Charon's Blight: Day Two (the Rotting Souls series Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  Getting out of the truck, she didn’t latch the door, but left it open in case she came back on the run. She brought her rifle around and watched as Erik followed her lead. Together they approached the house, her eyes scanning the exterior for any sign of danger. It seemed as silent as the others, the silence overwhelming considering the death and destruction raining from the skies just miles distant. There was no outward sign that anything horrible was going on within; but she knew that appearances could be deceiving.

  After all, the Quickmart had looked innocent enough as well and she shuddered at the horrors it had held within. And again, here she was being invited in by an open front door; except this time, she would not go in unprepared.

  They crept up on it, standing on either side and peering in. There were three zombies that she could see milling about the living room. They didn’t seem to overly active, maybe they were just waiting for stimulus? Was it like that in all these homes; the restless dead just waiting for someone stupid enough to barge in on them? She cursed herself for not having something other than a rifle with her. If there were others, she’d surely announce their presence by shooting these fucks.

  Sighing heavily, not sure what else she could do, she brought weapon to bear.

  Erik was doing the same. She watched how the tip of his rifle kept dropping and wondered how much she could count on him with that arm wound of his. He’d be lucky to shoot straight and get more than one round off. The only time she had fired a weapon had been to shoot that rapist, and that had been an act of pure instinct. Here she had time to plan, to aim, and to slightly squeeze the trigger as her rifle bucked in her arms.

  Her first shot caught an undead maid in the head and plastered her insides on the dining room wall behind her. She turned her sights to the next and heard Erik’s gun go off. She felt sick; her suspicions had proved to be correct as she saw a puff of stuffing and watched as a pillow was blown apart by his shot.

  The other two had turned towards the sudden gunshots and their faces stretched in pleasure as they became aware of the new food source being offered them.

  Her blood was pumping as she took aim and fired again. The buck of the gun made her arm sore and she felt her aim slip, but she still took her mark in the upper part of the head and a business man with his throat ripped out found a new opening in his skull where his eyebrows had met. Now the top part of his head was gone and he pitched forward crashing into the side-tables by the couch.

  The third was an old man in gardening clothes, his gloves stretching forward as he leapt at them.

  “Fuck!” Erik swore, raising his gun. He hadn’t been able to get a second shot off and her third only winged the old man in the shoulder—he was within feet of her.

  A man with a knife dove through the living room and pounced onto the old man. The knife flashed repeatedly as the newcomer plunged it deep into the old man’s face; the zombie twitching once before forever going still.

  Breathing heavy, the man looked up at her with surprise and relief. “I was starting to think nobody was coming,” he said. He had a round face and dark hair and eyes. His middle was rounder than it should have been, but he had a strength about him that had been masked by the heavy clothes he wore. He looked around the room, then paused. “Where’s the fourth one?”

  Erik was screaming. An older lady had come up behind them while they were standing in the doorway and she realized they hadn’t cleared the sides of the house before trying the front door.

  The horror of it froze her in her tracks.

  The old lady was busy tearing into Erik’s throat, blood gushing everywhere and his eyes looked at her, pleading. She could smell urine in the air as Erik’s bladder let go and he beat at the old lady with his rifle, but she didn’t seem bothered; she couldn’t feel it, and Erik didn’t have the strength to dislodge her.

  A hole appeared in the lady’s head, then her head exploded. Her false teeth stayed clamped on Erik’s neck as she pulled free and fell backward. Erik fell to his knees, his clothes drenched, his moans inarticulate.

  She felt her strength returning and she bent down next to him. This could have been her; this was happening because of her carelessness. She knew to check all sides before entering a building. That front door had drawn them inward without the caution to check around the house first.

  She looked at the man with the knife, and noticed someone else that had stepped from the hallway and into view. She had dark skin but she wasn’t Hispanic. There was white in there mixed with something else, something Asian. She had a baby in one arm and a Colt in the other. Her long brown hair was pulled back and her brown eyes were intense.

  “I got the gun from our bedroom,” she told her husband, not looking at him. The little girl was crying and was curling against her mother, whose black blouse looked stained and wet; probably from the girl’s tears. It contrasted with her blue jeans, which were also soiled as well.

  Erik gasped and she turned and looked into his eyes. He was frightened and trying to get her to help him. All she could do was sit there, hold his hand, and stroke his curly black hair. The wound was too great; there was nothing she could do that would make a difference.

  He knew it, yet still he fought.

  She had spent so much time protecting him, had an insane asshole on her heels because of it, and now he was dying because she hadn’t taken the time to look around the side of the house? What kind of shit was that?

  He died in her arms, his eyes full of fear, and she felt her tears fighting to break loose. “I need a knife,” she told the man that had gone to stand next to his wife.

  He didn’t respond, only standing there and staring at them. They had come there to save them, yet in the end, they had saved her.

  “Take her,” the woman said, handing her daughter to the stunned father. Taking the knife from his hands, she came over, knelt beside her, then turned Erik onto his side.

  Sabrina reached out and held her friend steady as he began to spasm.

