V Plague (Book 16): Brimstone

by Dirk Patton

  “Here,” Igor said, drawing a quick glance from Strickland.

  He was pointing at a tiny dent in the tubular push bar on the front of the Hunter. It was obviously fresh, a glint of shiny metal visible in Igor’s flashlight beam where the paint and rust had been blasted clear.

  “A motherfucking ricochet?” Strickland asked, his mouth open in surprise. “Are you kidding me?”

  He slowly stepped closer and bent to peer at the spot. Shaking his head, he looked down at the old man who he’d actually began to start liking.

  “I told him to get inside,” Irina said, looking up and meeting his eyes. “He wanted to be out of the vehicle in case anyone slipped past you. He was kneeling, watching the forest and just suddenly fell over.”

  Strickland stared down at the body in her arms, sharing her loss.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, reaching down and gently touching her shoulder.

  Igor looked up and nodded when their eyes met.

  “We get cars off road,” he said softly.

  Strickland nodded and took off at a trot. He expected Igor would follow and help, but wasn’t worried about doing it all himself.

  The first body had been shoved into the back seat of the Zil when Igor appeared out of the darkness. Without a word, he bent and lifted the legs of the corpse that Strickland was muscling into the sedan’s trunk.

  “She gonna be alright?” he asked when they unceremoniously tossed the body inside.

  “She Russian. We used to death,” Igor said, and despite the broken English, Strickland could hear the pain in his voice.

  “We get these fuckers out of sight and we’ll give him a proper burial, Igor,” he said, grunting as they lifted a man who was easily over three hundred pounds.

  “You call me by right name,” Igor said in surprise.

  Together, they jammed the big corpse into the trunk then Strickland paused and looked into Igor’s eyes.

  “He didn’t like me calling you Ivan, even though he knew I was just fuckin’ with you. Don’t seem right to keep doing it, him gone and all.”

  Igor held his gaze for a moment before nodding and reaching for the next corpse.

  39

  The male had already lifted Mavis off the floor by the time I slammed into them. We tumbled into the dark restroom, falling to the floor amidst a tangle of flailing limbs. Mavis was screaming in terror, the infected gurgling and hissing as it tried to lock its jaws onto her throat. Jamming an arm between them, I roared in pain as it bit down on my flesh. Grasping the back of Mavis’s shirt, I ripped her away from the male and sent her flying back into the stock room.

  Pain blossomed as the infected ripped a chunk of meat from my forearm. Throwing two fast blows, I felt cartilage and teeth break under my assault, but the fucker didn’t even flinch. Wedging my injured arm across its neck, I used my body weight to pin him to the ground, fumbling with my free hand for the knife.

  The male bucked beneath me, grasping my arm and I was reminded just how incredibly strong they are. Despite my best efforts, he steadily levered me up then began to pull me into an embrace. I couldn’t break his hold and was beginning to panic. Finally, I felt the hilt of the long Russian blade. Drawing it, I twisted to gain a small advantage and stabbed directly down into the bastard’s eye.

  He immediately went still, limp hands falling away. Breathing like a steam engine, I gave the knife a savage twist, just to make sure, then rolled off the corpse and looked around for Mavis. She was sitting on the floor of the stock room where I’d tossed her, watching me with eyes the size of saucers. I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but I think it came off as more of a grimace.

  Muttering curses, I climbed to my feet and looked down at the infected I’d just killed. He wasn’t a big guy. Several inches shorter and at least fifty pounds lighter than me, but he’d been one incredibly strong son of a bitch. Fortunately, I’d survived, but only because I’d had a weapon.

  Bending, I grasped the knife and pulled, but it was stuck in the asshole’s skull. Putting a foot on his lower face, I jerked it free, wiped the blade clean on his shirt and returned it to the sheath on my vest. Straightening, a wave of heat washed over me, immediately followed by a bout of vertigo so bad that I stumbled to the side and would have fallen if not for the bathroom door.

