself for convincing everyone to essentially imprison themselves in a ten-floor tomb.
They combed through the units quickly, avoiding the ones with zombies on the other side of the door.
The ninth floor had proven to be a success. They’d filled their packs early on and had resorted to dragging the multiple suitcases they found along with them.
With one suitcase in each hand, they rolled down the hallway to meet Jackson.
“Looks like he’s over there,” Grady observed, nodding his head at one of the middle units with an open door. “Let’s grab him and figure a way out of this place.”
Brett gave a sideways glance at the elevators, wishing they worked so they wouldn’t have to carry two heavy suitcases each down nine flights of stairs.
The pair hefted their suitcases into the open unit, seeing Jackson in the kitchen.
“Hey, man. Let’s go,” Grady called to him, closing the door only slightly and resting his luggage against the wall.
Brett passed him and went to go sit on the sofa while Jackson finished.
He was about to reach for a magazine on the coffee table when something on the floor caught his eye.
On the white tiles in the dining room and kitchen was a swath of blood. Brett followed the trail and noticed that it continued on the cream carpet and disappeared into a bedroom.
His eyes darted to Jackson, and in an instant, he realized that the man hadn’t turned to face them once. Nor had Jackson said anything when they came in. He hadn’t even acknowledged their presence.
Instead, he stood with his back to them, standing almost completely still, as if he was staring at something in the open cabinets, his hands splayed at his sides. As Brett’s eyes roamed down his body, they suddenly went wide.
Blood soaked the entire left leg of Jackson’s pants.
“Grady,” Brett cautioned immediately.
But Grady was already walking into the kitchen, headed directly to Jackson. He turned at the last second to look at Brett, but it was too late.
Jackson whirled around, his face pale and his eyes the same chilling white they’d all come to fear. Grabbing Grady by the shoulders, he reared his head back before sinking his teeth into Grady’s neck.
Grady’s hands and arms shook as Jackson opened and closed his jaw, digging deeply into the flesh and veins.
Brett screamed and withdrew his handgun, firing numerous shots at Jackson, but they all went wide, missing his target entirely.
Jackson dropped Grady, the older man’s body crumpling lifelessly to the carpet with a thud, and shifted his focus to Brett, looking at him thoughtfully while chewing what remained of Grady’s throat, the bits of flesh wobbling over his lips as he munched. Then he took several steps forward.
As panicked as he was, Brett aimed at Jackson’s head and squeezed the trigger. The man’s head snapped back rapidly, red mist coating the kitchen cabinets behind him, before he collapsed to the floor.
Brett bent over and vomited. He’d barely finished emptying his stomach when he heard a door swing open and collide loudly into the wall behind it.
He wiped the bile from his mouth and stood, cocking his head to listen.
Long shadows grew on the carpet outside, accompanied by a chorus of moans.
A disfigured face appeared in the doorway, gray hands gripping either side of the entrance as it scanned the area. Brett’s stomach flopped. Once it honed in on Brett, it shuffled forward hungrily. Seconds later, four more figures were at the door in its place, then ten, then twenty behind it.
Brett rushed over to Grady’s body and pulled the walkie-talkie off the dead man’s belt. He’d barely released it from its clip when Grady opened his eyes and sat up straight.
Screaming, Brett took off in the direction of the bedrooms, the zombies pouring into the living room behind him.
Just before he slammed the bedroom door shut, the last thing he saw was Grady sitting on the blood-soaked carpet, swiveling around to face him.
Rap! Rap! Rap!
Haven groaned, shifting on the mattress to pull the sheets over her head.
It was already late morning. Normally, she would have been awake hours before, but between depleting her energy to find Christmas gifts in a zombie-ridden world, then struggling through the inner turmoil of whether or not to leave the train, a true insomniac, she didn’t fall asleep until early morning.
“Haven, it’s me!” Mark’s voice shouted on the other side of the door.
She rubbed her eyes sleepily and climbed out of bed. Opening the door for him, she was surprised when the boy quickly wrapped his arms around her.
“Don’t go, Haven! Don’t leave us.”
Haven bent down to his level. “Hey,” she said, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. “It’s only for a little bit, just to see if Houston’s parents are alive. I’ll come back for you guys, I promise.”
“And you’ll stay on the train then? For good?” the boy asked worriedly. He had dark circles around his eyes, and her heart broke, seeing how severely this decision was impacting him.
It was a good question, one that she’d been contemplating heavily the last two days. She felt torn, stuck at an impossible impasse and pulled in two entirely different directions. Houston was going to be her husband, and he had sacrificed everything to get to her in the early stages of the outbreak. But Brett was her little brother, and she would give her life to protect him. The same applied to Mark, even if he wasn’t technically family.
“Don’t worry about all that. And shouldn’t you be in class with Brett right about now?” she inquired.