  The woman drove the knife deep into his skull from the rear and the spasms stopped. Body fluids were flowing, assaulting her senses, and a long belch escaped from Erik’s mangled throat. Overwhelming her, she leaned over and threw up.

  The woman at her side let her get it out, then gave her a long hug, soothing her.

  “Honey, I’m not sure we have time for this,” Mike said, juggling the kid from side to side. “If anything heard those shots—”

  The woman pushed herself away, looking her straight in the eye. “I’m Naima, you must be Sabrina. Wish we met under better circumstances but my husband is right. We need to get out of here.”

  She nodded and forced herself to her feet. Looking down on Erik, she felt the hope dry up in her. He had been her purpose, the reason she kept on going. She thought if she could save him, she could somehow save herself. Make up for all those people she had abandoned in her life. She felt numb and as she cast her eyes about, trying to find herself a new purpose, something to keep her moving.

  The little girl was watching her now with those puffy red eyes.

  That’ll do it.

  She stepped over Erik’s body and with a final look, turned and walked briskly to their truck. “You need to pack anything?” she asked the other woman, scanning the street, her fingers working on reloading her rifle.

  “Got all I need right there,” she said, pointing at her husband who had found the diaper bag and was following them out.

  “Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Chapter 35

  Confrontation

  Todd

  Morenci, AZ

  It had been a couple of hours since that sit down with Ben and even now it felt like it had only been minutes. He hadn’t told anyone else what they had discussed and he struggled with that decision as he stood on the mountainside looking down at the barricade below. His uncle was down there and he needed to get him to break away long enough so they could have a chat. He didn’t want to have this conversation in the op
en with all his friends hanging around, he wanted to find a nice quiet place to talk where no one else could listen or intervene.

  There were a dozen bulldozers lined up along the mountainside and enough men to operate them. They stood or sat in the shade, weapons at their sides, watching the road below.

  There was idle chat but most of the spirit was gone from it. They were all dealing with what the world was becoming; a world his friend helped to kill.

  A hand took his and he tried to grin, but couldn’t. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that his wife was looking at him with concern. He hadn’t told her any of it either, trying to work it out on his own. He didn’t want to burden her just yet.

  It had made for a quiet ride down from their new home. Nick and Caleb were with him as well; choosing to stay with their great-grandparents as his father tried to convince them to go with them. They had been resistant to the idea, having already moved once, and his grandfather didn’t even seem to realize who they were. He had to wonder at the wisdom of bringing them, if his grandfather turned ill—

  He was raising the walkie to talk to his uncle when a glint of sunshine flashed from below. A caravan of vehicles had rounded the curve to the south and was making its way towards the barricades. The men both below and above rose to their feet and picked up their weapons. It was odd to have such a large group traveling at once, most of what they had seen were stragglers just choosing random roads to travel on—and there had been very few of those.

  He counted more than ten vehicles, most of them trucks and looking overloaded with supplies; all of which had dark tarps over them to conceal their contents.

  “Should we go down there?” Monica asked, picking up on the increased movement the people below.

  He shook his head. “We wouldn’t get there in time to make much of a difference. We don’t even know who they are.” His eyes tracked the movements of the trucks and watched as they slowed to a stop a hundred feet from where his uncle had erected the barricade.

  As the doors opened on the lead vehicle, he felt his heart rate increase and his breathing catch. From this distance, he couldn’t make out too many details, but the body shapes and the way they moved—

  “Fuck me,” he said aloud and felt his wife’s hand tighten in his grasp. He squeezed then let go. Bringing his rifle up, he brought the scope up and took a good look at the two figures standing behind the truck doors, refusing to move out from behind them. The face glaring at the line of cars blocking the road was fierce and hardened, but easily recognizable.

  It was Robert.

  The other man was so big that it was easy to tell who he was even without the scope; Raleigh was riding with him.

  He was talking on the walkie even before he realized he had pressed the button. “Uncle James, do not let that man through!”

  Watching the scene below, he saw his uncle turn and look up at him, and the corresponding look he got from the men by the truck. He was sure that he was as easily seen from below as they were from above and he doubted Robert had any doubt who was standing on this mountainside.

  He trained his scope on his face and watched the smile spread; the excitement in his eyes flaming with delight. “James get out of there!”

  It was already too late; his uncle hadn’t picked up what he was saying or he was just too slow to realize he was in trouble. Robert made a motion to the cars behind and more than two dozen people emerged from the vehicles, all heavily armed. Each one of their weapons pointed at that barricade. He heard cries from the men behind those cars and their own weapons were held firmly, most taking as much cover as possible.

  There was a conversation going on down there and he wished he could hear it. What lies was Robert trying to sell in order to make his way past and up here to where he stood?

  He sighted along his rifle, looking to the bushes below for how the wind was blowing, and wondered if he could take a shot. The range was far beyond anything he had ever attempted and he was no expert marksman. The trajectory of the bullet was not something he could guarantee; but still, did he have a choice? Did he want to just stand there and watch his former co-worker slaughter his family?

