by Adair, Bobby
The girl gulped, but didn’t scream.
A commotion from the room next door accompanied the metallic sound of the screen being pushed out.
A man’s voice hollered, “Billy, he’s trying to get in your window.”
I looked at the slumping body on the bed. Billy was too busy dying to listen to his buddy next door.
“Jake! Keith!” The shout was followed by two dull cracks: sound suppressed rifle shots. I don’t know what made me madder at the moment, the fact that that hollering jackass was using my stolen rifle or that he was shooting at Murphy. Either way, I could still count, and I figured I had four—no, three—remaining adversaries, all armed with automatic weapons and all inside the house.
Bumping walls and scooting furniture from somewhere far across the expansive house told me I had some moments before I had more trouble than I could handle. For the moment, surprise was still on my side, but it was rapidly evaporating.
I ran into the hall and tore off at full speed toward another doorway. Caution was a commodity I couldn’t afford. I cut the corner into the room and immediately spotted the backside of the man I’d met just a few moments before. He was standing at the window, weapon at his shoulder, looking for a target.
I saw his shoulders flinch and his head started to turn as my machete came down vertically into his neck, cutting down between his shoulder blades. He grunted under the impact and fell forward out the window as I yanked my blade free of the bone in which it had stuck.
Choosing to ride my frenzied wave of surprise, I ran out of the room, around a corner, and into a long wide hall that appeared to run the length of the house. I figured my best chance was to catch the last two before they figured out I was in the house. I accelerated to full speed.
Oops.
Two men half-stumbled and ran out of a side room and into the hall in front of me. Urgency changed instantly to fright as the guy in front saw me coming at him. I screamed my wildest White howl, realizing I’d never reach him before he managed to get his rifle up to put a few holes in my chest. In a desperate hope, I threw my machete and dove through a door on my left. Bullets sizzled the air in the hall. I tumbled over a chair, scrambled over crates and things I didn’t have time to identify, and dove through another window screen. Coming down on a cactus plant, I howled and rolled into the dead grass even as I scratched at the ground to pull myself away. A moment later, I was on my feet and dodging between cars as I crouched and ran.
Not realizing how fast I was moving, or quite how I’d gotten away from the house, I found myself next to my Humvee and I grinned. I put it between me and the house as I looked through the windows to find my pursuers. Indeed, a man was poking his head and a rifle barrel out the front door. I slipped inside the Humvee, safe for the moment. I looked around inside. All of the weapons, ammo, and camping supplies were gone. Only canisters of fifty-caliber ammunition remained. Standing up inside the Humvee, I opened the top hatch and slowly climbed up to position myself behind the heavy machine gun.
My pursuer at the front door was looking around cautiously at the trees, bushes, and cars. I was guessing he thought I was just another brain-fried crazy White, not smart enough to open the Humvee door. Too bad for him.
My fifty-caliber machine gun had a belt dangling from it. The guys in the house had apparently gone to the trouble to load it for me. I pulled the handle back on the right side, stood up straight, and swung the barrel around at the house’s front door.
My pursuer saw the movement. He looked right at me, his eyes went wide, and he ducked back behind the front door as I let go with a burst of a dozen rounds. Bullets shattered limestone blocks, some tore into the roof, and others missed the house altogether, but some of them hit the front door—only a few of them needed to.
In the distance, I heard howls. Not many, but enough. From the backyard, the Whites in the kennels grew excited when they heard the shots. I panned the big fifty back and forth across the front of the house, hoping the other white-skinned, knuckleheaded fuck would think his balls were bigger then my fifty caliber rounds.
No such luck.
With adrenaline pumping, waiting for something to happen was hard. It was also a bad idea. I didn’t know where knuckleheaded fuck number four was. I did know that he had one of the sniper rifles that had killed Jerome in that intersection. If number four was good with his rifle, and if he had any smarts, he’d be sneaking around to get me in his sights. I immediately dropped down inside the Humvee. It was time to move.
Speed and surprise were treating me well enough so far. I got out of the Humvee and bolted for the shattered front door. The thick oak had split twice as it flew off its hinges, landing partially on top of Number Three. Blood was everywhere. The guy was dead. I pulled his weapon out of his hand and cursed silently. It had taken a round through the body right above the trigger. The suppressor looked to be in good shape and, in fact, became the handle for my new metal club. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was something.
Beyond the front door and the foyer lay some sort of living room with couches, chairs, and coffee tables. It looked liked a college dorm for the messy boys. Empty food packages, cans, and bottles lay scattered everywhere. The place stank of beer, urine, and vomitus. I raised my new club baseball bat-style and ran across the foyer, aiming toward a wide doorway at the far side of the living room. As I passed across that long hallway someone yelled, “Freeze.” Two gunshots followed, but I was already past the hallway and well into the living room. I came to a sudden stop and froze. That was Murphy’s voice.
“Murphy?” I called.
“Was that you?” he called back.
“Yes,” I said, irritation dripping from my answer.
