by Schow, Ryan
But then, just as she was about to move in, Kenley hurried around her, kicked in the already-opened front door, and started shooting.
A moment later, Kenley ducked out of the way, the house’s paneling blowing apart in a shower of splinters.
Kenley looked at her and motioned for her to follow. Leighton sprinted around back, gun ready to go, eyes on everything. Around back, through the kitchen door’s window, there were three guys huddled together in the kitchen. They were waiting for Kenley to come in through the front door shooting again.
Leighton shot two of them in the back like a coward, and Kenley got the third. Shooting someone in the back to survive isn’t cowardice, she told herself. Dead is dead.
“You go inside,” Leighton said, “and I’ll circle around the front and come in that way.”
Kenley nodded, her face extra pale, her skin darn near ashen.
Leighton ducked down and ran back toward the front of the house, but when she rounded the corner to the front porch, she saw the scumbag about the same time the scumbag saw her.
He raised his weapon to shoot her, but she shot him twice in the chest and once in the head. Quickly, she ran to the porch, took his pistol, then circled around to the driveway. A gunshot must have rung out, but she heard nothing. She just felt the blast of splinters sticking into her face and flinched.
Ducking down, she moved back toward the front of the house and thought, This is too much killing. Too much!
A second later she saw movement in the street. A hobbling man was crossing the road toward her carrying an AR15. The barrel was dancing, its muzzle flash looking like orange bursts of flame.
“Get back inside, Niles!” she screamed.
He wasn’t listening, though. She peeked around the corner of the house, saw the bullets eating up the side door. Finally, the man shooting at her dropped dead, but not before she saw Kenley running down the side yard toward Niles.
Seeing what Kenley was seeing, she raced after her.
A hot rod with fat rear tires and a lifted back end was roaring down the road about the time Niles was firing on the guy trying to kill her. Niles turned and saw the car, but he was too hobbled to get out of the way.
Leighton opened fire on the muscle car, pocking the windshield with the two rounds she had left. Kenley was already firing on the car, too, but none of that mattered when it plowed right into Niles then locked its brakes.
She ran down the hillside toward Niles, trading out her Glock for a gun she took from one of the dead shooters. Before Niles could even hit the ground, the big muscle car slid sideways off the side of the road and slammed into a tree, tenting the hood.
Leighton hit the asphalt and kept on running, screaming, horrified at what she was seeing and more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She got to Niles, and he was gulping for air, his eyes looking straight up, then at her, and then back up again.
His body lay at an odd angle, his back broken, his ribs probably broken, too, maybe even puncturing vital organs. She was crying, sobbing, taking his face into her hands, and begging him not to leave her, not to go. And then she was cursing God, whipping her head around and seeing the muscle car against the tree, steam spewing from its radiator.
Turning back to Niles, the first love of her young life, she wiped her eyes, saw his eyelids starting to bob and droop.
“Can you hear me?” she asked. Niles’s chin dipped, saying he could. “I love you, Niles. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. Please don’t leave me.”
Her heart trembled, her body shook, everything in her was cracking and breaking at once.
“Please, Niles,” she whispered.
Eyes that once saw her now saw nothing at all. Or perhaps they saw beyond the veil of this world, to the light at the end of the tunnel.
“Niles,” she said. “Niles!”
He was unresponsive, his eyes glazing over, his body releasing whatever tension it had been holding onto. Leighton threw her head back and let out a mighty roar, a blistering expulsion of rage she prayed would reach God.
When she looked back down to earth, all she wanted to do was kill. She stood and found Ramira running toward her son. Kenley was at the ’60’s muscle car with her shotgun aimed at the driver. She kept glancing back at Leighton.
“What are you doing?” Leighton barked at Kenley.
Saving them for you, Kenley said. Is Niles dead?
“Yes.”
Leighton reached for the shotgun; Kenley was already handing it to her.
“Is it loaded?” she asked.
Four in the tube, Kenley said.
Inside the crashed muscle car, the driver had his head on the steering wheel. When she tore open the door, he slowly turned and looked over at her with an evil grin and a mouth full of bloody, broken teeth. She racked the shotgun, aimed it at his face, jerked the trigger.
His head was instantly gone. She felt nothing.
Walking to the other side of the car, the passenger was just waking up to a new nightmare, one where a small, rage-filled blond was the boogeyman.
She tried to open the door, but the door was locked. She spun the weapon around, drove the butt of the shotgun into the glass, broke it out. Turning the shotgun back around, she racked a new load, ejecting the shell, then she aimed it at the guy who was begging for his life.
“Stop,” she said, her voice lethally calm. Then: “STOP!”
He stopped speaking, scared, his face ugly and remorseful.
“Do you know what you are?” Leighton asked.
W-What? he said, still scared judging by the look on his face.
“You’re just the beginning.” She squeezed the trigger and half his head was immediately pulverized. She then looked over at Kenley who had a hand on the hood of the car and was puking into the mud.
“Get yourself together,” Leighton snarled.
The girl bucked and heaved out another meal, the cords in her neck strained, her body cinched tight.