  He wished Joseph was here, he’d be able to end this in a heartbeat.

  The decision was taken out of his hands as a rifle shot echoed across the canyon side and a bullet grazed his right cheek. Pain seared across his face and he screamed. From below he could hear the sudden pounding of guns and the breaking of glass; but all he could think of was the warm liquid running down his face and the pain cascading across his brain. Dropping to the ground, he held his hand to it, wincing and crying out as the pain flared even fiercer.

  His wife had dropped as well, but not to attend to him; she was firing her own rifle from a covered position. As were the other men on either side of them.

  He couldn’t see what was going on, but the screams and gunfire were echoing on all sides as he fumbled a maxi-pad out of his short pockets and pressed it to the wound. He knew that he must look ridiculous, but he didn’t give a shit. It was soaking up the blood and helping to compress the wound; that’s all he cared about. If it had been an inch or two to the left, he would be beyond caring and gone from this nightmare. As it was, his family was fighting, both above and below, and he needed to try and push past it to help them survive.

  He struggled to get his rifle around and positioned with the ground for support and felt the pain flare as he pressed his cheek against the stock, letting it hold the pad in place. His eyes were tearing and he rubbed them with his fingers, only to get blood in his eyes and turning his sight red for a few seconds.

  As it cleared, he sighted through his scope and the horror of the carnage below was devastating to him. Most of the people on either side were dead. Raleigh was nowhere to be seen, he was using the rear of the truck as cover. His uncle lay dead in the road, the walkie loose on the ground beside him. His cousin Jason was still firing, as were a couple of others, but they were all that was left.

  A crazy looking woman was shooting from the roof of a truck and he sighted his rifle and fired. He missed her head and took her in the knee. He could hear the anguished cry from where he sat and cursed as he sighted to shoot again, but she had rolled off the top of the truck and disappeared from sight.

  There were four others near the back, still popping off rounds, but one or two had just gotten in their trucks to wait it out. He could see the occasional bob of their heads and for a moment he thought of putting a shot through one of their windows.

  Whatever Robert had been expecting, this hadn’t been it. His people might have had a chance if his side hadn’t spent so much of their free time shooting beer cans and hunting deer. They weren’t new to shooting; they just weren’t used to being shot at.

  He could tell his cousin hadn’t paused to see that his father was down or his shooting might have been more erratic. As it was, he was taking the time to aim before he fired and had probably done most of the damage to Robert’s men.

  He wasn’t the only one that had that thought because at that moment, Robert ran to the cab of the truck and jumped in the front seat. The engine roared to life and even though Todd put a shot through the windshield, the truck surged forward; launching itself into the barricade.

  Two of the men tried to get out of the way but the impact drove the cars together and he heard a horrifying crunch. His cousin threw aside his rifle and pulled out a handgun, waiting for Robert to emerge from the crumpled truck. A shot rang out and Jason took one in the chest, falling off the back of the car he was on and into the dirt and out of sight.

  A few people in the rear were still taking cover from the people shooting alongside him, but Robert got out of the truck and stood on the road, staring at where his cousin had fallen. Around him bodies were beginning to come to life, returning from the dead. He walked over to his uncle, who had begun to rise up on his knees, and fired his gun, killing the old man again.

  He went to the walkie, picked it up, then turned
to face the mountainside and the men above. “You’re next Todd.”

  The walkie was lying in the dirt beside him and he struggled to grasp it in his shaking hands; not from fear but from rage. The movement caused the wound in his face to flare and bleed some more. He’d have to get another pad out of his pocket; the one he had been using was already soaked through. “The hell I am. You will never make it up this mountain. That was my family down there and I have no trouble killing you where you stand—right now.”

  “If you could have taken the shot, you would have by now,” came the response over the walkie, and the truth behind those words stung. “You can always stop firing, let us come up there. You and I can sit down and have a nice long chat.”

  “Fuck you,” he whispered into the walkie, put it down, then focusing on Robert through his scope. He let out a long breath and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out and his breath caught, watching for the impact. Dirt puffed up from the cliff wall behind the bloodied black man; who glanced behind him then broke out laughing.

  “That the best you got?” Robert asked, motioning for rest of his men to come forward and help clear the road.

  The others in his group were still firing but they weren’t really hitting anything. It was just too far for them to shoot accurately. The only thing they could hope for was a lucky shot.

  He looked at them, wondering if they should just charge down the hill and try to finish this right now. They couldn’t take the chance of Robert getting up here.

  That’s when his eyes caught sight of the yellow monstrosities they were hiding under and suddenly he was on his feet, the maxi-pad stuck to his face, as he yelled for the others to get up.

  Quickly the other men were on their feet, looking to him for orders on what to do next.

  “Get in the dozers!” he commanded, his mind racing.

  There was no need to tell them what to do, after all, this was the only reason they were up on this mountainside to begin with. There was a sharp incline five feet in front of the gigantic vehicles and enough dirt and rock piled up in front of them to completely trash the road below.