by Todd Downing
“Damn it!”
Instead she hit Truman square in the face with butt of the rifle. It stunned him enough that Wings was able to adjust her grip and, holding the rifle like a club, hit Ban on the head. He fell to the ground with a grunt.
“Go!” Gloria ordered, grabbing her Winchester from the floor.
They ran into the kitchen and out the door, which was hanging by its hinges.
Outside they were completely exposed and Wings turned in a quick circle, her pulse hammering against her chest.
“We―we have to get inside!” Wings said.
“The barn,” Gloria pointed.
They slammed the barn door behind them just as the sounds of growling moans pierced the night. The barn was used less for animals than it was for spare engine parts, farm equipment and, of course, the Donaldson brothers’ home-brewed liquor, stacked in a wood pallet tower of brown bottles. Engines in various stages of repair sat in the middle of the barn, the walls lined with shelves where tools and various parts were stored. For the things that Wings could only assume were part of the illegal still the brothers operated, there were dozens of boxes piled in the farthest corners. Old ropes and rigging had been left tied to the ceiling and against the walls where they wouldn’t get in the way. On sunny days the barn was open and pleasant, the wide doors open and the sunshine streaming in through the windows.
Gloria yanked on Wings’ arm and pointed up at the hay loft where the brothers stored their still with extra bottles of home brew and sundry bits of equipment.
Wings shook her head, they’d be sitting ducks.
Gloria nodded more emphatically and shoved Wings toward a ladder. As she climbed, Wings could hear Gloria’s labored breaths behind her, and wondered how much of that was the blood starting to kill her.
She’s not gonna die! I won’t allow it!
Gloria fell onto the wood planks, her eyes pinched tight and her jaw clenched to keep from screaming in pain.
“Let me see it,” Wings whispered.
Gloria shifted and sat up, a quiet sob escaping her full lips as Wings pulled the blood-soaked fabric away. The first thing Wings noticed was the smell, like rotten meat. What had looked like burns before were now actual holes in Gloria’s skin, as if someone had taken a spoon and dug out chunks of flesh. But that wasn’t all. The skin around the wounds were becoming scaly and peeling, just like the Donaldson brothers.
“I’ll be fine,” Gloria whispered.
Wings looked into her warm brown eyes, so close to hers. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’m not leaving until we know they’re neutralized.”
“Alright, so what’s the plan?”
“They’ll know we came in here,” Gloria pointed to the lower level. “And when they come into sight―”
Wings smiled. “We can shoot their heads off without getting their blood on us.”
Gloria grinned. “Exactly.”
Wings looked down into the shadows cast by the equipment, trying to see where anything flammable was so she could avoid setting the whole place on fire. That’s when she saw something that made her stomach leap to her throat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Gloria whispered.
Wings pointed to the dozen silver barrels that looked identical to the ones she’d spotted earlier, tipped over outside the barn. These were upright, but the longer she stared at them, the more Wings could swear she could see them move.
“Mierda!” Gloria said, moving to get a better look at the barrels. “They have someone in them. What was the Silver Star planning with this?”
“An epidemic? Maybe an army of mindless...things?”
“Maybe. But they’d need someone able to control them. And so far I don’t think that’s possible.”
The doors of the barn shook, moans punctuating the groan of the hinges.
Wings met Gloria’s eyes. They were fever bright, her face shining with sweat. Wings could tell that the smallest move of her arm must be causing Gloria immense pain. But she grit her teeth, readied a shell in the Winchester and sat up on her knees.
“If I’m gonna die,” Gloria said. “I’m going out with a smoking rifle in my hands.”
“You’re pretty magnificent, you know,” Wings said before she could stop herself.
Gloria smiled, just a little. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“You got extra shells?”
“I did, but I think they’re in the house.”
Wings gave a handful of her meager stash to Gloria, hoping they’d have enough for the new red people that were about to hatch from the silver barrels.