Mark sat on her bed and leaned back. “I guess.”
Haven nodded and began checking the drawers and corners of the room for anything she’d forgotten to pack. Houston told her last night that he wanted to leave no later than noon.
“I don’t really care for Ms. Greer. She doesn’t explain things well and gets frustrated if I ask questions,” Mark complained.
Pausing, Haven turned to look at him. “Ms. Greer? Brett’s not teaching class today?”
Mark shook his head. “He left this morning with the other people.”
She dropped her backpack disbelievingly. “What? What do you mean? What other people?”
Sitting up, Mark tilted his head at her in confusion. “Colin, Kennedy, Johnny B., and those other two guys.”
Why would he do that?
He didn’t tell her, and he sure as hell didn’t say goodbye.
Houston opened the door and walked in, his backpack already on his shoulders. “Got us some food and water. There wasn’t a lot left, so I didn’t take much. Figured we would get supplies along the way.”
When he saw the anxiety in her e
yes, he stopped mid-step.
“Brett went on the run today.”
Houston exhaled and stared at the floor. “Why didn’t he tell you?”
“I don’t know, Houston. I imagine it has something to do with the fact that we are leaving.” She placed her fingertips on her temples, trying to think. “Mark, I want you to go to class, okay?”
The boy seemed anxious. “Will you say goodbye before you leave?”
Haven hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head. “Of course I will.”
When he was gone, she bent over the desk and put her head in her hands. “Houston, I can’t do this. I can’t just leave them.”
Houston rested a hand on her back. “I know. I know how hard this is for you. They’re safe on this train though.”
“Yeah, except Brett isn’t even on the train. He’s out on a fucking supply run,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation.
“They’ll look out for him,” Houston assured her. “Brett is capable enough to survive out there.” He checked his watch. “We need to get going soon, while there’s still sunlight left. This is the last stop before D.C. We won’t be this close to West Virginia again.”
She turned to him, tears in her eyes. “Can you promise me that once we find your parents, we’ll return for Brett and Mark?”
Taking a deep breath, he sighed. “I don’t know that they’ll want to leave the train, now or ever, but I give you my word that we’ll come back.”
Brett backed up until his legs hit the foot of the king bed in the master bedroom. His heart raced furiously as he listened to the fists pounding against the door. It shook violently every time they struck it, and he knew the thin wood wouldn’t hold forever.
As he tried to steady his breathing, he looked down and saw the trail of blood running along the carpet until it disappeared between his feet and under the bed.
Quickly stepping away from the dust ruffle, he dropped to his knees and aimed his pistol at the fabric.
Using the muzzle of the handgun to push the material aside, he gasped.
A child lay on its belly beneath the bed, greedily munching on a large chunk of something dark pink and sinewy, presumably the flesh missing from Jackson’s body. It emitted low, satisfied gurgles as it chewed, its fingers digging holes into the meat from clasping it so ravenously.
Sensing his presence, it slowly turned to face him, its eyes narrowing angrily as though Brett was going to steal its feast. Instead of attacking him, however, it wedged itself further under the bed, hoarding its food toward its chest protectively.
Brett didn’t want to shoot a child. Even with its gray skin and patchy hair, it still had the appearance of a little boy.
But he couldn’t risk letting it live to take a bite out of him when it finished devouring Jackson’s flesh.
He aimed his gun at its head and pulled the trigger. The creature’s brains splattered on the wall behind it, and its body instantly stilled, the meat falling out of its hands.
Sitting back on his heels, Brett stayed there for a moment, staring blankly at the pistol in his grip.
He’d killed a little boy.
He’d killed Jackson.
He had been responsible for their heads exploding, spliced skulls and brains and clouds of blood.
It wasn’t a kid. It was going to eat you once it finished Jackson, his inner voice chided.
As the pounding increased following the gunshot, Brett stood and grasped the behemoth oak dresser against the wall. It was no easy feat to push it along the plush carpet, but after a few tries, he managed to jam it in front of the door. It wouldn’t keep them out if they broke down the door, but it would buy him a little time.
To do what exactly, he wasn’t sure.
Brett debated if he should even ask for help. He didn’t deserve it. He’d gotten Grady and Jackson killed because he’d suggested raiding the apartment complex.
They’d be alive if he had just kept his mouth shut.
A rescue mission would be impossible considering the only route he knew existed to the ninth floor was now choked off by a throng of the undead.
And it wasn’t even fair to ask the others to risk their lives to come get him.
Brett leaned against the bed and stared at the door.
He thought about his sister, how he’d opted not to tell her goodbye.
Now he regretted that decision more than ever, realizing he would likely never get the opportunity to say it again.
The pounding at the door was making Brett crazy, knowing he would be amongst their ranks before nightfall.
