The Complete Lethal Infection Trilogy

by Tony Battista

Alan tried to think of something, anything to say, but Kim leaned down and slashed with her knife, ripping him open from crotch to ribcage. As he screamed in pain and terror, her knife flashed again and again, mutilating his genitals before hacking them off completely. Kim held the mangled flesh in her hand as she stared down at the dying man.

  “I will never be a victim again,” she said as she smashed the bloody mess into his face.

  Grisly deed accomplished, Kim wiped the blade on Alan’s shirt, yanked the arrow free, picked up the .45 and walked away, back toward the house, without a backward glance while he wept and pleaded for her to finish him off.

  . . .

  The other members of the farm family watched silently as Kim strolled up the driveway. Her face and clothing were splattered with blood, her right hand and arm up to the elbow still dripping. No one commented as she walked around the side of the house, heading for the washbasin in back.

  “I saw what you did,” Kate confronted her, binoculars still hanging by the strap around her neck. “Was that necessary?”

  “You saw,” Kim answered, peeling off her blouse, “but you didn’t hear what he said about what they were going to do to us, to me.”

  Kate watched quietly as Kim washed the blood from her face and hands. She dried off with a towel, picked up her blouse and bow and turned to leave when Kate caught her arm.

  “Was it necessary? You could have killed him with an arrow, finished it quickly and cleanly. Did you have to do it the way you did?”

  “It wasn’t quick and it wasn’t clean,” Kim looked her directly in the eye, unblinking, “but it was very satisfying.”

  Kate said nothing; there was nothing more she could say. She released Kim’s arm and watched her as she walked into the house. After a moment, she headed off into the brush, found Alan still moaning and weeping on the ground and put a bullet through his forehead.

  Chapter 15: Fast Learner

  Tad looked over his ragtag band and worried. Despite picking up more drones in the last few days, they were still fewer in number than before they attacked and burned the house. Many of them were nearly naked by now, clothes having rotted away or been ripped and shredded by brush and thorns and doing battle amongst themselves as well as with non-infected. A disturbing number of them had ugly, festering sores, cuts and gouges, scrapes and bruises. Their lack of any sense of sanitation was contributing to a high death rate; they were dying off faster than new recruits were joining them. Added to this was the realization that their precious supply of flaming liquid was now gone and he had no idea where to find more, except around their prey.

  In two days of slow travel along the road, three more drones died from exhaustion and exposure and another fourteen during an attack on a trio of campers parked in a triangle, crates, stumps and debris filling in the gaps between them. Eleven more drones joined them during that time but several of them were in desperate shape. Tad searched the ruined camp in vain looking for more gasoline and made sure to destroy any weapons he found.

  While the rest of his band fed on the poor souls who’d perished there as well as their own dead, he toyed with the rifle he’d taken earlier from the farm house. He held it the way he’d seen it done, butt against his shoulders, hands in the approximate positions and found that his finger seemed to fit naturally inside the trigger guard. Experimentally, he pulled the trigger and the weapon barked and he felt it jerk against his shoulder. A hole appeared in the side of the camper where the barrel was pointed and some part of his mind remembered doing this before, firing a gun at a large animal sometime in the past. He swung the barrel until it lined up on a particularly haggard looking female and squeezed the trigger again. Again, the weapon barked and kicked. The bullet hit her in the chest and she went down after a moment of shock and astonishment.

  Tad pointed the rifle at the camper again and fired twice more, but the next time he pulled the trigger nothing happened. He tried it several more times without success and was puzzled that it no longer seemed to function. He shook the weapon in frustration and slapped it with his hand a couple of times but to no avail. While members of his band fell upon the stricken female, he carefully examined the rifle, trying to remember something that seemed to be in the back of his mind, something about only being able to use a weapon for so long before doing something else to it to make it keep working. Many minutes later, his thumb found a button that moved under pressure and a box just in front of the trigger guard loosened and moved a bit. He grabbed the magazine and slid it out, turning it over and over in his hands and looking down into the slot where it fit into the rifle.

