Dark of Night - Flesh and Fire (10 page)

All she knew was that she needed to stop him. The little voice in the back of her head was telling her that she needed to keep him as far away from the children as possible.

He was fast, though, and she was barely able to keep up with blocking his attacks, let alone strike him with one of her own. Dancing away from one of his slices, she ducked quickly, using one knife to block his blade from hitting her, and swinging her other one down to slice across his side, before pulling a few steps back, trying to focus on a strategy. There had to be something.

The man with the knife was coming closer, focused on her with a terrifying furor in his eyes. He was pissed, and that was both good and bad. Bad that he now was going to be fighting with more anger at her drawing blood, even if just a small cut. But good, because angry people make mistakes, make stupid decisions. She’d learned that long ago in LARP.

He swung again and Rachael ducked, catching his incoming blade with her dagger and slicing her secondary dagger across his arm, this time drawing a deep gash. He cried out, dripping his dagger in pain, which Rachael kicked to the side quickly, her daggers still out in front of her, ready to strike.

She didn’t want to strike an unarmed man, didn’t want to kill anyone, but she would if he forced her to.

But he was pissed, spitting in anger as he backed up, clutching his bleeding arm. “Fuck you, bitch,” he snarled, eyes burning her with an angry fire. “You better not be here when I get back with my friends, you better run fast, because if I find you, I’m going to love every moment of killing you. And it’s not going to be fast or fun for you.”

And then he was gone into the woods, and Rachael let her weapons drop to her sides, the threat still lingering in the air.

Oh, this was really not good.

Dez Fox

When Dez first yelled, the girl froze for a moment, caught in a moment of obvious doubt and confusion. The man and dog that chased her were one thing, and the farmhouse seemed to be a destination she thought might be safe. Or, safer, at least, than being caught by the blond-haired thug and his mutt. But Dez’s voice was coming
from
the farmhouse and it was clearly a woman’s voice.

It took the girl time to process that and make a decision. Maybe one full second.

And then like a startled deer she was running again. Moving fast and well on long legs. Dez fired four more shots at the spot where the big man had dropped. He heard him yelling something but couldn’t hear him and didn’t care what kind of bullshit he was trying to sell. The girl shot a terrified look over her shoulder, saw nothing, but ran as if there was a whole pack of killers on her tail. She blew past the well, ran up to the foot of the porch stairs and skidded to a stop, panting, face running with sweat, eyes wild.

“Get inside,” Dez said. “I’ll keep this dickhead entertained.”

She emphasized the comment with another shot, but then her slide locked back. While Dez swapped it out for a fresh one—her last—the girl gave her a two-second up and down appraisal, looked over her shoulder once more and then ran up the steps and in through the open door.

Dez smiled and slapped the magazine into place and released the slide. The bastard out there in the weeds wouldn’t know it was her last magazine. Besides, if one guy could get past her while she had a full magazine, a blackjack, a knife and a lot of female indignation, then she wasn’t trying her best. Dez liked a good fight, especially when the payoff was kicking some guy’s nuts up between his shoulder blades. That always felt good.

There was some movement out in the field near where the dog went down, but Dez had no clear shot. Nevertheless she knelt there, finger laid along the trigger guard, eyes moving slowly over the field.

Was the guy down, too? Had one of her rounds popped him?

Maybe. She hoped so, but she wasn’t sure.

He hadn’t returned fire, which probably meant he didn’t have a gun or was low on bullets. She had a slightly elevated shooting position and had already proved that she was a good shot. Most people don’t want to play that kind of game, especially these days.

A small scared voice spoke through the slats of the living room shutters.

“Is he gone?”

“No,” said Dez.

A pause. “Is he dead?”

“We can hope.”

Several long minutes passed and there was no movement at all in the field. Dez thought she heard the dog whining, but the wind was blowing past the house toward the field and she couldn’t be sure. She straightened very slowly and carefully, weapon still trained on the field.

There was no movement and no shots fired in her direction.

“You have to go make sure,” insisted the girl.