Leighton grabbed her by the bicep and picked her up with a strength she didn’t know she had. “Get up and get a hold of yourself. It’s going to get a lot worse before it’s over or we’re dead.”
That’s when two more vehicles—an old Blazer and a souped-up Suburban on off-road wheels—appeared. They were headed into the scene of a massacre. She and Kenley were about to run when two more guys on four-wheelers flanked them at the other end of the street. They were by Niles, right by Ramira.
There was nowhere to go.
Ramira pulled her gun, shot one of the guys on the four-wheeler. The other driver lifted his weapon to fire on her.
Panicked, Leighton went for her Glock, fired a round, felt the trigger fire dry.
“NO!” she screamed.
Ramira was turning when a bullet cut through the air, entered the skull just above the ear, and blew out the other side in a wet, misting spray. The older woman didn’t know what happened, only that she was alive and the man preparing to shoot her was suddenly slumped over, dead.
If she didn’t shoot him, who did?
The two trucks pulled to a stop, both the driver and the passenger getting out. Behind them, Will and another man she didn’t recognize ran into the street, aimed their rifles, took out the men in the Suburban as well as the passenger who had gotten out of the Blazer.
The driver of the Blazer took off, however, speeding toward Leighton and Kenley but wanting to get to the side street and out of the line of fire.
Thrilled to see Will was still alive, Leighton broke into a sprint, running directly in the Blazer’s path. She waited a beat, then lifted the shotgun and fired the last two loads right into the windshield.
The driver’s head snapped back, but the Blazer didn’t stop.
She dove out of the way with no time to spare. The bumper on the runaway SUV clipped her foot mid-air, spinning her around and causing her to howl out in pain. The Blazer drove straight into the garage door of the house that was being robbed, coming to a dead stop under a bro
ken garage door.
Leighton stood in complete silence, hobbled toward the Blazer, saw the man in the truck. He was holding his neck, blood spurting everywhere. He raised his hand, a pistol in it. He aimed it at her through the glass, but she moved her head ever so slightly, enough that he couldn’t track her. There was a muzzle flash as he fired, and shattering glass.
A few shards of glass cut her face as they flew by, and another embedded in her cheek, But she hadn’t moved and she didn’t flinch.
The driver dropped the gun, his body starting to sag. She lifted the shotgun, aimed it at him, pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. The tube was empty.
She dropped the weapon, reached inside her jacket, then pulled out her pepper spray and doused him. When she shot it in his eyes, he started to half-scream, half-cry. That’s when she drove her Swiss Army knife into the side of his neck that wasn’t torn to shreds with double-ought buckshot.
The man was dead within seconds.
She watched him to see exactly when the soul left the body. The second it happened, she spat on his face and stepped away from the truck.
“Good riddance, scumbag.”
She turned and saw Will walking up the road. He smiled when he saw her. She ran to him, nearly tackled him with a hug.
“I thought you were dead,” she said, breathless. She couldn’t hear if he said anything or not, she was just so glad he was still alive. When she let go of him, she looked at the handsome shooter with Niles’s father.
This guy got me out of the house just in time, Will said of the stranger. Turning to the man, he said, This is Hudson Croft, my guardian angel.
“Leighton McDaniel,” she said, shaking his hand.
We met, informally, back in Silver Grove.
“I just passed through there last night.”
I know.
“You were the one who…?”
That was me.
“You got both those guys?” she asked. He nodded. “Well, thank you. You saved mine and Buck’s lives.”
Buck is the boy?
“Yes.”
Where’s Niles? Will asked.
Ramira was running toward him, terrified, crying, at odds with her emotions for sure. The boy who was alive moments ago was now dead, and the man who had been dead moments ago was now alive.
They ran him over, Will! she said.
“But he saved me and Kenley,” Leighton said.
Will’s face started to contort, his body losing composure. Is he…?
“Yes,” Leighton said, fresh tears wrecking her eyes.
I thought you were dead, Ramira said, hugging him much the same way Leighton had moments ago.
Seeing the lump on the road that was her boyfriend had her seething. Her body was trying to make her cry, to make her sad, to make her fall apart, but she wouldn’t let that happen. Not yet. Someone had to pay for this. They all had to pay!
I saw what you did, Hudson said. He was the one with the scoped rifle.
“What do you know about what I did?” she hissed.
I want to know if you want to finish this.
Her lips twitched, her jaw flicked and her eyes went narrow and nearly black. “Heck yes, I want to finish this.”
She watched Ramira walk Will to their son. It was the saddest thing Leighton had ever seen, but instead of sorrow, she commanded her soul to use this moment as fuel for vengeance.
They’re holed up in the Silver Grove Volunteer Fire Department, Hudson said when Will was out of earshot. That’s where they’re staying while they loot, burn, and kill their way through Silver Grove, and apparently, Melbourne.
“But why us? These are small towns.”
All these little maggots, they want disorder, chaos, turmoil. But this isn’t random. It’s orchestrated. Funded.
“Who would fund something like this?” Leighton said.
There are one-hundred-and-ninety-two nations in the world. We’re the top of the heap and this is their version of King of the Mountain. They want to topple the beast, gut it, control it.