  This was it. There was something about this metal box that would make the rifle fire again, if only he could remember. Then he noticed the spent shell casings on the ground around him. He’d been only vaguely aware of them being ejected with each shot, but something clicked in his mind once he picked them up and took a closer look at them. He went to the big stump where he’d smashed the other rifles and examined them. One of them looked similar to the one he’d saved and he was able to eject a damaged magazine from it. It still held a few bullets and he studied how they fit inside. After searching the campground and what was left of the ravaged corpses, he came up with two more full magazines and several dozen loose bullets of the same type used by his rifle. There were more bullets of different types, but he somehow knew they wouldn’t be of any use at that time. It took him a while, but he finally figured out how to insert bullets into the empty magazine and, when it seemed like no more would fit inside it, he managed, after several attempts, to fit the magazine back into its slot.

  He raised the rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger, but, again, nothing happened. Frustrated and angry, he pulled the magazine out and unsuccessfully tried several other ways of putting it back in the rifle. He tried the other magazines, but still the gun wouldn’t fire. There was some other step that had to be taken and he was trying to remember, but one of his lieutenants got his attention and he noticed that the band was getting restless now that the feeding was over and he grudgingly led them away from the camp. Carrying the rifle in one hand, he realized he couldn’t carry both spare magazines as well as the loose ammunition in the other until he recalled how he’d found the lighter in the pocket of the green-brown man and, for the first time since his infection, discovered just how handy pockets could be. There would be time later to ponder over how to make the rifle fire again. For now, he had to keep the band moving.

  Later on, after they’d stopped for the night, the full moon on a clear night provided enough light for Tad to study the rifle more closely. It followed that there had to be some way the bullets moved from the magazine into the rifle, ready to be fired when the trigger was pulled. He wasn’t tired at all, the problem before him absorbed all his attention and he ejected and re-inserted the magazine several times trying to figure it out. A small lever near the trigger guard moved when he pushed on it, seeming to have three distinct positions, none of which enabled the gun to fire. Experimentally, he began toying with other parts of the rifle, looking for other moving parts when he discovered he could pull back on a knob that made a slot on the right side of the rifle open up. Looking down into the opening, he saw one of the bullets moved up into place when the slide opened and he released the knob. Excited, he put the rifle to his shoulder again and pulled the trigger. Still nothing happened and he wondered if he’d somehow broken the gun. After a few more minutes of fiddling with the rifle, he remembered moving the small lever to a different position and, using his thumb, moved it until it clicked and locked into place. When he pulled the trigger again, the rifle fired and bucked against his shoulder. He pulled it again and once more and two more shots fired.

  His face broke into a wide grin, even though he wasn’t consciously aware of it doing so and he knew he’d solved the mystery. Pushing the lever back again, he found that the rifle wouldn’t fire with it in that position. He moved it again and was able to fire off another couple of shots. Out of curio
sity, he moved the lever to the third position and pulled the trigger. This time, the gun fired bullet after bullet, so rapidly he was taken aback and dropped the weapon to the ground. Several drones and one of the alphas stared at him, wondering what was happening, knowing only that the sound represented danger. Tad picked up the rifle gingerly and looked it over for a minute before putting the butt to shoulder again and pulling the trigger once more. He found that the gun continued to fire as long as he held the trigger back until the magazine was empty. Ejecting the spent mag, he inserted a fresh one and pulled the trigger again, releasing it after a five round burst. The he moved the lever back to the center positon and squeezed the trigger to find that it fired only once until he released it and pulled it again. He looked around at the curious faces staring at him, raised the rifle high above his head in one hand, and shouted in triumph. Grinning from ear to ear, he felt he could now take on the world.

  Chapter 16: Raid on the Farm

  It was mid-afternoon a day later when Frank returned to the bandit camp with his men and he helped them carry several rifles, two shotguns and three pistols into Gabe’s RV, along with two gym bags laden with boxes of ammunition and spare magazines while the rest of the men unloaded crates of food and bottled water.

