Sam’s only clue to JR’s location was the sign near Charlie’s place pointing to the scrapyard; he hoped Riley Hooper was part of that bunch. But if that was the right place, he figured driving up that road would likely get him killed before he could accomplish a rescue. The women’s only hope was for him to attack from hiding after nightfall. At that moment, he wished he was a bit older and had bad assed military training. Instead he’d do the best he could with who he was and hope to hell that was enough. If he wasn’t up to it, he’d die trying.
Riley Hooper stared at the rearview mirror and locked eyes with JR as he drove. “You’re gonna pay for warning that guy who murdered my brothers and two of their friends. Yeah bitch, you are gonna pay, and pay, and pay some more until I’m tired of your ass.”
“Your pervert brothers got what was coming to them for attacking me. And you can bet your ass Sam will come after you too. You’ll regret doing this.”
“Let him come. Then I’ll dump both your bodies in town to rot like he did Darrell and Patrick’s. Mutilating Darrell’s body was bad enough; but not burying them was way too far over the top. One of my friends saw you park their truck in town with their bodies laid out in the back to rot in the sun like garbage. I want your Sam and want him bad, and you’re the bait I’ll catch him with.”
“Be careful of what you wish for; you might get it in spades.” JR knew instinctively it wouldn’t be wise to brag that she and Sam had each killed one of Riley’s brothers. From what he’d blurted at Sam, she and Mona were already in for harsh treatment. Riley seemed determined to carry out what his two brothers couldn’t accomplish. Her stomach churned at the thought of the abuse she and Mona would be forced to endure in a rough and tumble gang bang with God only knew how many assholes standing in line. But she also knew she’d survive and seek deadly retribution if an opportunity presented itself. Sam was right again when he predicted what their future would likely hold. Once again they were being forced by violent people to resort to equal violence in order to live. And if she was destined to die at this scumbag’s hands, she planned to go out fighting and take him with her if possible.
While changing the truck tire, Sam reviewed his options. They were slim to none. He supposed Hooper lived where the salvage yard sign pointed. He could race up the road and charge them head on and likely get riddled by shooters waiting for him. Or he could sneak up on them and attack one or two at a time. That wouldn’t work as long as they had hostages to torture or murder. He wasn’t a Special Forces trained soldier and would likely get killed and not save JR or Mona with a frontal attack. He needed help but didn’t have any backup. He fervently wished his dad was alive to advise and assist him.
He was driving back toward the cabin at ten when a thought hit him. Maybe help was nearby. Sam made a mad dash from the truck to the Kubota and then sped recklessly to the cabin. Smokey fell to the floor as Sam hit the breaks to miss a pothole. He had one avenue of hope to get help. A small backpack was filled with extra ammunition, bottled water, and minimal food and other supplies to last two days. If his current plan didn’t work, he would be forced to attack Hooper’s bunch head on by himself, regardless of the outcome. He and Smokey set off walking deeper into the woods to the north of the cabin. Every ten minutes he stopped and yelled, “BRODIEEE.” He yelled loudly three times, then moved on.
At three that afternoon they stopped to eat and refill two clear plastic water bottles at a small, clean spring. Sam was worried. If he didn’t find Brodie fast, he would be forced to act alone. And that would likely get him and the women killed. He wondered what he would be up against when he found Hooper. Five of Hooper’s bunch were dead and one wounded, but how many other scumbags did he have backing him? It could be five or twenty-five. And what level of training did they have? Were any ex-military or law enforcement personnel, or were they all just arrogant, cruel criminal assholes?
Minutes past six, the sun was sinking in the west. It would be nearly dark in another hour. His hoarse voice showed the strain of repeated yelling as he called for Brodie again. He sat on a large, flat rock jutting from a hillside; dejection overwhelmed him because of his failure to roundup help. Time was quickly slipping away, and JR and Mona were at the hands of a man wanting unjustified revenge. True, they had murdered Hooper’s brothers, but the scumbags deserved it for attempting to rape JR. JR—he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. He’d found the one person who fit him like the proverbial soulmate. Smokey stirred and stood attentively pointing to the west. A low growl emanated from his throat as he focused intently ahead. Sam steadied and said, “Heel.’ Smokey was warning of someone or something out there; he was sure. But was it man or beast? He’d heard nothing but Smokey’s vigilant warning. His right hand rested on the Glock as he sat still and waited. And waited. Nothing happened for fifteen minutes. Smokey remained focused and alert. Whatever Smokey had sensed must have skirted them. Sam gave up hope and shifted his position to move when a voice sounded.