“But why?”
Because they’re bloodthirsty monsters who feed on the misery and suffering of others. You know those kids who grew up, got their nice new shiny toys, and were only happy when they were able to destroy them with a hammer?
“I can’t say that I do.”
Well, this is them. They don’t think like us, which means we can’t even begin to understand how flat-out evil they are. Just know that when it comes to these guys, we’re not going to get to the top of the food chain. But this nation is falling apart all around us. Maybe it’s even dead.
“What are you saying?”
We can get close to a hundred of them if you want.
“I want,” she snarled.
She looked over at Kenley, who’d lost her family as well.
Me, too, Kenley responded.
Hudson said, We need gasoline, a functioning car, and a willingness to take a lot of lives for the right reason. If you can live with that, then we’ll hit them tonight.
“I can live with that,” Leighton said. “Can you?”
He smiled, and it was a handsome smile. I’m already dead. I just haven’t hit the ground for good yet.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aaron Westbrook
Aaron stormed into Leighton’s dorm, walked straight to her room, knocked twice, and waited for her roommate, Chandra, to answer. She didn’t, not right away, so he knocked again just to be sure. When he received no response, he stepped back, then kicked in the door only to see a nightmarish looking guy pinning Chandra to the bed.
Aaron’s eyes flashed wide with surprise, his mouth hanging open in shock. He just stood there. Leighton’s roommate was loosely tied to the bed with ropes and Aaron didn’t know what to say. Maybe that he was jealous? Or maybe he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life? He didn’t know. All he knew was that Chandra’s mouth was duct-taped shut, her face was rosy red and beaten, and she was bleeding from the nose and one of her eyes.
Leighton’s eyes flashed. As if seeing him renewed her struggle. Aaron being there forced the animal beside her to make a choice: Chandra or Aaron?
He leaped off the bed and raced after Aaron. Shot through with fear, Aaron turned and ran, getting out of there as fast as possible. Sprinting down the hall as if his life depended on it—which he was sure it did—he heard the pounding footsteps of the demon on his heels.
As he exploded through the dormitory’s front door, he couldn’t help feeling like this monster was times ten worse than his father.
Racing across campus, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the monster, he flew past whatever parentless stragglers the university had managed to keep in their substandard care.
When he’d traveled halfway across campus, he glanced over his shoulder to see if he was safe. To his horror, the brute was on his heels, a cold rage burning in his eyes.
Pumping his legs harder, closing the distance between them, the attacker's hands became fists he would surely use to obliterate skin and bone.
Despite the asphalt being wet from the rain, Aaron dug down deep and put on that last, desperate burst of speed, knowing it would only yield him short term gains.
The guy was gaining on him, though.
Aaron’s lungs were about to burst, the gears in his heart were smoking and ready to give, and his fear exploded to the point of mania. For these reasons alone, he could not relent.
Behind him, he thought he heard the man stumble. Glancing back, he saw the guy go down on the uneven pavement. Either he tripped, or he just gassed out or passed out. Either way, he went down hard. Aaron slowed down, his lungs all but collapsing.
Walking around, holding his side where a nasty stitch began to form, he managed a huge breath, then said, “What do you want with her?”
“None of your business,” the guy hissed as he wiped off his bleeding palms and got to his feet. “Besides, I’m looking for her roommate.”
>
“Well then, it is my business,” Aaron said, ready to bolt again. “I’m her boyfriend.”
“Does she know that?”
“Not yet.”
The guy turned and started walking back to the dorms. Aaron was tempted to say something, but he feared this would only bring him harm. So far, he’d outrun the devil, and this made him smile. It emboldened him.
Still, he had run. He ran away like a big fat chicken.
Walking back toward the dorms, wondering if he should do something—if he could do anything—he saw Chandra hiding behind a pack of girls. Her clothes were slightly torn and wrinkled, her eyes blistered red. In long messy streaks, her mascara had run down her face from where she had been crying.
She was watching him.
Instead of following the devil dog, he changed direction and headed toward Chandra. The girl seemed to shrink back from him.
“Is she coming back?” he asked, none too kind.
“I don’t know you,” she said.
“Leighton.”
The other girls were watching Aaron now, trying to decide if he was dangerous, friendly, or undetermined.
“I…I think so?” Chandra said. “I mean, she said so. I asked who you were.”
“I’M ME!” he screamed in her face before walking back to his dorm room. Once he was safe again, he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his pants, and laid down on his bed with the folder of pictures he’d taken of Leighton over the semester.
But his brain was conspiring against him, telling him that sleeping was useless, that only Leighton mattered, and only if he could kill his mother. Or maybe he would just bring her flowers when he saw her next. Would he ever see his mother again? God, he hoped not. But he also missed her. And hated her. And he loved her, but he also felt sorry for her.
As he felt himself drifting off, as he dipped in and out of sleep, he knew that what he wanted most was to go home to his mother. But if there was one thing he wanted least, it was to go home to his mother. How could these two conflicting thoughts be duking it out in his brain so hard? His head started to hurt, to split. He needed to stay at NKU.