“No I damn well do not,” Dez growled. “That’s a great way to get a bullet in the brainpan. No thanks, honey. If that guy out there is setting a trap it’s going to be for someone stupider than me.”

“His name is Joe.”

Dez cut a look at the shadowy form behind the shutters. “You know him? He one of your group?”

“Huh? Oh…no…I just met him. He was in a fight with some guys who…who tried to…”

She didn’t finish, but Dez got the point.

The afternoon sun moved steadily toward the west and the shadows flowed out from the distant trees, seeming to flood the fields like black water. Dez moved to sit with her back to the living room wall so she could talk to the girl more easily while still watching the field. She was more than half convinced that the guy was dead. Her other half was less sure, because if she’d killed him then he should have reanimated by now. The fact that he hadn’t left it all in a gray area. He could be dead with a bullet in the brain. He could be wounded and bleeding out. He could be hurt and waiting for nightfall, or for reinforcements. Or he could be unhurt and really pissed and simply waiting for his moment.

Once the sun was down it would be too risky to stay here on the porch, though. And defending a house was tough. Easy enough to do against the mindless dead; much tougher against a thinking person who really wants to get in.

As the shadows lengthened Dez thought about the food in there, and the other guns. Plus, she really needed to pee.

Twilight turned the fields to a featureless purple-black. There was no way Dez was going to get back to Biel and the kids tonight. The forests at night were a death trap in more ways than she could count.

So, Dez shimmied over to the door and pushed it open. It was dark inside, which was good. She’d warned Lindsey about lighting a fresh fire, and the one in the fireplace had long since burned out. Good.

She rose to a crouch and hurried inside, closed and bolted the door, and before she even stopped to go to the bathroom, Dez hurried through the house, floor by floor, to make sure all of the windows and doors were shut and shuttered. Then she found a bucket and relieved herself. A downstairs broom closet had been turned into an outhouse. Any port in a storm.

Then she called for Lindsey to join her in the kitchen. There was a mountain of trash in one corner, including many empty food and drink cans that were swarming with ants, roaches and other opportunistic insects. That kind of vermin no longer bothered Dez. The vermin outside were more important.

“Kid,” she said, “we need to rig an alarm. Take some of these cans and stack a few in front of every window. If you can find silverware, then put a piece or two in the top can. If anyone comes in it’ll make noise. Got it?”

Lindsey nodded and after only a moment’s uncertain hesitation, began gathering cans. The girl impressed Dez by working fast and being smart in how and where she stacked the cans. When all of the cans had been used, Dez went around and inspected the work, using a candle for light. Whoever lived her was into big, chunky scented candles.

“Nice job,” she told the girl.

“He can still get in,” said Lindsey.

“Not without us knowing,” said Dez. She patted the Glock on her hip and hefted a small-bore shotgun she’d found upstairs. The shells were filled with birdshot, but even a .20 gauge with a birding rounds would blow the junk off a rapist, and in the confines of a house there was no way for her to miss.

By the light of the scented candle, Dez and Lindsey opened two cans—Vienna sausage and kidney beans—and ate while they exchanged stories. Dez told her about the outbreak in Stebbins County, and how the massive super storm had slowed down the government’s response. By the time the main cell of the storm had passed the plague had jumped the quarantine zone. The military tried to control the spread with the use of fuel-air bombs and a take-no-prisoners live fire response, but by then it was like trying to destroy an anthill with a pistol. The bombs did damage, but it only takes a couple of infected outside of the Q-zone to spread the infection again, and again, and again.

“So you have a whole bunch of school busses filled with kids?” asked Lindsey, eyes wide. “And they’re okay?”

“I hope so,” Dez told her. “One of the teachers is back there with them, and we reinforced the bus pretty well. They can hold out for now and I’ll head back there at first light.”

Lindsey looked immediately terrified.

“Hey,” said Dez quickly, “don’t sweat it. You can come with me. We’ll put some supplies in a wheelbarrow and take it back to the kids. Or…maybe go grab the kids and bring them back here. That might be a better plan, come to think of it.”