He clasped his hands over his ears and willed the inner voice in his head to stop commanding him to call Kennedy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It didn’t take long for Kennedy to start second-guessing her decision to go into a city so close to D.C. A few blocks into Fredericksburg, as she jogged down Lafayette Boulevard with Colin and Johnny B., a swarm of undead ambushed them from the side streets, seemingly pouring out of every building onto the road.
When she saw that they’d been bottlenecked into the gates of a cemetery, she knew they were in trouble. They backed into each other, shooting at the creatures closing in around them. While she fired, she scanned their surroundings desperately, looking out across the field of crumbling gray tombstones and mausoleums for a place to hide.
Brooker’s Funeral Home.
It was the closest building she could see. She yelled for the two men to follow her.
“Of all the places…” Colin hollered when he noticed where they were headed.
After they reached it, Kennedy peeked around the corner of the building and darted behind the wall again. “Would you rather tough it out on Lafayette? Because you were doing a great job back there, you really were.”
Colin shot her a withering look and took off his jacket. Placing it over his elbow, he swung his arm backward and smashed it into the glass of the small window above the doorknob. Both winced at the noise of the glass clattering to the concrete, but Johnny B. only grinned in approval.
“Wow, the leprechaun is finally taking a cue from the pros,” he remarked.
“I couldn’t hate you more,” Colin retorted, reaching through the shards and fumbling with the doorknob.
Kennedy peered through the scope of her rifle. “Hurry, we’ve got followers.”
Colin opened the door, going in first with his sword raised, shifting back and forth to clear the room while Kennedy followed, and Johnny B. closed the door behind them.
They started moving hastily through the funeral home. The entry room was uncomfortably dark with thick drapes drawn across the windows. Fragmented light cascaded through the broken glass of the front door, dust dancing and swirling in the singular beam. Johnny B. gestured to them that he was going upstairs to take a position on the second floor as a look-out.
“Let’s see if there’s a back entrance,” Kennedy whispered to Colin. “Maybe we can loop around and get onto the main road from there.”
Colin shook his head dubiously and yanked his jacket back on. “Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful.” He risked a glance out the window and flattened himself against the wall. “We need to get moving. They’re right outside,” he rasped.
“Shit. What about J.B.?”
“Better hope he makes himself small and quiet. Unlikely considering the person we’re talking about here.”
Colin squinted, trying to see anything moving in the shadows. The funeral home had been decorated in rich burgundy with swaths of gold throughout. There were plush chairs in the foyer, and heavy tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of plump cherubs amidst heavenly backdrops.
“This reminds me of those haunted houses they open up around Halloween. Bravo. You could not have picked a worse place,” he told Kennedy.
The redhead smiled, keeping her eyes trained on what was ahead of them. “You’re not scared, are you?”
Rolling his eyes, he turned to her. “Of course not. I jus
t don’t like—”
His foot collided with a box on the floor. With wide eyes, he watched in horror as dozens of glass vases clinked together noisily.
Kennedy stared at him with a mixture of irritation and apprehension.
The sound of glass shattering near the front entrance caused them to whirl around.
“We gotta run,” Kennedy said, breaking into a jog down the hall, which emptied into two French doors. She pulled them open and paused.
Colin collided into her. “What is it?”
“I thought there’d be an exit,” Kennedy answered, dumbfounded. “I was sure there’d be one. Damn it.”
She grabbed Colin’s arm and yanked him in, closing the French doors behind them.
“Are you kidding? You think these wimpy doors are going to keep them out?” Colin asked her incredulously. “We can’t stay here. It’s a death trap.”
He turned around and started heading back to the doors. Just as his hand hovered over the doorknob, he froze. Zombies were trickling in from the waiting area, their bodies blending into the dark burgundy walls as they shambled along the corridor.
He retracted his hand as if it had been scalded and took several steps back. Looking around, he wondered where they would hide. The options were rather limited. There were no windows in the chapel. Just six rows of pews on either side and an altar up front with a stained-glass portrait of the Virgin Mary.
His eyes rested on the altar. Kennedy saw him studying it intently, brooding.
A dusty casket sat at the front of the chapel beneath the altar. A photo of an elderly woman was off to the right of it next to a vase of dry, wilted roses.
“Oh, hell no,” Kennedy protested, shaking her head as she guessed what he was thinking.
Colin ignored her and ran to the casket. “If you want to play hide and seek with the zombies, be my guest, Red. There are some nice pews you can fit under and hope they don’t see you.”
He trailed his fingers along the side of the casket until he found a latch. When he opened the casket, a corpse of an old woman lay there, her arms peacefully crossed over her chest, her hair perfectly coiffed into soft curls and faded red lipstick a stark contrast against her pale skin.
The Good, The Dead & The Lawless (Book 2): The Hell That Follows Page 30