They pointed the rifles in the direction of the doors as the wood began to splinter under the unusual strength of the two remaining Donaldson brothers and the random stranger that was with them.
A clatter to Wings’ right made her look over in time to see a woman climb out of one of the barrels. She was covered in red, scaly skin, a familiar groaning growl coming from her lips.
“I’ll take the door,” Gloria said. “You cover those barrels.”
Wings shifted, took aim, and fired.
The woman’s head shattered, splattering blood, bone and flesh all around her. She staggered for a moment and then fell to the ground like a marionette relieved of its strings.
Wings smiled. “This might not be so bad.”
“What is wrong with you?” Gloria hissed. “You don’t say things like that!”
“But―”
One of the barn doors finally gave way and the Donaldson brothers came through. If they hadn’t been so red from whatever had turned them, Wings would swear their faces would be flushed anyway with the fury that blazed in their dead eyes. Wings was about to shoot when the clatter of falling metal made her look to the right, where three more red people were coming out of barrels.
Wings shot one, but it was too low and hit the man in the chest, knocking him back into a woman who was crawling out of the barrel. The impact sent the woman back in and Wings couldn’t help a chuckle. She lined up her next shot and this time hit the man in the head.
Wings glanced over at the barn door and saw what she assumed was Ban Donaldson’s headless body lying a few feet from it. A shot rang out and the stranger fell to his knees, stopped for only a moment. Gloria tried again, this shot also missing the mark.
She’s in too much pain, and we can’t waste the ammo.
But before she could tell Gloria to stop, the loud clank of the rest of the barrels falling over as their victims climbed out distracted her. Wings swung her Winchester to take quick aim. She was able to take the heads off two red people before needing to reload.
By now all of the red people and Truman Donaldson knew where the shots were coming from. The element of surprise was lost and they were now making their way to the ladder.
“Have they gotten quicker or is it just me?” Wings said.
“It’s... They...yes,” Gloria said.
Gloria tried to shoot one Truman just before his foot touched the lowest rung, but her shot lodged into the barn wall instead.
“Damn it!” Gloria said, taking another shot, which hit Truman Donaldson in the shoulder, knocking him back just a little.
Standing to her feet, Wings aimed the Winchester at Truman’s head. “Nothing personal, Truman.”
The loud squish his exploding head made was enough to make Wings very glad she’d skipped dinner with Buster.
“I’ve...only got three...shells left,” Gloria gasped, her breathing ragged. “And... I—I...”
Wings looked down to Gloria’s wound and her stomach dropped. Scaly patches were starting to work their way over Gloria’s arm and up on her collarbone. For a moment, a low moan came out of Gloria but then she shook her head to clear it.
“I don’t think... I’ve got much time left,” she said.
“Then we better hurry,” Wings said, shooting a man who was climbing over Truman’s body.
Gloria glanced over her shou
lder at Wings. “Do you have a plan?”
Wings dug the remaining shells out of her pocket and knew she didn’t have nearly enough to take out all the red people, even if she made every shell count.
And Gloria’s almost useless with her shoulder... Think, Wings!
“Better... hurry!” Gloria said, shooting a woman who had started climbing the ladder.
Wings looked around to see if maybe the Donaldsons had stashed any guns up in the loft. But all she saw was some old rags, a box of rusted parts and...
“Liquor...”
Digging her brothers lucky lighter out of her pocket, Wings laughed.
“What―?”
“Here,” Wings handed Gloria her loaded Winchester and the four remaining shells. “Keep them from getting out.”
Gloria frowned. “Getting out?”
“You’ll see. Just keep them from coming up here or getting out the door.”
Gloria nodded, taking the Winchester and the ammo.
Wings hurriedly ripped up a couple of rags into six fuses and stuffed them into the bottles she opened. She looked down and saw that most of the red people had gotten to the bottom of the ladder. Taking quick stock of how the barn was laid out, Wings lit the first bottle and threw it at the bottom of the ladder.
