Bernie was twenty feet away when the first drone pounced on Lou, who was frantically trying to break his bonds. He screamed curses at Bernie as jagged, broken teeth sank into the soft flesh of his neck and shoulder and continued screaming in agony as others fell upon him and began devouring him.
Eyes streaming with tears, Bernie ran blindly away from the grisly scene, moving into the woods on the opposite side of the road, stumbling, falling, picking himself up and running again as fast as his legs would pump. Mercifully, the screams lasted only a minute or so, but they still echoed in his ears when he finally fell, exhausted, to the ground and gulped deep breaths of air into his lungs. His heart pounded violently as he looked around in a panic to see if he’d been followed. Head swimming, vision blurred, he rubbed his eyes, sobbing, panting until he regained his breath, then stood up slowly, scanning his surroundings. He was alone; alone, lost and unarmed but for his pocketknife and he was terrified.
After wandering aimlessly for some time, he again found the road and began heading in what he thought was the direction of the bandit encampment, hoping they’d take him back in, hoping he’d actually live long enough to make it there. He walked for hours, walked until his legs, still burning from his panicked run, refused to go any farther. His feet hurt, his bloody wrists ached and there was a tightness in his chest that refused to go away. His stomach growled after a long day with nothing to eat and thirst tortured his throat but he had neither food nor drink with him. Darkness was still a few hours away but he found he could not go on any further and he found a tree with a wide fork about twelve feet up and he struggled to climb it, nestling in the fork and praying he wouldn’t fall out into the waiting arms of the infected during the night.
The late morning sun awakened him and he sat motionless and quiet as he checked the area for infected, longing for the luxury of sleeping still more but knowing he had to keep moving. Satisfied he was alone, he climbed down and stretching his aching muscles, trying to work the stiffness away, he headed back toward the road. The sun was already hot on his balding head and he was desperate with thirst when he came to a small bridge that spanned a tiny stream. The trickle of water flowing there was muddy and brackish, but he didn’t care and drank greedily. There was a bandanna in his back pocket and he soaked it in the stream and tied it around his head, giving him some relief from the sun’s heat before he continued on his way.
Hours later, he recognized the turnoff and knew he was only a few miles from their encampment. He approached it warily but, beyond some trash and debris and one car with the hood open, it was abandoned. Cursing his luck, he searched the area for anything left behind that might serve as a weapon but was sorely disappointed until he found a tire iron in the car’s trunk. He also found someone’s forgotten stash of granola bars and ate three of them, stuffing another seven into his pockets even though he felt he could easily have eaten them all. Reluctantly, he walked away from the site, the tire iron in one hand and an empty plastic jug in the other; if he happened upon another source of water, he could at least carry some away with him. There were houses and a small village, not much more than a wide spot in the road, really, further along and he hoped he’d have better luck there.
. . .
When the tired gang reached their encampment, Gabe growled out orders that they should move out early the next morning, grudgingly allowing most of his remaining men to ride in his RV while the rest crowded into the three cars still in working order. His mood was beyond foul. Only a few days earlier, he’d had forty men under his command. After the abortive raid on the farmhouse, he had twenty-nine left, two of whom would need at least a week to recover from their injuries, and Doc Henry expected Nate to pass away from blood loss and fever in another day or so. He wanted revenge; he wanted to satisfy his bloodlust on the people who’d inflicted so many casualties on his small army. He wanted their weapons, their ammunition, their food and supplies, and he wanted their women, especially the sniper who wounded Nate. She would beg for death before he was through with her.
He thought about the young, Asian girl he’d seen through the glasses, about the things he would do to her, and he smiled evilly. Maybe he’d share her and maybe he wouldn’t. It all depended on how many women they could take alive and how long they would last once his men started in on them.
Gabe directed Frank to drive by an auto dealership he remembered from before the infection, where they told him his credit was no good and refused to sell him a car. He’d take as many cars as he wanted, now, and maybe burn the place to the ground while he was at it. They passed a few small groups of infected, never more than four or five, and a number of loners, but no threats large enough to slow them down.
A handful of infected roamed the car lot and the gang dispatched them with axes and crowbars, forbidden by their leader from using firearms. Gabe looked out across the expanse of asphalt at over a hundred cars and trucks, about half of which were new at the time of the infection. In the showroom, he found a Silverado pickup, a Tahoe SUV and two new Impalas and immediately decided to abandon the unwieldy RV if he could get the Tahoe running. A search turned up a key cabinet and all the showroom vehicles started up with surprisingly little trouble.
The men were tired and dispirited after their humiliation at the farmhouse and the long trek back to their encampment and, at Frank’s urging, Gabe consented to allow a day of rest before moving out again. The rest of the gang went out to pick out their own vehicles, each man wanting a ride of his own, but Gabe quashed that notion quickly, picking out a big passenger van and a couple of Suburbans to carry the majority of his diminished band. He’d ride in the Tahoe while Frank drove. Chuck and two of his pals took the Silverado, Doc one of the Impalas with Dave keeping an eye on him and Dan and another man took the other car. It took some coaxing to get the van running and one of the Suburbans kept sputtering and stalling and they had to pick different one, but they were on their way three days later with full gas tanks and spare tires piled up in the back of the Silverado.
