Live (NOLA Zombie Book 3) (16 page)

There was one of the students, a big white bow in her hair, practically untouched as far as wounds, except around her mouth. She was gray and her skin had receded, pulling away from her face, decaying her lips. She had a hold of Martinez’s boot and had found a spot that wasn’t covered in armor. Her face was latched to his ankle as he kicked desperately trying to get away.

When he finally succeeded in kicking hard enough, the zombie fell away with a chunk of Martinez’s flesh still hanging from her teeth.
 

I yanked him through, slamming the windows shut as the dead began to pound at the glass. Their moans a cacophony of horror as I looked down at my friend. A man I would have given my life for. A man that was now as good as dead.
 

He looked up at me and his eyes held the truth. He knew his fate. He knew death awaited.

“Fuck, she bit me. A fucking Catholic school girl killed me. Mi mama was right,” he whispered.
 

“We have to get out of here,” Baby said, her voice was shrill, panicked. I hadn’t ever seen her mask slip. It sent ice cold rivulets through my veins.
 

I pulled Martinez to his feet and he winced as he put weight on his foot. We crossed the roof until we got to a set of windows that led into the second floor of the school. The classrooms were empty. The nuns had moved all the girls into the gym to wait out the apocalypse.
 

Baby forced the window open and we all slid in. I pulled Martinez with me, he was looking queasy and pale, his skin tone had gone gray.
 

“We need to start a fire, boil water,” I said, an idea coming to me. If we could take the leg off, it would stop the infection. He wouldn't die. “Lay down, Martinez, we’re going to save you.”
 

“Wait, what the fuck, boss, what are you going to do?” His eyes were wide as I pulled the tomahawk from the loop at my waist.
 

“Hold him down. Martinez bite down on something. Give me some fucking alcohol, someone.” A bottle of rubbing alcohol was put into my fist and I poured it over the blade.

“Pull up his pants. Martinez, better a fucking leg than death.”
 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he began to chant. Blake leaned over him and held him down by the shoulders. Romeo pulled up his pant leg while Baby and Heather moved to the back of the room. They were gripping on to each other like two little school girls.
 

I raised the tomahawk and swung, aiming for right under the knee. I wasn’t a surgeon, there was nothing precise about my cut, and his scream was heart-breaking. The leg didn’t come off. I chopped again and he screamed again. How many chops does it take to cut off a leg? I don’t know. I just went at it, I went into my head. I saw black, I saw red as the blood flowed from his leg. I began to puke as Baby pulled me from him and she began to work on bandaging him up. Cleaning him.
 

When I looked over at him, I knew it hadn’t worked. His skin had the gray tint of the about to turn. His lips were blue and quivering. I had tried. I had put him through so much pain, for nothing. Luckily he had passed out after the second cut.
 

His eyes fluttered open when Baby wrapped a bandage around his leg. “You tried, thank you.” His voice came out in a hissed whisper, his pain must have been so great. “Let me go, just let me go.”
 

“No, you’re going to get through this,” Blake said, bending over him, pushing at him.
 
All I could do was stare. I looked down at my hands. They were covered in Martinez’s blood.
 

“Let me go,” Martinez called. His eyes were now bloodshot and you could see the veins through the skin of his face. It wouldn’t be long. He began to cough and there was blood on his lips.

“Step back,” Baby called to Blake, pulling at his shoulders, but he was unmoving, hovering over his friend, trying to do anything to fix him. “He’s turning, draw now, Blake.”
 

“Don’t let me…” Martinez whispered.

Blake didn’t move back, even though it was obvious Martinez was about to become one of the dead. He shook Martinez by the shoulders screaming, “Fight it Martinez!” But it was too late. The rattle of his breath stopped and Martinez slipped away, after having to endure a very painful death. And it was all because of me and my stupid idea. When Martinez’s eyes flashed open again, this time the eyes of the dead, Blake didn't move. It was my turn to act. I still had the bloody tomahawk in my hand. I pushed Blake away just as Martinez lunged to bite him and pushed the sharp edge through Martinez’s skull, ending his undead existence. Ending Martinez.
 

ALEXIS

The pattern repeated itself again the next morning. The old bitch came and got me and brought me to the back room. She didn’t bother with the t-shirt and shorts this time. She made a point of parading me through the front room naked. The eyes of the guards watching me so intensely felt like pricks on my skin. I looked forward, staring at the door and nowhere else. I couldn’t look at anything else, the humiliation was too great.
 

Melinda met me at the tub and handed me the tee and shorts from yesterday and I could have kissed her. Just a touch of thoughtfulness was enough to give a girl hope in this fucked up world. No matter what Melinda said or did, I was getting her ass out of here.
Whether she wanted me to or not
.
 

After that, Melinda and I became fast friends. She began schooling me in all the comings and goings of the base. I knew this was her way of helping me, without actually agreeing to help me. She wasn’t to the point yet where she would say out loud that she was willing to escape with me, but why else would she be telling me about shift changes and who is less likely to be paying attention? I was going to get her to come with me. I just needed a little more time.

After our quick wash, we huddled in the corner in Melinda’s “sleeping area.”
 

“The old hag is Telly, that’s actually Brandon Senior’s wife, if you can believe that. The other bikers call her the Old Lady. I think it’s a term of endearment.” Melinda shook her head astounded at the situation. “She’s also Brandon Junior’s mother.”
 

So the evil spawn of Satan had a name. They called him Junior,
how creative
. And now I knew the reason for Telly’s hostility. I couldn’t imagine a world where I was forced to deliver my husband his unwilling sex slave each night. Watching my own kid rape women as if it were second nature.