Gloria jumped back. “What the hell―?”
The red people howled in fear and pain. The one closest to the fire collapsed and didn’t move. Wings lit the next two and hurled them down, one at the door and the other in the very center of the barn.
“Wait―!” Gloria shouted.
But Wings had already lit the fourth and threw it so that the red people were completely hemmed in by the fire. Not trusting that to be enough, she lit a fifth and threw it with everything she had so that it hit the shelf and papers on the other side of the barn.
Smoke was filling the barn fast. The smell of liquor, machine oil and roasted flesh made it feel thick in Wings’ nostrils. The fire was spreading below them faster than Wings would have anticipated. But what was more worrisome was the fact that the ladder had carried the fire quickly to the loft itself. Now the wood was being consumed with alarming speed.
It was then that she realized why Gloria might have wanted her to stop and why she was now rushing toward her with a look of pure murder on her face.
“Oh crap,” Wings moaned.
“Are you crazy?” Gloria demanded.
Wings ran to the other end of the loft as Gloria followed her. There was no ladder on this end, just the old ropes hanging beyond the edge. She looked down and saw a window that was low enough to make falling onto the ground outside not a deadly endeavor, but high enough that they might be able to launch themselves into it from this height.
If we’re lucky.
Her fingers rubbed against the lighter in her pocket.
Here’s hoping my brother was right about this lighter and it really is lucky. Or this is going to hurt. A lot.
Grabbing the Winchester from Gloria, Wings reached out and tried to hook one of the ropes around the barrel of the gun. It was just out of reach. Wings let her toes hang over the edge of the loft just a little more and felt her body pitch forward as she lost her balance.
Gloria’s calloused hands grabbed Wings’ hips and pulled her back. They fell onto the hard wood of the loft, Gloria crying out in pain.
Wings looked around, her heart sinking. The smoke was now so thick that it was getting hard to breath, and the flames raged in garish yellow and orange all around them. In minutes, the barn would be consumed, and them with it.
“I’m...taller...” Gloria said, grabbing the Winchester.
After two tries, Gloria had one of the ropes.
“Can you hang on?” Wings asked as she grabbed on.
“I—I hope so.”
Wings put her arm around Gloria’s waist and, with a small running start, they sailed out of the loft and into the window across from them.
The impact was harder than Wings had anticipated, and she felt shards of glass cut into her face and arms. She fell onto the warm earth with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.
She lay back, the sky spinning above her, the smell of flames nearby. For a moment, she couldn’t move or speak. Instead she took huge, gulping breaths and tried to shove away the nausea that was creeping up her gut.
A moan to her right caused Wings to startle, expecting a red person to come barreling at her. Instead she saw Gloria, and smiled in relief as she moved.
Then Gloria groaned again.
And Wings’ chest tightened.
“No,” she whispered. “No.”
Wings hesitated before stumbling to Gloria and turning her on her back. Gloria’s jaw was clenched tight, her eyes rolling back into her skull. As Wings watched in horror, Gloria’s body arched as if racked with pain, and a growl came from the back of her throat. The scaly skin was now all over her throat, chin and jaw. It had also spread over both collarbones, and Wings bet her entire chest, too.
“Gloria?” Wings soothed, brushing thick curls away from her face. “C’mon. It can’t end this way.”
Wings looked up, desperate for any idea of how to help Gloria when she saw her plane. It was a one seater, but she was desperate and make it work somehow. As Wings tried to calculate if they’d have enough fuel to make it to San Diego, she heard a strange shuffling sound behind her.
Looking behind her, she came face to face with the man that was in the fourth barrel with the Donaldson brothers.
He lunged for her, and Wings rolled to the side but not far enough to be safe. He grabbed for her again and Wings half stumbled, half crawled in an attempt to get some distance. It was no use. She was wounded and exhausted, and whatever this man was he had enough speed and determination to get her.
