Colin sat beside her. He slowly put his hand over hers on the gearshift, squeezing it gently.
As a tear rolled down her face, she gave him a quick glance and wrapped two fingers around his appreciatively.
Brett had insisted on sitting in the bed of the pick-up, even though Kennedy and Colin both chided him saying it was unsafe. His hands rested in his lap, palms up, his gaze fastened on them. On occasion, he would flex his fingers, staring at them as though they had carried out some horrific crime.
What had he done? His stupid idea to raid an apartment complex led to three deaths. They’d been good men, men who risked their lives for others every single day. And now they were gone. Brett looked behind him through the window facing into the cab. When he saw tears drip off Kennedy’s chin, he shut his eyes. If she hated him, he would understand. He was the reason her best friend was dead, along with some of her most loyal men. He wished more than anything that the last few hours had just been a horrible nightmare, and all he had to do was slap himself to wake up. His hand trembled as he lifted it to his face, wondering what would happen if he did. Maybe it would reset the clock. Instead of going on the supply run, he would teach his class, and Kennedy and her men would come back alive and well, just in time for dinner.
A loud horn blared in the distance, and he jumped to his feet right before Kennedy slammed on the brakes involuntarily. He lurched forward, nearly tumbling out of the back of the pick-up and over the cab.
Colin turned to make sure Brett was still in the truck before shifting to Kennedy.
The redhead sat stiffly, both hands clasping the steering wheel.
“Did you hear that?” Her voice was panicked.
“Bloody hell,” Colin rasped, his face drained of color.
Brett looked to both of them and tapped on the window impatiently. “Was that our train?”
Kennedy shifted the gears again and revved the engine. “The horn is a signal. Means there’s an emergency.”
Brett’s eyes grew wide with worry as he regained his footing, holding onto the roof of the truck. Everyone he cared about was on that train. “Hurry,” he murmured, even though Kennedy couldn’t hear him.
The old truck protested as she pressed down hard on the gas. “Hold on!” she yelled.
They neared the station and swung into the parking lot. Kennedy grabbed her gun and was about to push the door open when she paused.
“It’s not there.” She looked about desperately. “The train. I don’t see it. Where the hell is it?”
A couple of zombies meandered up to the truck and reached into the bed for Brett. He ignored them, straining to see the train. “There it is!” he yelled, pointing excitedly.
The tail end of the train slithered along the tracks before disappearing around a bend.
Kennedy narrowed her eyes. “We can catch it.”
She swerved over the curb between the tracks and the parking lot, the frame of the truck sounding as though it would fall apart as the tires clunked over the concrete divide. She slammed her palm down on the steering wheel, frustrated the truck wouldn’t go any faster, and ran over an unlucky zombie that wandered into their path. They all bounced as the vehicle rolled over the corpse, and Colin reached out to steady himself against the dashboard.
“You alive back there?” he called out to Brett.
They sidled up alongside the rear of the train, but the truck sputtered and slowed down suddenly, and she had to shift it back into gear and speed up again.
“Hurry!” Brett exclaimed, thumping his hand on the roof. “You’re losing them.”
Colin’s heart pounded, and he looked at Kennedy, her expression a mélange of sadness, determination, and anger.
“What’s your plan, Red? Lasso the damned thing?”
She pulled up next to the caboose once more. The truck jostled on the incline alongside the tracks, rocks and dust kicking up around both sides of the vehicle.
“You’re going to take over the wheel and drive, and I’m going to climb over and get on,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Like hell you are. Are you crazy, woman?”
They were only a couple of feet from the ladder on the caboose.
“Grab the wheel,” she told Colin.
They heard a thud and turned in time to see Brett poised to leap from the edge of the truck bed, one hand outstretched toward the rungs of the ladder.
“Brett, no!” Kennedy protested.
Colin swiveled around and rolled down the window as quickly as he could. He tried to wriggle his broad shoulders out the window to grab Brett.
“I can do this!” Brett insisted above the roaring of the train as it picked up speed. He sprung forward off the truck and onto the side of the train.
Just as he grabbed the middle rung, the pick-up’s engine rattled and coughed.
Brett lost his balance and swung roughly into the side of the train car, his feet dragging through the dirt. He gripped the rung tightly and struggled to get his footing on the ladder.
Kennedy cursed the truck and sped up to try to help him.
“Put your foot on the pedal, and hold the wheel. I’m going next.”
She’d just climbed over him, twisting her body through the passenger side window, when the truck slowed suddenly as though it had lost power.
“Colin, what the hell?” she shouted.
“What? I’m not doing anything!” he retorted, trying to pump the gas to no avail.
Smoke began pouring from beneath the hood.
They helplessly watched in horror as the distance between them and the train grew, and Brett became smaller and smaller.
Finally, the truck came to a complete stop, and both Kennedy and Colin sat in silence, defeated eyes fixated on the disappearing train.
Kennedy opened her door, jumped out, and slammed it shut.