They had no idea where Jake’s group had gone or in which direction they were headed, but Gabe still guessed they would be heading for Hollington, since he’d seen the 350 and the Hummer along that road some days earlier. They drove off in that direction, hoping that perhaps some delay had them stalled on the road and in a position where they were vulnerable to ambush. No such fortune smiled upon them, though and they eventually reached the last turn in the road before coming within sight of the Hollington walls. Frank pulled to the side of the road and the rest of the convoy pulled off behind him. All the men exited their vehicles, some slipping off into the trees to answer nature’s call while others, not caring, voided in the middle of the road.
Frank and Gabe, both carrying rifles, along with two other men similarly armed, went walking up the road to get a view of the compound. They’d gone a hundred yards or so and were just coming well into the arc of the curve when a rifle shot kicked up a chunk of pavement two feet to Gabe’s left. Almost immediately, another shot tore into the road just to Frank’s right. All four men stopped dead and everything was silent for several tense seconds. Another shot hit the road twenty feet in front and slightly to the left of them, followed by still another fifteen feet out and to the right. Three more shots advanced along the road toward them as they turned running back to the cars in sheer panic. Five more of his men came charging up the road and, despite Gabe’s shouted commands, began to fire in the direction from which they thought the shots originated. One took a bullet in the thigh, a second took one in the stomach and a third lost two fingers of his right hand before they stopped in shock and turned back. A fourth man suffered a deep crease on his buttock before they rounded the curve once again and were out of danger.
Gabe roundly cursed the men for their stupidity and for ignoring his orders to go back. While Henry tended the man with the severed fingers and the one with the wounded butt moaned and whimpered, Gabe found a long branch, tied a once-white handkerchief to it and, after
a few threats and a couple of slaps, gathered four men and led them, all unarmed, back to where their two comrades lay bleeding on the pavement. White flag preceding him, Gabe cautiously rounded the curve again, waving the stick slowly, and the five men advanced into the open. No shots greeted them and they picked up the man with the belly wound and supported the one with the wounded leg and turned back toward the rest of the band. Gabe looked out toward the hidden snipers and grudgingly acknowledged them with a curt wave of his hand before following his men back to safety.
. . .
Brooke and Kate watched the men disappear around the bend from their tree-stand perches about twenty yards apart, hidden well back in the woods. Seeing a pair of cars driving up from Hollington, they climbed down and assured the armed reinforcements that everything was under control before getting into their own vehicle and starting back for the compound.
“Your intuition was right,” Kate told Brooke. “I don’t know what made you ask me to join you keeping an eye on the road today, but it sure paid off.”
“That was some fine shooting,” Brooke commented while Kate drove. “I’ve been at this for a while and I don’t think I could have done any better myself.”
“I liked the looks on their faces after the first shot,” Kate chuckled. “They didn’t know whether to run or cry or wet themselves.”
“Looks like they did all three, if you ask me. …I thought we were just going to scare them off, maybe wing one or two if we had to, until you popped that one in the belly.”
“He had me spotted. One of his shots clipped the leaves right above my head and it made me mad. They’re just lucky it wasn’t Kim who was with you instead of me.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed the way she is around men. Is there a story behind that?”
Kate glanced at her and looked back at the road.
“Nothing I want to go into right now.”
“You know,” Brooke continued a few moments later, “Joaquin is really smitten with Kim.”
Kate shot her a sharp look and Brooke knew she’d touched a nerve.
“I didn’t think she was exactly being subtle about not wanting his attention,” Kate’s voice held repressed anger. “Maybe I should make it clear to him myself!”
“There’s no need to do anything rash! Joaquin is a good guy! He’s certainly not the kind to force himself on a girl who isn’t interested!”
“If he even…” Kate stopped and took a moment to calm down before continuing. “If you value this man’s life, and I mean his very life, you’ll tell him to back off. Kim’s been hurt before, but she’ll never let anyone hurt her again.”
“But Joaquin isn’t like that at all!”
Kate stopped the car in the middle of the road and turned to face Brooke.
“Let me make this clear,” she said evenly. “Kim has been hurt by men. Both of us have been brutally used by men. Neither of us is interested in men anymore. Kim has warned him once already and if you knew her, you’d realize how much restraint that took. She won’t warn him again. I am deadly serious about this. I know what she’s capable of and I’m telling you that Joaquin needs to leave her alone, no matter how honorable his intentions may be.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea about any of this. I’ll talk with Joaquin as soon as we get back, but, believe me, he really is one of the good guys.”
“I believe you. I’ll talk to Kim, too. She can be kind and compassionate and a wonderful friend, but she has very little tolerance for unwelcome attention. You might want to let the word out.”