“Sorry, dude.”
“There’s one more I know of,” I called as I worked my way across the living room to the wide doorway I’d been heading for originally. I added, “He’s got an M4.”
“Not anymore,” said Murphy. “I mean, he’s still got it, but he’s dead.”
I relaxed a little.
Chapter 37
After I retrieved my machete and stole a pistol off a corpse, Murphy and I hurried through the rest of the house, room after room after room. The place had to have been ten thousand square feet. It looked like a doomsday prepper and hoarder got married and spread their crap all over the house. The four Slow Burns we’d killed had to have been going through the whole neighborhood, meticulously collecting cars, weapons, ammunition, food, and alcohol. Mounds of it were in nearly every room.
Once we were sure we’d gotten the last of them, we went back into the main room. Outside, the infected were probably on their way because of my choice to use the fifty-caliber machine gun. Inside, the normal girl was still handcuffed to the bedpost—or so I assumed—and there was still a kennel of women locked up out behind the house.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you take one of the sniper rifles and grab a spot where you can target any Whites coming down the driveway? And you know they’re going to come.”
“Okay.” Murphy knelt beside the body of the man I’d machine-gunned through the front door. Murphy checked him for spare magazines, but found none. “What about you?”
“I’ll go unlock that girl in the bedroom and see what’s up.”
“Bring her back in here.” Murphy pointed back at the main room. “If we need to bail out, I’d rather not have to come find you.”
“Gotcha, boss.” I took off at a jog down the hall that led to the back bedroom where I’d slain the first of the Slow Burns in the house. When I entered the room, the girl was sitting up straight and looking at me with a blank face. Considering the circumstances, she looked to be in decent shape—not beat up, not bleeding.
“You okay?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Do you know where the keys are for the cuffs?” I asked. I waited for an answer.
The girl sized me up, I guess wondering if I was a hero or the next shift. She looked beside
the bed and toward a nightstand. “In the drawer, I think.”
I stepped over to the nightstand and yanked the drawer open—junk inside slid across the wood. Indeed, the handcuff keys were right there. I retrieved them and went back to the end of the bed where I handed them to the girl. I stepped back and got both my hands back on my weapons.
The girl started to laugh.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re afraid of me?”
I shook my head then switched to a nod. “You never know. For all I know, he was your fiancé and you were playing S&M games when he dozed off.”
The girl got the cuffs off and rubbed her wrist before pulling her knees in close to her chest to cover her breasts. I realized I was looking at them.
“Sorry,” I said.
She looked down at herself. “It’s okay. Your looking at my tits is far from the worst thing that’s happened to me today.”
I stepped over to the closet as I looked across the floor. “Do you have any clothes?”
She shook her head and I opened the closet door to see if anything inside might work for her. A thick terry cloth robe was hanging on a hook on the back of the door. I held it up for her to see.
“Thanks.” She reached out a hand as she stood up while using one hand to cover her breasts.
I turned away for a second then turned back to watch her. Her modesty wasn’t as important as my safety. As she wrapped herself up in the robe, I asked, “What’s the deal here?”
The girl looked at the guy’s corpse on the bed. “You didn’t figure that out before you chopped his head in half?”
I shrugged. “Mostly. We saw the girls out back in the kennel.”
The girl looked through a back wall as though a window was there. “That’s where they keep us until they need us.”
“Need you?” I asked, stupidly.
“They do terrible things to us.”
“You don’t look bruised up or anything,” I observed.
The girl put a hand to her cheek as though touching an old wound. Emptily, she said, “You learn to cooperate.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
The girl looked back at the bed and we stood in awkward silence.
“I need to know you’re not going to hurt me,” I said.
She looked me up and down. “I need to know the same thing.”
I almost laughed. “Kind of a common problem these days, huh?”
She smiled. “Thank you for killing him. You did get them all, didn’t you?”
“Were there four?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then they’re all dead.” I used my machete to point through the open door. “My buddy, Murphy, is out there keeping watch for Whites coming up the driveway. He helped.”
“Whites?” The girl asked. “Your word for the infected?”
I nodded.
“You’re different than these,” she observed.
I shrugged again. “I got infected, but I’m okay, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“It’s hard to explain. My buddy, Murphy, he’s infected too. C’mon, we need to get out to the living room before Murphy gets worried.”
As we came into the living room near the shattered front door, I heard the distinct, but muffled, sound of Murphy’s suppressed M4. He was just outside standing behind a car with his weapon laying across the roof. Looking up at the end of the driveway, I spotted three bodies, but nothing moving.
“Just three Whites came?” I asked.
“That’s it.” Murphy glanced back at me and then at the girl. “I’m Murphy.”
“I’m Molly,” she said. “Thank you.” She walked outside and extended a hand to shake his.
Murphy looked at the hand. “You’re not worried about catching what I’ve got?”
With a look of disgust on her face, Molly glanced down at the dead man on the floor just inside the door. “I’m sure I’d have caught it already.”