Nice life choices for that one.

There was a loud banging and the doors slammed open, and the son, the devil himself, vice-president to the gang of insane bikers, strode in with a girl over his shoulder. She hung limply and he went to the nearest sofa and threw her on it and then turned without a word and strode out of the room.

The closest girl to the sofa went to the unconscious girl and touched her, shaking her. The girl shook awake and then began to vomit on the floor.

I rushed over, even though my mind revolted, screaming a warning.
What if she was infected? What if it was some kind of virus?

The closer I got, the more wrong everything seemed. The vomit didn’t smell like vomit, or food. It smelled acidic and tangy, almost like a vitamin. I could see her glistening with sweat and her eyes were rolling up in the back of her head.
 

“She’s overdosing,” Melinda said and pushed past me. The girl was shaking uncontrollably now and Melinda went to her head and tried to stabilize her. But there was no controlling her convulsions.
 

“What can we do?” I hovered near the sofa and Melinda only looked up at me and shook her head, still holding on to the girl who was thrashing.
 

“I’m assuming he gave her something, probably the meth that they cook. She needs an IV, her stomach pumped or an inhibitor. I have none of that.” Melinda stepped back when the girl suddenly went limp, then bent over her and picked up her wrist, looking for her pulse. “It’s weak, but there.”
 

“I wouldn’t think they would give the drugs to the girls. Why would he do that?”

“Probably for a kick or to make her more pliable. Who the fuck knows with this crowd. If she makes it through this, I’ll be surprised. Meth is a nasty drug. All we can do is make her comfortable and hope her body repairs itself. I think her name is Emily.”

“It’s Emma,” an older woman called as she walked up to us and looked down at the girl. “Her name is Emma, she’s my sister.” The woman reached out and touched her sister’s hair.
 
“Maybe this is better,” she whispered, then collapsed next to her sister, tears streaming down her face, but no sound emanating from her. These women were trained well.
 

I can’t do this. I have to get the fuck out of here now.

My hands clenched into fists. I concentrated on the pain of my nails digging into my palms and tried to hold back the scream that wanted to break through. I had never felt so helpless in my entire life. I didn’t like feeling helpless. I needed to take action. I needed to do something.
Anything
. I couldn’t sit here and let things like this happen.

Melinda walked up to my side and looked over at me. The anger must have been evident because she touched my arm lightly, saying softly, “There’s nothing you can do.”
 

“That’s bullshit,” I spit in return.

“They have guns and there are so many of them. What are we going to do? What could you do?”

“They’re hopped up on drugs and most of them are drunk. What can they do? They probably can’t even aim, especially at night. There is one-night guard at the east door, if he’s distracted we could just slip out. Make our way to freedom and be done with this place.”

“How would I get out of this room? They padlock it at night. You could maybe leave, but not me, not us.”
 

“I’ll handle that. If I can keep the door from locking, could you help and distract the night guard on the last shift?”

“How?” she asked and I was primed because she wasn’t arguing anymore, there was a glint to her eyes. I might just have her.

“Pretend like you’re coming out of one of the tarp rooms, lure him away with the hope of sex, it’ll work. They make the guards trade for girls, he wouldn’t turn down a free romp. If you get another girl with you, it would be even better.”

“None of these girls would go along with that crazy plan.” Melinda shook her head.

“You know them more than me. See if any of them are up to it. Please, Melinda. We have to get out of here. We can’t keep this up. Soon it will be one of us on that sofa. Do you want that?” She shook her head no.

“Fine, when?” she asked.

“I’ll let you know. I have to figure out the lock.”

BLAKE

I sat there. Just sat there through the whole shit show. Zach fucking chopping off Martinez’s fucking leg. Chopping it off. Zach chopping Martinez’s leg off. I was…I don’t know what the fuck I was because I couldn’t even process the last couple of minutes. All I know, hell, at this point, I don't know anything.

“Fight it, Martinez!”
 

Zach flung me across the room, away from Martinez. Because Martinez was a zombie. He was gray, he was chomping. We let him turn. Jesus, I let Martinez become a zombie.
 

Zach was quick. He chopped his leg off. He stabbed Martinez. Martinez wasn’t a zombie anymore. Martinez was dead.
 

And all I could do was sit there and watch. I saw it all. The blood. The hunger. Zach ending it. Everything.

Martinez was dead. He was dead because of me.
 

ZACH

No one spoke. We just stared at the ground. At the bloody mess on the floor. My hands were covered in blood. I needed to get it off of me. I couldn’t take this.
 

“We should probably find somewhere to bunk down, like the third floor near the north side of the building,” I said quietly and everyone nodded. Everyone except Blake. His eyes were wide, a sign of shock. I grabbed at his arm and he pushed me off.
 

I shouldn’t have cut off his leg like that. The others were looking at me like I was off my rocker.
Which I probably was
. You can’t do what I’ve done, seen what I’ve seen, and come out clean. This mission was officially FUBAR.
 
Fucked up beyond all recognition. Hadn’t been on one of those for a long time. Not since our first special ops mission out of Afghanistan. Now that was FUBAR. Lost most of the unit we were escorting. Got blamed for the bad intel that had us going in the wrong direction. Took two weeks to get out of the shit. Watched a few of my Marines go apeshit as the water and food dried up. Now that was FUBAR.
 

It was how Blake and I had met Martinez. He was just a grunt, but he had his shit together and we made sure we had him transferred into our unit the moment we got back to civilization.
 

He had been with us a long time. A long fucking time. And now he went out like this. Bitten by a fucking zombie school girl.