  For an instant, I felt as if I were going to lose consciousness, then as quickly as it had started, the sensation ended. My breathing quickly returned to normal and the adrenaline of the fight started burning off. In its absence, the pain of my newest injury hit with a vengeance. Stepping out into the dim light of the stock room, I inspected my arm and a twinge of concern passed through me.

  A large chunk of meat was missing from the outside of my forearm and blood was running freely, dripping off my fingers onto the tile floor. The edges of the wound were ragged and in a couple of places I could actually make out the impression of the teeth that had torn into me.

  I wasn’t worried about blood loss. There was a lot of blood, but nothing was pulsing. What bothered me was the possibility of infection. In the best of times, a bite from a human has a high probability of causing a nasty infection. A bite from an infected?

  “That looks bad. Does it hurt?”

  Mavis had gotten up and was standing next to me, peering at my injured arm.

  “A little,” I lied. It hurt like a bitch. “Look around and see if you can find a towel or something for me to wrap it.”

  She did as I asked, starting on one side of the room while I opened a case of vodka.

  “Will this work?”

  She held up a package of bar towels she’d found in a box.

  “Perfect. Can you open it and give me one?”

  The towel she handed me was made of thin terrycloth. Breaking the seal on the bottle of liquor, I pulled the cork with my teeth and spat it across the room.

  “Is this really the time for a drink?”

  “No time like the present,” I said, taking a big slug of vodka.

  The fiery liquid hit the back of my throat like a bomb and I coughed as it burned its way down and exploded in my stomach. Taking a breath in preparation for what was about to come, I extended my wounded arm and poured half the bottle across the ragged flesh.

  To say it hurt would be the understatement of the century. It was more like every nerve ending was being individually held to a lit match. Eyes tightly closed, I breathed deeply through my nose and somehow managed to keep it together until the worst of the pain passed. When I opened them, I saw Mavis looking at me with a grin on her face.

  “Bet that hurt, huh?”

  “Don’t you have to pee?” I grumbled, folding a towel into a square pad and pressing it onto my wound.

  “I do, but you need help.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, trying to wrap another towel around my arm to hold the crude bandage I’d made in place.

  “No, you need help.”

  She moved close and did the job for me.

  “Tight,” I said.

  She tugged hard, eliciting a grunt from me, then finished the knot. It hurt even worse, but pressure would stem the bleeding.

  Taking a step toward the restroom, she stopped and stared at the dead infected. The body lay across the threshold. Without saying anything, I walked over, grabbed an ankle and dragged it clear. Mavis rushed in, closing the door behind her. Less than a minute later, she came back out.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we take one of those cars and get the hell out of the city,” I said.

  Moving to the exterior door, I paused and listened but couldn’t hear anything other than the wind and rain. Easing it open a crack, I peered through. Seeing nothing in the narrow field of view, I kept going an inch at time, ready to pull it shut if I saw anything I didn’t like.

  It took over a minute for me to be satisfied it was safe to step out into the alley. Wind driven rain lashed my face as I made a quick scan with the rifle, then we ran to the closest sedan and piled in. One of the se
ts of keys I’d taken off the men I’d killed inside the liquor store fit the ignition and the engine started easily enough.

  I was searching for the wiper controls when Mavis tapped my arm. Looking up, I saw a man on a motorcycle at the far end of the alley. He was sitting on the big bike, in the rain, just watching us. He hadn’t been there when we’d come out of the store.

  Deciding the wipers weren’t all that important, I shifted into reverse and backed out of the alley into a street. Tires spinning on the wet pavement, I accelerated away, glancing over my shoulder at the watcher. The instant before I lost sight of him, he raised a hand to his face in a way that almost certainly meant he was speaking into a radio.

  “Think he’s a bad guy?”

  Mavis had been turned in her seat, watching the man. Now she twisted around to look at me.

  “Put your seatbelt on,” I said instead of responding to a question to which I had no way of knowing the answer.