“
He’s
out there,” said Lindsey. “That guy Joe and his dog.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Dez, “you want to bring me up to speed here? What happened to your group and who’s this Joe dickhead?”

Lindsey studied her plate for a while and fresh tears fell through the grime on her cheeks. “This wasn’t my family,” she began, and then told a story that had become familiar to anyone who had survived these last six months. Lindsey’s family had been killed during the outbreak and she’d fled from one group to another, escaping as each new group was torn apart or died from diseases. These days even a simple infection could rage out of control. The group that settled in the farmhouse were a disparate band of refugees from all over the south and lower northern states. A fireman from Philadelphia, a West Virginian CPA, a mechanic and his wife from Kentucky. People running in every direction in hopes of finding a safe zone, and then dying because they made mistakes, got sick, got bit, got too weary to run, or gave up.

“We found this place, and it looked like the people who lived here had caught a break, you know? There was a National Guard rescue station not too far from here and the soldiers were keeping the forests clear. Or at least that’s what we were told. We bunked down here and did our best to, you know, secure the place. But Mrs. Gillespie, the wife of the mechanic guy…she was pretty fat and had this heart thing. Angi-something.”

“Angina?”

“Yeah. I guess she died last night.” Lindsey shivered. “I can’t believe it was only last night.”

“Yeah. She died and woke up again?”

The girl nodded then got up, lit a small sterno fire in the sink where the light would show through the windows. She poured water into a pan and placed it on the flame. She explained how the rest of them woke up because of the screaming. Mrs. Gillespie had already bitten her husband and two others. They’d made the mistake of huddling together for warmth because the night was so cold. By the time everyone realized their mistakes it was too late.

Lindsey poured the hot water into cups, found teabags and handed one to Dez. It was some kind of sissy green tea crap that Dez wouldn’t use to wash her books, but the tea ritual seemed to calm the kid, so she accepted it. They went into the living room and after Dez checked the windows and peered through the blinds into the field, then sat on a pair of overstuffed chairs set near the cold fireplace. Lindsey had her cup cradled in her palms and leaned over it, shaking her head. The bloody debris of the sleeping bags was all around them, evidence of horrors.

“What happened?” asked Dez. “After all this, I mean?”

“I ran,” said Lindsey, and that tore a sob from her. Not from shame, because the girl, young as she was, already understood the necessary logic of survival. No, she wept from the weariness of having to survive when everyone else died and she had to start all over again. “I was trying to make it to the rescue station when I saw a bunch of guys cutting down some of the dead. I…I…was stupid. I didn’t wait to see who they were. I was just so happy to see living people who seemed to be strong, you know? They were fighting the dead and winning. They were even laughing as they cut the zombies down. Like it was nothing to them. Like they weren’t afraid of them, you know?”

“Yeah, honey,” said Dez, stroking the girl’s long hair, “I know.”

“But they weren’t what I thought,” said Lindsey, and now there were ghosts moving behind her eyes. A different kind of fear. A kind that was older and crueler than the living dead. “A bunch of them took me to their camp and said that I’d be safe there. They said there were a lot of women and other kids there. They said…”

“Doesn’t matter what they said,” Dez told her. “They’re assholes. You’ll be smarter next time. And if I see them, I’ll blow their dicks off and wear ‘em as trophies.”

It was meant as a joke, but Lindsey flinched back from those words. After a moment she said, “They’re already dead.”

“What?”

“Most of them.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dez. “Did you kill them?”

“No,” said a voice behind her, “
I
killed them.”

Dez started to whirl, to grab her gun, to rise, but instantly froze as the cold barrel of a pistol was pressed against the nape of her neck. Lindsey screamed and backed away.

Joe Ledger pressed his Sig Sauer harder, forcing Dez to bend forward.

“You shot my dog,” he said in a voice that was colder than anything Dez Fox had ever heard.

Rachael Elle

The kids were panicked again. They’d watched the man try to attack her, watched her kill him. She wished they didn’t have to see that. They’d seen too much blood and violence already.