Scooting back on her butt in the dirt, tears starting to sting her blue eyes, Wings felt the dread of impending death in her gut. As the man lunged for her again, Wings’ fingertips brushed against something hard and cold. It was the side arm she’d lost earlier that evening.
With one quick motion, Wings snatched it up and fired point blank into the chest of the red man, barely remembering that his blood was toxic.
The man stopped, shuffling back a few steps.
Wings stood as quickly as her shaking legs would let her, and fired again, this time at his head.
The blood splattered all around, hitting her boots with a hiss. She half fell in an attempt to get away from the corpse, hitting her head on the hard packed dirt. Nauseating waves of pain shot through her for a moment, her vision sparkly.
Once the pain had faded enough to think, Wings felt cool air on her feet and saw that holes were already showing where the blood had hit the boots. As quick as possible, Wings shucked her boots as the sound of cars coming up the dirt drive reached her ears.
“I hope those are the good guys,” she said, the headlights blinding her.
Wings stood, the cuts stinging on her face and arms, her head pounding. A man and a woman jumped out of the first car before it had stopped all the way. Wings recognized the man as Gloria’s father, Mr. Sanchez but the woman wasn’t familiar at all. The driver was next, a man in his forties with gray wings of hair at his temples and a lean body.
“Oh my God!” Mr. Sanchez said, running to where Gloria still lay on the dirt.
“Wait!” Wings grabbed him by the arm. “You can’t, not until—”
“Let me go!”
“You don’t understand―”
“It’s alright Miss Jensen,” the driver said. “Mr. Sanchez is one of our best researchers. He’ll be alright.”
“But she’s infected with whatever turned these people into red monsters!”
That brought everyone up short and for a moment Wings thought she saw the woman draw a sidearm.
She better not try it.
“The red dust?” Mr. Sanchez said.
“Yes,” the driver said. “It appears they’ve found a use for it.”
“The antidote m
ay or may not work, I...I haven’t really tested it yet.”
“You have an antidote?” Wings asked, jerking on Mr. Sanchez’s arm. “She needs one, fast! Where is it?”
Mr. Sanchez jerked his arm free and ran to Gloria, who was starting to make more growling moans.
Another vehicle came careening down the drive, this time a truck. Half a dozen men and women jumped out of the bed, rifles at the ready.
“Stand down,” the driver said. “It seems that Miss Jensen and Miss Sanchez have done our work for us. Though I would like a sweep of the perimeter, just to make sure there’s no one else around.”
“Shoot them in the head,” Wings said, wincing as her arm began to throb. “It’s the only thing that’ll stop them.”
“You heard her. When you’re finished report back here.”
“And don’t let the blood touch you!” Wings yelled at them.
The driver stared at Wings, the hint of a smile on his lips. “You seem very comfortable giving commands.”
Wings snorted. “When I know what I’m talking about, sure.”
“I assume Miss Sanchez told you about us?”
“Yeah,” Wings looked at Gloria, a deep frown on her face. “Is she going to be alright?”
“I don’t know, but her father is going to do everything he can to save her,” he held out his hand. “I’m Dominic Granger, tactical advisor for the San Diego office. I’ve heard a lot about you Miss Jensen.”
“I bet. Spying on me all this time.”
“Surveillance. I hope you understand that all of this must be kept confidential.”
“Yeah, yeah sure,” Wings put her hands on her hips. “I want in.”
Dominic blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I want to be a part of this.”
“If it’s revenge you’re after―”
“A little sure. But...” she glanced at Gloria, who was now being tended by the mysterious woman as well as Mr. Sanchez. “It’s a good fight, maybe the most important one if I trust what my gut’s telling me. And I’m tired of pretending to fight good fights, I want to actually do something. So, I want in.”
Dominic studied her. “You are quite determined.”
“Yes.”
“And this has nothing to do with Miss Sanchez?”
Wings felt heat rise to her face that had nothing to do with the barn still blazing nearby. “She’s impressive and brave. Of course she has something to do with it. But not all, no.”