“What are we going to do?” Colin asked, following her. They seemed to be in some kind of wooded area, but given what he’d seen on the map before they left, he knew they were only getting closer to D.C., a place they’d never gone before. A place they should never go.
“Learn how to fucking drive!” she spat.
He threw his hands in the air. “I know how to fucking drive! You just picked the shittiest truck in the world to chase a bloody train!”
She ignored him for a few minutes, angrily shoving some items into her pack from the bed of the truck, and pulling the straps over her shoulders.
Her family.
Gone.
Her men.
Gone.
Her train.
Gone.
No. Not gone yet.
Eventually, she looked up at Colin, her eyes red and puffy. “We’re going to get my train back.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cliff stared down at the puddles of bleach, blood, and saliva at his boots.
Before the world had gone to shit, maybe he would have felt something. Maybe he would have recognized that what Cade was doing was wrong.
Maybe not.
“Anything?” Cade interrogated when he saw him.
Cliff shook his head. “Some people said she got off the train with her boyfriend; others think she’s still here.”
“Then fucking find her already!” Cade barked at him.
Cliff gave him a nod and turned on his heel.
He had been a real estate agent this time last year. He was actually pretty good at it, able to sell properties easily because of his charm. His boss used to say Cliff could sell water to a drowning man, he was that smooth.
But Cliff wasn’t honest. He’d often hide the costly, needed repairs in the properties, encouraging his clients to skip inspections, and would always manage to skim a little extra from his share of the big, fat commission check.
And sometimes he did worse.
Especially when there was an attractive prospective buyer who showed up alone.
Cliff was handsome, and women had always been drawn to him. It was easy for him to exploit that. High che
ekbones, olive skin, dark hair he combed to the side, and a thin goatee he kept well-groomed, even in the apocalypse.
He strode through the cars, checking each of them thoroughly. Cade had two guards with the restrained passengers up front while the others were scouring the train for the woman Cade had been obsessed with since the first day Cliff met him.
He hadn’t actually known Cade for that long. When everything went to hell, Cliff was showing a house to a couple and their two children. The children were outside playing in the front yard while the parents went through the home with him.
They’d heard screaming and ran outside, just in time to see a group of zombies descend upon the two children.
The father had instantly broken into a run to fend off his children’s attackers, and when he was swallowed up in the fray, the woman beseeched Cliff to help her, going so far as to tug at his sleeve and plead with him.
Cliff had shoved her hands away and gotten into his car, pulling out of the driveway in a hurry. Had he looked in the rearview mirror, he would have seen her struggling to chase him in the street before being dragged to the asphalt by the other infected, her husband, and her children.
But he didn’t even check. He didn’t care.
By the time he got home, zombies were trickling into his neighborhood, and he knew he couldn’t stick around. His house wouldn’t survive an onslaught with its large floor-to-ceiling windows on the first floor and unfenced backyard. So he’d grabbed some supplies, packed up his car, and hit the road.
Cliff didn’t make it very far, accidentally colliding with one of them when it darted out from the side of the road. His car veered and crashed into a stone mailbox, totaling it.
He didn’t know how to hotwire a car, so he’d walked for what seemed like miles. He met Cade a few days later when he had wandered into a small, shitty little town called Green Acres. He’d been cornered on top of a dumpster by a crowd of zombies, and Cade and his friends had come to his rescue.
It didn’t take long for Cade to see Cliff’s value, the way he could talk to people, convince them of anything.
Especially survivors.
Once Cliff earned their trust and got them to let their guards down, Cade and the others would swoop in and pillage, taking whatever—and whomever—they wanted.
Cliff looked ahead.
One of the cabin doors had just closed.
He smiled and took out his handgun.
Knocking on the door, he said in his smoothest, calmest tone, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
He heard muffled voices anxiously talking.
“The men are leaving. You can come out now.”
Still nothing. He gritted his teeth with impatience. Taking a step back, he raised his boot and kicked the door open.
Two girls stood in the corner near the bunk beds. One was much older, in her late teens, wavy hair and freckles across her cheeks. The other one was young, perhaps four or five.
The older girl looked at him fearfully, her eyes wide as saucers.
“Ellie,” she whispered. “I want you to run.”
“Run?” Cliff mocked, holstering his gun as he extended his hands, his body blocking the sole exit out of the room. “Run where?”
She pushed the little girl behind her and boldly jutted her chin out, even though her lower lip trembled. “Back off, asshole.”
Something about this girl reminded him of the blonde Cade had captured once.
The one he’d tortured and raped. Letting all of them have at her when he was done.
Maybe it was her age.
Or her obvious innocence.
Cliff had relished it, when it was his turn. He’d gotten to go after Cade, being his right-hand man. The way she’d woken up in the middle of it and tried to fight him. But she had been too weak after what Cade had done to her.
Still, the fight was fun. Nowadays, women would give themselves freely if it meant they could get a bottle of water or even a scrap of food. It was too easy.
He missed the blonde. He missed Haven’s little sister.
He turned away from the girls in the room and slowly, methodically closed the door, not caring that it didn’t lock after he’d broken it.