“What do you want with Brodie?” a man’s deep voice shattered the silence as it called to Sam.
Even after watching and hearing Smokey’s actions, Sam was still surprised when the voice finally called to him. “Are you Eli Brodie? I’m Sam Boyle.”
“Yeah, I’m Brodie, and I know who you are.”
“I need your help. Two women who were with me this morning were kidnapped by Riley Hooper. I need help getting them back before he kills them.”
“Why would he kill them. He’ll likely screw them, but I doubt he’ll kill them.”
“Because his two brothers tried to rape my wife and we killed them and two others. He learned about that, and he’s holding the women somewhere waiting for me to charge in there to rescue them. I don’t have military training, so Smokey and I will likely be killed trying to save them.”
“Sorry, but this ain’t my fight. I stay out here to avoid trouble because I’ve had a passel of it in the past.”
“Please Mr. Brodie; those women, me and Smokey don’t deserve to die just because some low-down rapists attacked my wife and died for it. You’re my only hope.”
Prolonged silence. Then, “How come you know my name and knew where to find me.”
“Charlie Dugal told me about you before he left for Canada. He said you lived somewhere out past Thaddeus Pohlman’s cabin. We took it over.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve watched you and your woman there. Thad was a good old man, and I liked Charlie. I went in his store a few times over the years, but I didn’t introduce myself, so he didn’t know me.” Brodie stepped from behind a rock outcropping and carefully approached. A scoped M16 rifle pointed at the ground. Smokey watched each step of his progress and tensed but stayed silent. Brodie was tall and broad chested. He looked fit even covered in loose army issue camo field clothing. They were well worn but hung naturally on his lean, sinewy frame. The face under the camo boonie hat was weathered and sported several days growth of hair on the square jawline. Sam noted the dark brown eyes were focused and piercing. Had Smokey not given away Brodie’s position, Sam might not have heard him approach from the outcropping.
Sam stood. “Will you help me?”
“I saw the bodies of that bunch that attacked your wife; I got there right before she shot Darrell. Should have buried em or at least hid em in a ravine instead of making a big show of it. You asked for this. When you deal with rough bastards like the Hooper clan, you don’t poke em in the eye and expect em to forgive and forget.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, in hindsight it was dumb and cocky . . . I should have known better. I didn’t think about this kind of payback. . . . But will you please help me? I’m going to try to get those women back with or without help. But we might all die in the process.”
“Can you control that dog, so it doesn’t bark and give us away?”
“Smokey’s well trained; he obeys my commands and he’ll attack only when told to.”
“Do you have a sleeping bag and a real backpack instead of that girly thing y
ou’re carrying?”
“No but I—”
“I’ve got an extra sleeping bag. Can you shoot that rifle? I mean can you hit what you aim at?”
“Yeah, I’m a good shot. I’ve had lots of long range practice on zombie’s brains.”
“You better be damn good if you’re going after Riley Hooper; he’s bad news. He’s tough and he’s mean. Always has been since he was a kid and when we went to high school together.” He hesitated as he studied Sam’s rifle. ”That M21 you’re carrying is a good long range sniper weapon,” Brodie said as he looked off their highpoint elevation, then pointed. “There’s a black walnut tree about two hundred yards away on that opposite ridge. Pick a nut.”
Sam laid on the dirt on the flattest spot he saw and located the tree. It was partly obscured by trees growing up from down the ridge he was shooting from. He picked a nut near the top, steadied, and fired. The nut moved slightly but hung on. He sighted and fired again. Same result. On the third shot the nut exploded.”
“Good enough, you’ll do. . . . What’s the situation with those dead monsters up roamin around? They still a threat?”
“If you haven’t heard, they’ve completely taken over Asia and Europe. Before all methods of communication went down, our military couldn’t even stop them. They took over all the large US cities and then drifted out to rural areas like this. Lately we haven’t seen many around here. I think the majority in this area have been stopped.”