  “Damn fine work! How’d you come up with all this?” Gabe commended him.

  “We came across a little sporting goods store tucked away at the back of an old shopping mall that looked like nobody’d touched it yet and we found more food and supplies at another store there too. We hit two other gun shops and a sheriff’s office, but somebody already looted one of the shops. We got about five hundred 5.56s, three hundred 7.62s, I don’t even know how many .22s and about two hundred for the hunting rifles. Altogether, we also found another four hundred rounds for the pistols and eight boxes of shotgun shells. Oh, I found a spare magazine for your Uzi, too.”

  “You’re the man, all right!”

  “And,” Frank added, reaching back into the bag, “I found this, too; a telescope sight!”

  “No shit,” Gabe was suitably impressed at the size of the scope. “Hey, Dan,” he yelled. “Get your ass over here!”

  Dan came running up and Gabe handed over the scope to him.

  “Can we use this on one of the rifles?”

  “I think so,” Dan said, turning the optic over in his hands. “This is a fine scope! I think I can mount it to that .458 Winchester. Yeah, this’ll make it a nice sniper rifle. We’ve only got about thirty rounds for it and I’ll have to take a few shots to zero it in after mounting it but, yeah, this’ll work!”

  “You think you can pick off that bitch sniper from the roof from far enough away she don’t spot you first?”

  “If I can get within four hundred yards, she’s dead meat!”

  “You take her down and I’ll let you have first pick of any women we take from that farmhouse, except that little slant. You can have her after I’m done, if you still want her.”

  “I’ll take it out now and dial it in!” Dan said enthusiastically.

  Gabe watched, smiling, as Dan trotted off with his prize.

  “You really giving him first pick?” Frank asked him.

  “If he holds up his end, I am. He’s a pain in the ass, but nobody here handles a rifle like him. And I always keep a bargain.”

  “We might not be able to take any of them alive. They’ve been around a while and must have seen a lot of action. I’ve got a feeling they won’t give up no matter what.”

  “As long as she’s still warm, I’m gonna have me some of that young stuff. You don’t approve of that, do you? I can tell by the way you’re lookin’ at me.”

  “I don’t have much in the way of scruples, but I’m not fucking a corpse. You do what you want.”

  “That’s right. I do what I want,” Gabe glared menacingly at him until he turned away.

  The first rifle shot sounded about five minutes later followed, at intervals, by five more shots. Dan reported that the scope was perfect and ready to go whenever Gabe decided to hit the farm.

  “Tomorrow,” he said simply. “After supper tonight, everyone get a good night sleep and we’ll start out early in the morning while it’s still dark. I want to hit them right at dawn, before they’re wide-awake, maybe catch some of them still in bed. As soon as Dan takes out that cunt on the roof, I want men advancing from at least two directions.”

  “That’s how I’m figuring,” Frank agreed. “If we hit from two directions at the same time, half the men in each group can charge while the other half puts down covering fire, making the people in the house keep their heads down. We’re gonna lose men, but I think we can take the house. If Dan takes out the sniper.”

  “He’d better,” Gabe growled.

  . . .

  Frank divided the men into two groups; he’d lead one himself while Chuck took charge of the other and they headed out before sunrise, leaving Doc Henry behind to look after Nate. One of their pickups broke down on the way there and nothing they tried would get it started again. They finally abandoned it and moved on, only to have a tire go flat on another vehicle a few miles down the road. The spare was also flat and they had to check the other vehicles to find a match, burning up more time as Gabe fumed and cursed.

  At last, long after the sun rose, they arrived at a position close enough to leave their vehicles but far enough away to be completely out of sight. After a short discussion, they decided that Bernie and Lou were the two least useful men in a fight (utterly fucking worthless were Gabe’s exact words) and detailed them to keep watch over the vehicles while the rest attacked the farmhouse.