“Guess not.” Murphy reached over and shook her hand.
To Molly, I said, “You’re probably immune. I think anybody who isn’t infected by now has to be immune.”
Molly just nodded and said, “I need to get my friends out.”
“Oh,” I looked toward the back of the house. “In the kennel. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking about them. Do you know where the keys are?”
Nodding, Molly knelt down and felt at the pockets of the prone man. “He’s probably got them.” She pulled a jingling key ring out and lifted it for me to see.
“You want me to tag along?” I asked.
The girl looked at me, deciding how to answer.
“You should go with her,” said Murphy.
The girl’s expression became suspicious. I said, “No, she’s cool.” To her, I said, “If any Whites are out there trying to come over the fence, don’t yell. Come in here and get me. Better yet—I handed her my pistol. “Use this, but only if you have to.”
The girl looked down at the pistol, extended to her grip-first. She took it, and I clenched my machete, ready to swing it if she decided that she was going to shoot me.
She gave me a nod. “I’ll be right back.” She ran for the back door.
Murphy said, “There’s nothing much happening here. I think we got lucky. Why don’t you go stand by the back door and keep on eye on her or something? If I get in a spot, I’ll holler.”
Chapter 38
It was mid-afternoon before one of us went up to the top of the driveway to pull the sliding gate shut. The gate—like the black metal fence all around the property—was only six feet tall and wouldn’t stop any determined mob of Whites, but it would keep out any that were casually passing by.
Some of the girls I’d initially spotted sitting in the kennel staring at the sky turned out to be dead. In total, there were four still alive. The first thing they did, even before food, was to bathe themselves in the pool through the water had turned green with algae. Afterward, they scrounged clothing from around the house and gorged themselves on a smorgasbord of canned foods and snack foods laid out on the dining room table. I’d already eaten by that time, so Murphy was taking a turn while I loaded boxes of food, ammunition, and weapons into the back of our Humvee.
Molly was helping with the chore and was handing me cans of fruit when she said, “I used to live about a half mile up the road.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, wedging items into the back seat as best I could.
“My husband, my son, and both my daughters turned,” she said.
It wasn’t an uncommon circumstance, so I didn’t comment.
“My husband went first. I think he brought it home from work. That was in the beginning, a couple of days after the riot at the jail.”
I was out of the Humvee by then, looking at Molly and thinking about my escape during the jail riot. “What did you do with your husband?” I asked.
She said, “He was sick for a few days before he went after my youngest daughter.”
I was afraid to ask what happened there, but Molly wasn’t afraid to tell it. “I guess I knew what to expect. I mean, it was all over the Internet by then. I just didn’t want to believe it. I was downstairs in the kitchen when she screamed.” Molly slowly shook her head. “I told Annie not to go upstairs into Daddy’s room, but you know how kids are.”
No. But I nodded anyway.
“I dropped what I was doing and ran upstairs. By that time I’d taken to carrying a gun—a silver revolver that Jim bought me for Christmas. He liked his guns a lot. I hated it. I was so angry at him for putting a gun under the Christmas tree.” Molly laughed as a few tears found their way down her cheeks. “So, I had the gun. I got to the top of the stairs. Jim Junior was right behind me, and Sara was coming. The bedroom door was open and Jim was on his knees on the floor over Annie. His mouth was covered with blood. He looked like one of those mistreated pit bulls that just mauled some kid on the news.”
I just looked at Molly. I didn’t have any words of comfort for h
er. But she didn’t need any. She just needed to tell her story, and maybe after enough tellings the pain of it would subside.
“I screamed at Jim to get away from her, but he just hunched lower and snapped his teeth.” Molly slowly shook her head again. “Jim Junior was trying to get around me. I don’t know what he thought he was going to do, but if he’d gone over to help Annie, Jim would have killed him too. Sara was screaming and screaming and screaming. I thought it would never end, and it didn’t, not until I pulled the trigger.” Molly fell silent.
“You shot your husband?” I asked.
Molly nodded. “I didn’t even realize I had the gun up. It just happened. I didn’t kill him with the first shot. It nicked his shoulder. But that only made him angry, and he jumped to his feet and came at us. I shot three more times.” Molly looked down at the ground and her tears rolled off her nose and dripped into a tiny puddle between her feet.
When she looked up again, she said, “When I got to Annie, she was bleeding so badly. I…I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was gushing out of her neck.” Molly gulped another breath. “She died right there in my bedroom.”
I laid a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “That had to be hard.”
She nodded. “You know, the police never even came. I called them. I called an ambulance. Nobody came.”
“I know,” I said.
“Jim Junior got sick after that. He never woke up. He died with the fever, thank God.” Molly shook her head and laughed bitterly. “How twisted is it when a mother is thankful that her son died of a fever?”
“It was better than the alternative.” Out of curiosity, I started, “After they died—” I paused, not sure whether to continue with the question.
“What did I do with the bodies?” Molly finished for me.