  “Why?”

  “Glad you had it on when the Range Rover rolled?”

  She thought about that for only a second before pulling the belt across her body and clicking it into place.

  “So, bad guy back there?”

  I shrugged, keeping my eyes focused on the road ahead. I was driving slower, not wanting to be ambushed again by something put in the street to disable our vehicle.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” I said when I could feel Mavis’s eyes still watching me. “Probably safer to assume he is.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes and I was now comfortable enough with the car to resume my search for the wiper control. This time I found it and they squeaked across the rain streaked glass, not making a big improvement. But it was still better than it had been.

  Mavis stared out her window, seemingly into space, but apparently at the side mirror. A couple of miles later, she suddenly twisted around to see through the rear glass.

  “What?” I asked in concern, looking in my mirror.

  “Way back there,” she said, eyes glued on the view behind us. “Three motorcycles following.”

  40

  I couldn’t see the bikes in my mirror, nor through the rain soaked rear window. But that didn’t mean Mavis wasn’t right. Pressing harder on the accelerator, the car surged forward. There was a very real risk that I was doing exactly what the guys following us wanted. The thought that we were being herded into an ambush went through my head.

  Despite the concern, I kept on the throttle. As long as there wasn’t a road block or another set of spike strips ahead, we’d be okay. This wasn’t Hollywood. A few guys on bikes that weighed a few hundred pounds weren’t going to run us off the road. Sure, they could hang back and start shooting, but there’s a lot of ways to ruin a biker’s day with a several thousand-pound vehicle.

  Still, I didn’t see the point in fighting if I didn’t have to. Especially with a kid in the car. For an instant, realization struck me that I was more worried about Mavis than myself. Glancing at her, she met my eye briefly before turning back to the rear.

  “They’re still back there,” she said, misunderstanding my look.

  “They speed up when we did?”

  “They’re no farther back, so… yeah, I guess so.”

  We were fast approaching an intersection with a broad cross street. I made the decision without even consciously thinking about it.

  “Hold on!”

  Cranking the wheel, I tapped the brakes. The heavy car’s rear tires broke loose on the wet asphalt and I gently steered into the skid. We drifted into the intersection and I adjusted the steering and fed in power. There was an uncomfortable moment of fishtailing, then I got it back under control and pressed the pedal to the floor.

  “See them?” I asked, adrenaline making my voice go loud.

  “Not yet.”

  Another side street ahead. I was sure we could make the turn before our followers appeared. The one bike I’d seen wasn’t a racer. It was a heavy cruiser and would handle for shit on the wet roads. Would have to slow dramatically to make ninety degree turns. I didn’t have the same limitation.

  “Hold on!” I shouted again.

  I repeated the same process, turning onto a much smaller side street, hoping to lose them in the storm. But, things never go the way you plan. As the car slid through the turn and I got a look at the road ahead, I slammed on the brakes. Still in the process of drifting, the sudden change sent us into a spin, the front and rear swapping ends twice in the span of a couple of seconds. Completing the second three-sixty, we came to a hard stop with the driver’s side crunched against another vehicle parked at the curb.

  “What ha…” Mavis began to ask, but the question died when she turned to the front.

  Ahead, the road was completely blocked with a wall of infected. Males and females. Far too many to attempt pushing through with anything short of an armored vehicle. For a few beats, it was almost like being in a comedy movie. They were as surprised as we were and at first just stared back at us, unmoving. Then the world sped back up and with a chorus of screams that were clearly audible within the car, hundreds of females surged forward.

  Throwing the transmission into reverse, I nailed the throttle and fought for control as we ground along the side of the parked car before shooting backward into the wider road. The bikers had caught up, but weren’t expecting us to suddenly appear directly in front of them.

  In a blur of motion, first one, then another flashed past within inches of the front bumper. Jamming on the brakes and cutting the wheel to turn away from the charging infected, my head snapped around when there was a hard impact on the rear fender. The whole car shook and a figure flew over the trunk and tumbled to the pavement. The third biker had slammed into us.