  The two groups separated and cautiously advanced toward the house, expecting a hail of gunfire at every step. They each reached a point about four hundred yards away and waited for a reaction. None of them could see any activity around the house or grounds and, a few yards at a time, worked their way even closer. All the men were finally in position about two and a half hours after dawn; Frank’s group about two hundred yards from the house to the west with Chuck’s men nearly two hundred fifty to the east. Dan had already found a spot in the thick overgrowth well across the road, nearer five hundred yards than four and he was only waiting for Gabe to give him the go-ahead. When he figured enough time had passed for everyone to get into position, Gabe nodded to Dan and he panned the scope across the roof, centering the platform in his sights. No one was there and he supposed the sentry must be taking a piss or they were in the middle of shift change. He scanned the front of the house and the open yard and saw no signs of life. Ten minutes passed, and still there was no movement. Gabe crouched next to him with a powerful pair of binoculars and cursed quietly as he studied the scene.

  “They must have seen us coming,” he said, disgustedly. “They’re lying low, just waitin’ for us to show ourselves.”

  “I don’t see anyone at any of the windows, either,” Dan said. “Our guys are way closer than you told them to get and nothin’s happening. Something’s wrong, that’s for sure.”

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Gabe muttered. “I’m gonna work my way over to Frank. You keep watching and, if you see anyone at all, put a bullet in ‘em.”

  Dan nodded and Gabe stole off into the brush. It took him better than twenty minutes to make his way to Frank’s position, being careful the whole time to conceal himself from the view of any possible watchers at the house. Frank had his own set of binoculars and was plainly puzzled and frustrated that he’d seen no sign of the occupants.

  “What the hell’s happening, Frank? Where the fuck are they?”

  “Man, I don’t see a damned thing! It’s almost like there’s nobody there!”

  “What, they just picked up and left? After all the work they put into this place? They gotta still be there. They gotta! Fire a burst at the porch and let’s see if we can’t stir something up!”

  Frank fired a short burst and when nothing seemed to happen, fired a longer one at Gabe’s urging.

  “The
re just ain’t any sign of them, Gabe! Nothin’s movin’, no sounds! I don’t see any cars now either. I’m gonna move on up and take a closer look.”

  “No, you ain’t! You send a couple of the boys up there, just in case they’re waitin’ for us. Send Matt and Howie. I don’t mind losin’ them so much.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  Gabe shot him a stern look meant to reinforce that there should be no doubt about that.

  Frank summoned the two men and instructed them to work their way closer, staying under whatever scant cover they could find. Unenthusiastically, the men moved forward and slowly advanced on the house. They crossed the open ground in front of the outer ring of defenses and still nothing happened. Matt vaulted a low fence and dropped into a three-foot deep hole dug into the ground and covered with a loose weaving of sticks camouflaged with leaves and dirt. He shrieked as he landed on the sharpened stakes at the bottom and screamed for help at the top of his lungs. Howie flattened himself and waited for the expected fusillade of fire, but all was quiet except for the wailings of his unfortunate comrade. Matt’s screams faded into crying and whimpering as Howie gathered his courage and began moving again, giving no thought to trying to aid his fallen comrade. He made it to the porch and cowered beside the railroad ties stacked against the outer wall of the house. The barriers on the windows made it impossible for him to enter there and they were hung with heavy cloth so he couldn’t see through them. The front door stood ajar and he sidled along the wall and gave a quick glance inside. He didn’t see anything and carefully took a longer look, finding no sign of any inhabitants. The big front room seemed empty and he thought that the people living there must have abandoned the place or he would be dead by now.

  Emboldened, he kicked open the door and stepped across the threshold in a crouch, swinging the barrel of his rifle quickly from left to right and back again. Too late, he realized he’d triggered a trip wire and cursed his own stupidity for not noticing it as he watched the spring loaded handle of the grenade skitter across the floor. He stared at it in horror just a moment too long before starting to turn to run away. The explosion sent hot metal fragments through his yielding flesh and hurled his mangled corpse off the porch to land in the dirt at the bottom of the steps.