A somber Brodie shook his head. “Hard to imagine that happening.”
“I guess you know only a head shot to destroy their brain will stop them.”
“Yeah, I learned that the hard way. Almost got taken by the first one I met until I got far enough away to riddle the body then moved up to the head. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Good thing I’m a damned good shot and hit what I aim at.”
Then Brodie said, “I’ll go to my place and get the equipment we’ll need, then meet at your place in a couple hours. We’ll sleep a spell and head out at 0400 hours. We want to be there before first light. It’s about six miles to Hooper’s salvage yard. Go light on food and water, heavy on ammo. Last time I was over there on a recon, Riley had ten men plus him and a couple women. After the four who attacked your wife there should be about seven men left. That’s not good odds.”
“Six. I shot another man this morning and wounded a woman when they snatched my wife and a friend.”
“Good. That helps. If he hasn’t picked up anybody else, we’ll just have to handle those six. Does that motorcycle I saw at your place run?”
“Yes. I used it a few days ago. It ran smooth and strong.”
Brodie abruptly turned and walked into the trees without another word and silently disappeared from sight. Sam strained to hear footsteps but heard nothing from the damp, leaf-covered ground.
At the cabin, Sam lit an oil lamp and then gathered all six magazines for both M21 rifles and ensured they were fully loaded. He checked the three magazines for his .45 caliber Glock. Two one pound bags of beef jerky and three plastic bottles of water went in his girly pack with the ammo. He stopped, straightened, and grinned as he remembered the seven pineapple grenades setting in the storage shed. With a flashlight in hand, he walked out to retrieve them.
Less than an hour later, Brodie knocked on the door, then entered. Sam pointed to the grenades in a small box.
“Damn Sam, what the hell are you doing with these? This is a pleasant surprise. Even if we don’t tag any of Riley’s people with them, they’ll make a fine diversion and scare the hell out of our targets, if we need em.”
Sam split the seven grenades, giving Brodie four.
“Is that motorcycle ready to run?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I started it earlier. It’s gassed and ready to go.”
“When we get up, we’ll ride about four miles, then walk the rest of the way. The cycle will be slow going on that rough trail in the dark, so the dog will be able to keep up easily. A three-quarter moon was up when I came over, but the air smells and feels like rain is near. That’s a plus for us. Riley surely has people on guard duty if he’s expecting you, and a good rain will likely make them hunker down under cover and get lazy. Even for trained soldiers, it’s hard to stay focused on a threat that may or may not be real.”
“Do you know if Riley or his gang have military or law experience?”
“The last time I saw that bunch, two of them carried themselves like soldiers. The others are likely low down scum who had run-ins with the law. Riley and his brothers avoided military service. Too many rules and regulations. The older, middle brother, Claude, is dumber than a rock and about that hardheaded. Darrell was the most intelligent after Riley, but Patrick was almost as goofy as Claude. Must have been a lot of inbreeding in that bunch at some point before their granddaddy migrated here from Tennessee.”
Sam laid on the bed fully clothed, and Brodie took Mona’s pallet on the floor. Brody’s breathing leveled off and he went to sleep almost immediately. Sam was restless; JR was probably being raped as he tried to sleep. People were going to pay with their lives for that. Being captured put her in danger of being injured or killed when they attacked. He expected Hooper to use her and Mona as shields and bargaining chips if he wasn’t killed in the initial attack. Finally he cleared his mind of what ifs flooding it and fell into a fitful sleep.
JR was awake too. Two women had helped the men strip her and Mona of their clothing shortly after they arrived. She’d been punched and slapped hard for resisting the men’s first advances. Then dog collars on stout ropes were locked around their necks before the ropes were secured to rings attached to the old Victorian era house’s walls. She and Mona had been slapped, punched, pinched, and groped throughout the afternoon and evening until they were worn down and stopped fighting back so aggressively. The same two bitches laughed as they helped subdue JR during her first multiple rape. Then the helpers challenged the rapist to be rougher and more aggressive and viler.