  Yanking the selector into drive, I roared away as the leading edge of the females reached the intersection. Watching in the mirror, I saw most of them turn to follow us, but several dozen more charged the biker who was now on his feet and limping away as fast as he could on an injured leg. Again, the decision was made without conscious thought and I jammed the brake pedal to the floor, bringing us to a skidding stop.

  “Why are you stopping? GO!” Mavis shouted, eyes locked on the approaching infected.

  I didn’t answer, just went back into reverse and accelerated. Within seconds, the brutal impacts of bodies being rammed aside began. And grew worse as we pushed deeper into the mass of females. I was concerned about the car standing up to the abuse, but much less so than if it had been the front taking the brunt of the damage. So, I kept the throttle down and battered my way through.

  The sound of gunfire reached me a moment later, audible even over the high-pitched whine of the protesting transmission.

  “He’s shooting at them!” Mavis yelled.

  I checked my mirrors, then turned in the seat and drove one handed as I looked out the rear. Bodies flew, thrown savagely aside by the steel bumper. Then I caught sight of the biker, back against a parked delivery truck as he fired a pistol into the rapidly closing phalanx of females. When it ran dry, he threw it at the closest one, drawing a knife to keep fighting as she leapt in and dragged him to the ground.

  “Here!” I shouted, slapping my pistol into Mavis’s small hand. “Get below the seat and finger off the trigger unless you have to shoot!”

  Yanking the wheel to its stop, I put us into another skid. Females were either mown down and crushed beneath the tires, or sent flying by several thousand pounds of momentum. We came to a stop between the biker and the main body of the infected who were still following.

  He was on the ground, struggling with a female, but there wasn’t time to wait and see who was going to win the battle. Popping my door, I stuck the rifle through the opening and fired a single round that took the top of the bitch’s head off and splashed hot blood into the biker’s face.

  “Get in!” I screamed, slamming my door.

  To his credit, he didn’t hesitate. The rear door was yanked open, the volume of the infected’s’ scream
s suddenly piercing, then he was in and I hit the throttle. More battering bodies aside, but I was at the back of the group now and quickly pushed through to open road with a brief sigh of relief.

  “There’s a pistol aimed at your head,” I said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Try one goddamn thing and you’re dead.”

  “No worries, mate. And thanks for that.”

  I nodded, splitting my focus between the mirror and the road. The guy had at least one knife I knew of and God only knew what other weapons hidden on his body. And he was sitting right behind me, my life dependent on a twelve-year-old girl being able to pull the trigger if he attacked me.

  Looking him over in the mirror, I was surprised to see the dark skin and features of an Aborigine. I’d expected, well… something different.

  “Why were you following us?” I asked.

  “Saw the girl, mate. Thought she was in a bind.”

  I snorted a laugh and glanced down at Mavis where she was still hidden from view. The big Russian pistol was in both hands, aimed at a point on the front seat that meant a bullet would pass through and strike our passenger if she fired. I was gratified to see she had listened and wasn’t holding the weapon with her finger on the trigger.

  “Come on out, Mavis.”

  She looked up at me and I nodded that everything was okay. Slowly lowering the gun, she climbed into her seat and looked at our passenger. I saw his eyes widen slightly in the mirror when she appeared with a gun in her hand, then he said something in what had to be the native tongue of the Aborigines. It sounded like a truck load of empty tin buckets on a rough road to me, but Mavis apparently understood as they launched into a conversation.

  “English!” I snapped, interrupting them.

  “He was just asking why I was with you,” Mavis said.

  I glanced at her, but didn’t say anything.

  “Told him you were cool.”

  I nodded, looked around to make sure it was safe, then pulled to a stop in the middle of the road. Getting out quickly, I pulled the rear door open and stepped back with my rifle aimed at our passenger.