Brooke nodded and Kate shifted back into drive and continued toward Hollington.
“I… I really didn’t have any idea you and Kim were, uh, involved in that way.”
“Does it make a difference?”
“Well, yeah! I mean, not to me personally, but I don’t think Joaquin… If the men at Hollington knew, I’m sure they’d steer clear of both of you.”
Kate threw a quick glance at her.
“I mean, they wouldn’t try to bother you, you know? I, well, I’d never mention it to anyone on my own…”
“We’re not ashamed or embarrassed about our relationship. I don’t care if everyone else knows. If it’ll keep them from trying to get too friendly, then by all means, spread the word.
“And, while we’re on the subject of getting too friendly, Jake is off-limits, too. You’ve been pretty obvious with the attention you’ve shown him. He and Vickie are a couple, period, and she’s more than capable of defending her turf. Beyond that, Kim is very protective of him too and you really don’t want to get on her bad side.”
“Wow. I guess I had that coming. Still, he hasn’t come right out and told me to back off.”
“I like you, Brooke, so I’m going to give you some friendly counsel: You’re wasting your time pursuing Jake. He may not have told you in so many words but believe me he isn’t interested in you. Nothing and no one is going to separate him from Vickie.”
“…Not even Carolyn?”
Kate stopped the car again and glared at her.
“What are you getting at?”
“The night Jake had his operation I was just getting off guard duty when I saw Vickie and Carolyn slipping off while Jake and Pete were sleeping. I was curious and followed them. I didn’t have to use any imagination; I saw them together.”
“Did you get a thrill out of that, out of spying on them? Maybe you’d like to peek in the window sometime on me and Kim!”
“I followed them because it was my duty to look into anything suspicious, and two relative strangers sneaking off together in the middle of the night was suspicious!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s no secret either. Jake and Pete both know they had a relationship.”
“’Had one’? It seems to me they still have.”
“What of it? If you think this makes any difference, you’re wrong!”
“Maybe I am. Maybe it is a waste of time.” Brooke looked out her side window and said no more.
Kate chewed her lower lip for a moment before shifting back into drive and continuing down the road. She didn’t believe for a minute that this was the end of it.
Chapter 19: The Substation
Once he’d figured out the operation of the rifle, Tad was anxious to put it to use against the survivors of the plague. Most of the towns they were now encountering, which his natural instinct told him were supposed to hold concentrations of people, were deserted. They’d surrounded and taken small groups, three or four people at most, totaling just enough victims to keep the edge off their voracious appetites, and one lone man who fancied himself a survivalist. He’d done all right for himself as long as he avoided the infected, but Tad’s band, now hovering close to a hundred again, simply overwhelmed him.
Eventually, they found the farmhouse recently deserted by Jake’s group of survivors. The bodies of the bandit gang killed by booby traps were days old by then, but still more than fresh enough for their macabre appetites and altered metabolisms. Tad could sense that once there were a much larger number of people there. The house itself was nothing but smoldering ruins but the outbuildings still carried strong traces of human scent.
Tad picked up his prized rifle after gorging himself and waited until his band finished picking over the remains of the unlucky bandits and led them up the road once more. They found the gruesome remnants of Lou, Bernie’s former partner, in a small roadside clearing half a mile further along. Again, he could sense that a large number of people had gathered here in the not too distant past and, hopeful of catching up to them, increased the groups pace, trying to follow the scent trail. The strongest trail led directly along the road, but a fainter scent went off into the overgrowth and it seemed obvious that the infected who’d fed on Lou had followed this trail. They continued along the road until the fading light made travel difficult and he called a halt. Some of the newer members of the party refused to bed down for the night, but most were conditioned to accept his direction
and a few even made makeshift beds of leaves or curled up on soft grass. The infected that survived more than a year after the outbreak, even though hopelessly stunted intellectually by normal standards, were the most adaptable, the cleverest, and the fastest learners. Even now natural selection was still weeding out the more stupid, the careless and the weak, improving the herd, so to speak, and making them that much more dangerous.
However, time was also taking its toll on the infected. Most of them exhibited oozing sores on bodies burned and ravaged by sun and wind. The ones who retained any clothing at all wore shredded rags, which rotted away day by day. Every day two or more of them fell by the wayside, no longer able to continue on withered legs and bare, ruined feet worn raw from endless travels.
Another day of traveling brought them by the car dealership only hours after Gabe’s band departed. Tad found the gas can left behind by Pete and overlooked by the bandits and smiled. Still more miles saw no further new recruits added, but nearly a dozen dropouts. Some part of Tad’s mind began to feel a sense of melancholy, a perception that he and his band were doomed. The desperation born of this feeling of hopelessness at first disheartened him but, ultimately compelled him to drive the drones even harder toward their ultimate fate in the expectation of one final, glorious, triumphal feast before their inevitable end.
The Complete Lethal Infection Trilogy Page 40