JR and Mona had been subjected to forced sex again earlier in the evening, and now the drunken men were ready to attack them again. Across the room, she heard Mona being raped by two men while Riley Hooper and another man violated her again. A fifth man stood back taunting his buddies while waiting his turn at JR. When they arrived, she’d counted a total of seven men and three women. Riley told two men to stay hidden outside because JR’s husband was expected anytime, but the young punk had no idea of what he was walking into. She’d learned they were rotating guard duty every four hours. JR didn’t know the time of night. She knew they were still in their first day of capture because the sun hadn’t come up again. She prayed Sam would rescue her soon. Sam. What if he attacked and was captured or killed? She pushed that dreadful possibility out of her mind. Her Sam would rise to the occasion. He had to. The thought of him rescuing her and Mona was the only sliver of hope she had to cling to as she was brutally abused.
Sam woke when Brodie shook his shoulder forcefully. “Get up, it’s time to go.” The oil lamp was lit; Sam glanced at his watch. It was just past 04:00.
Smokey sat by Sam’s bed as he grunted, then swung his socked feet to the floor to pull his boots on.
Sam blinked sleep away as Brodie spoke, “I heard thunder a few minutes ago. Think it’s to the north. Using the dirt bike with two of us on it will get hairy if it rains even a little. The trails we’ll use go over ridges and up and down steep ravines. Are you a good dirt bike rider, or do I need to drive?”
“I’m good enough. I won a few first place motocross trophies a few years back before I started college.” Brodie pursed his lips and nodded his acceptance.
Brodie extended a large protein bar. “Eat this and wash it down with several gulps of water before we leave. That’s breakfast. Don’t want to recon or fight on a full belly—makes it hard to stay awake. These are also the last of these I have, so enjoy it.”
As Brodie turned, Sam noticed he had two handguns on his hips. One was definitely bigger than the o
ther. He asked about them as he tied his boots.
“This baby is the .45 caliber Colt 1911, hell of a weapon. It’ll stop a charging bear or a moose. The other is a .22 caliber Colt Woodsman with a homemade suppressor. It’s great for popping small game up close without scaring every other critter in the woods.”
Sam grabbed a rain poncho, then blew out the flame in the lamp near the door before exiting the cabin. The sky was overcast; their moonlight was gone. The dirtbike stood in the dark near the cabin wall, it started and the engine smoothed out after half a minute. Brodie wrapped both rifles in a thick blanket and bungeed them tightly to the handlebar. “Take that trail going to your truck but be prepared to turn west in a few hundred yards.” Sam flipped on the headlight, eased the clutch, and headed out. They rode in silence except for Brodie occasionally giving directions. Smokey trotted along behind like a silent ghost with fangs.
Soon a nagging mist filled the air. Quickly the mist turned to light rain and the bike slipped and slid in hard turns and steep climbs as a layer of slimy mud covered the trails. Twice they slid off the animal trails and almost fell over. Sam thought Brodie couldn’t have picked a more hazardous trail if he tried.
Brodie leaned forward. “Hooper’s place is a mile, mile and a half ahead. Park the bike at that bend ahead. We’ll walk from there.” Sam let Brodie dismount and take the rifles before he drove the bike off the trail and laid it down.
They walked in darkness until they crested a ridge, then laid flat to the ground on a layer of wet leaves. Sam’s watch showed 05:32. Dawn was two hours off, about 07:45 he guessed. An old two-story, once-white frame house sat amid junk cars extending out beside and behind several buildings and dilapidated sheds. A large building to the left of the house had two tall garage doors that appeared to be twelve feet high. The left door was raised halfway. Probably a shop. No lights showed in either building. Several smaller outbuildings were scattered indiscriminately. Most likely storage sheds. Several pickups—most looked new—sat parked haphazardly on gravel near the front of the house. The remaining several acres behind the buildings were covered helter-skelter with rows of wrecked cars and trucks. In the dark they looked like piles of boulders. A huge, tall pile of scrapped metal parts rose in a clearing toward the middle of the storage area. A skinny crane boom with a flat steel magnet on the end of the steel cable pointed to the sky. The scrap pile would likely rust completely away over the next several hundred years. A covered porch ran the length of the front of the house setting at a slight angle to their position.
Running To Escape: A Sam & JR Zombie Thriller Page 18