Cade encouraged his men to take whatever they wanted. It was part of their reward for their allegiance to him.
And if anyone was loyal, it was Cliff.
This new world was good, more suited to accommodate his appetites.
He could be who he really was, and the best part was that there was no one to stop him.
The older girl looked terrified as he moved toward them, and the little girl behind her peeked her head around her sister’s legs and began to cry.
He grinned at them, but there was no kindness in his smile, only the promise of cruelty behind his perfect teeth. With his dark hair, sharp eyebrows, and goatee, Cliff could have been the incarnate depiction of Satan himself.
His hands dropped to his belt, and the girl screamed. “Ellie, run!”
Ellie darted past her, but Cliff reached out and grabbed her by the hair before she could even make it beyond the beds. She squealed in pain, and he held her to him and then looked to the other girl.
She fell to her knees, her hands held out piteously. “Please, don’t hurt her,” she begged. “I’ll do anything you want. Please just let my sister go. She’s all I have left.” Her eyes were red, and long strings of snot hung from her nose.
Cliff sat the girl down on the floor. Unlike some of the other men in the group, he wasn’t into kids.
“You sit there,” he told Ellie, pointing to one of the bunks. He didn’t need a bed. He’d take the older girl on the floor. “Turn over.”
The girl complied, quietly sobbing into the floor as she felt him tug at her pants. “Ellie, don’t look,” she said, her voice hitching even though she was trying to be strong. “Don’t look.”
The little girl whimpered.
Cliff exhaled leisurely, his muscles relaxing as he readied himself.
Suddenly, he heard a loud pop behind him, and he gasped and looked down.
A dark red blot grew into a larger circle on his shirt. He touched it tentatively and stared in shock when he examined his fingers, wet with blood.
He took one last look at the girl on the floor, then collapsed beside her, eyes still open.
The girl flipped over and saw Brett in the doorway. She jumped to her feet and grabbed her sister, clutching her close to her body.
“Lana,” he breathed, his expression horrified. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?”
She shook her head, tears of joy running down her face. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Brett hugged the two of them, taking a closer look at the man on the floor. He instantly recognized him as one of the men he and Houston had encountered on a supply run just before they left the farmhouse. It was the man in the white truck he wished they’d killed.
As he watched the pool of blood expand around the dead man, Brett realized he’d gotten his wish.
“Lana, what the hell is going on?”
She wiped her cheeks and tried to smile for her sister. “I don’t know. I just heard screaming and shooting, so we hid in here. I honestly thought rotters had gotten on somehow.” She glared at Cliff’s corpse. “I almost would’ve preferred a whole horde over him.”
Brett held her shoulders and met her gaze. “What about Mark? Have you seen him? Haven?”
“I haven’t seen Mark since yesterday at dinner. I think he was upset about Haven and Houston leaving.”
“So they did get off the train.” Brett held his breath in anticipation of her answer.
“Last I heard they did. People were talking about it at lunch.”
He sighed in relief, grateful that his sister had left and would be safe from all of this. Based on what had almost happened to Lana, he shuddered to think what these men would do to Haven if they found her aboard.
Looking from Ellie to Lana, Brett ejected his magazine and
checked to see how many rounds he had left.
One.
He slid the magazine back into place.
“What are you going to do?”
“There are going to be more guys like him on the train. We have to find a place for you and Ellie to hide.”
Her eyes were laden with worry. “Where will you go?”
“I’m going to find Mark.”
Moments later, they were running through the cars, Lana beside him with Ellie in her arms.
He could only think of one place to hide Lana and Ellie, hoping none of the marauders would venture there.
They arrived at the end of the train. Lana looked at him quizzically.
“We can’t go any further. This is the last car.”
Brett opened the rear door for her.
“I know. It’s the only place I could think of that they might not search.” He ushered them out onto the small metal platform.
Lana carefully stepped onto it, holding the railing for dear life, before reaching for Ellie.
“Just crouch down so they can’t see you through the window,” Brett told them.
Lana sat cross-legged on the platform and pulled Ellie to her, her grip tight and unyielding. “Be careful,” she said.
Her eyes were full of gratitude, and he nodded, wordlessly willing her to do the same.
“Maybe you’re here, maybe you’re not,” an eerily familiar voice crackled over the loudspeaker.
Haven and Houston stared at each other suddenly, their expressions full of disbelief and then dread.
“I don’t know if you can hear this,” Cade jeered, his voice gravelly and measured, “but I have someone here who wants to say hello.”
They could hear an audible struggle, like a microphone rubbing against clothing.
“Let me go!”
Haven gasped, the color draining from her face instantly. “No,” she whispered. It was Mark. She grabbed Houston’s arm. “We have to get him.”
“You remember how well Mark and I got along the last time, when I was in your cabin,” Cade taunted. “I’m going to give you five minutes to come to the front of the train and surrender. If you decide you’d rather play games, let’s just say this time Mark and I are going to get to know each other a lot better. Just like…”
The Good, The Dead & The Lawless (Book 2): The Hell That Follows Page 35