Machines of the Dead 2 (9 page)

Chapter 15

Jack’s mind raced with indecision. Once the stairs were on fire, he’d be trapped in the basement—unless there was a door leading to the outside. But even if there was, someone might be waiting for him there. 

He bolted from the wall, ready to start shooting anyone he saw at the top of the stairs when the stairs erupted into flames. He staggered back, feeling the heat. Seeing the rifle that had been dropped earlier by the man he killed, Jack scooped it up. It was a .30-06 and in nice shape. When he escaped the basement, he’d make sure to put it to good use.

With the fire blazing, he was able to see his surroundings. To his dismay, he discovered no door, at least in the area he was in.

He shouldered the rifle and headed over to the small window he’d noticed earlier. He climbed onto the tattered workbench. The glass was too caked with grime to see through. Using his sleeve, he wiped away a small section and saw a strip of lawn and forest beyond it. He figured he was on the side of the house. Cannibal’s men could be standing off to the side and out of view, but he had no other choice but to escape via the window.

Simple turn-style latches at the bottom of the window kept it locked. He saw hinges at the top and realized it opened outward. He turned the latches and tried the window, but it wouldn’t budge. He pushed harder, but still nothing. Breaking the glass was an option, but he’d prefer to avoid making that much noise. He pulled the .45 out and began hammering its butt against the lower part of the window as smoke choked him. 

Eyes watering, he banged harder, and finally the window gave. He tossed the rifle out first, then crawled through. He was up in an instant, .30-06 in hand, and realized he was indeed at the side of the house. Without wasting another second, he sprinted into the woods. 

Jack worked his way about ten feet in, then went right to circle around to the back of the property. He crept up behind a thick Maple and saw two men standing on the far side of the backyard. What they were doing there—he did not know.

He backpedaled quietly and traveled left until he had a view of the person-less front yard. If he had to guess, he’d say Cannibal had sent four or five men after him. Two were now dead, which meant only two or three left.

Jack made his way to the backyard again and saw the two men standing there. They were easy targets, talking, guns pointed at the ground as if they had nothing to worry about. Jack aimed the .30-06, but held his fire. If the sights were off, he’d miss at this range. He needed to make sure his first shot was a kill shot. He retreated into the woods again and worked his way around to their side. The closer he came to his targets, the slower he moved, avoiding branches and leaves. The snow wasn’t thick and made a soft crunching sound. At about thirty feet from the targets, he smelled cigarette smoke.

“Damn,” one of the men said. “Motherfucker is burning.”

“Guy’s dead for sure,” said the other man.

Jack decided not to try and get any closer. From his
position, he could see one of the men clearly. Raising the rifle, aiming, he pulled the trigger. The gun jumped, the retort loud. He saw his target jerk forward as blood and gore exploded from the head. The corpse hit the ground as Jack stepped from behind the tree, ready to end the second man’s life—but there was no one there.

Gunfire erupted from Jack’s left. Bark from the tree next to him splintered into pieces like exploding confetti. He dove to the ground and scurried behind a tree.

Damn it, he thought. He really screwed up. He should have kept an eye on both men. No time for second-guessing now. The gunfire stopped. He peered around the tree, staying low and saw no one. His attacker was hiding, most likely waiting for him to pop out, then BAM!

Jack crouched behind the tree, the trunk wide enough to shield him. He took deep breaths, calmin
g and readying himself for what ever was to come. The silence was deafening, almost screaming at him.

Jack’s best bet was to move. He was in a forest. Bullets traveled straight. The trees would serve as natural shields. He stood a good chance of avoiding getting shot as long as he had a good head start. He got to his feet, took some deep breaths, then bolted from
the oak.

Gunfire erupted from behind. He felt a sharp sting in his right shoulder blade and cried out, stumbled a little, but was able to continue running. He moved around and between close-together growing trees, just like he did earlier when he was running from Cannibal’s house. Bullets pinged from all around him. Branches broke and the snow burst at his feet. Whoever his pursuer
was, he was good with a gun.

Jack’s shoulder continued to scream with pain. He wondered how badly he was injured. Adrenaline might be the only thing keeping him up, and when that wore
off, he would go into shock. 

Fighting through the pain and fear, he kept on, his breaths coming harder and harder. Every so often, gunshots rang out from close behind, making him flinch, the hurt in his back worsening as if someone were pressing a hot iron to it.

Maybe it was best if he stopped and returned fire. It wasn’t like he was unarmed. Jack saw a thick tree trunk up ahead and ducked behind it. He heard his pursuer’s footfalls and fired blindly from around the tree, hoping to slow his attacker and make the guy take cover, giving him a chance to recuperate.

Bullets riddled the tree
that Jack was behind.

Now that he’d stopped running, he felt the weariness of “fight or flight” creep in. He was tired, winded. His shoulder and leg hurt, but he still felt good enough to keep going. Stopping had been a bad idea. He fired a couple of rounds in the direction of his attacker, then took off running. He’d dig in and fight when he had no other choice, but while the adrenaline was still pumping, he’d used it.

Not more than a minute later, his body began to tire again, his energy seeming to dissipate rapidly. The pain in his back and leg was worsening. His pant leg was covered in red. Just when he thought it might be time to stand and fight, he saw a clearing up ahead. Sunshine made the snow-covered field shine in an almost blinding fashion. He couldn’t enter the open area. He’d be dead in seconds. It was time to stand and do battle. Then he saw them. Five figures walking toward him. Friend or foe, he did not know. If they were the latter, whether he entered the clearing or not, he was a dead man—boxed in. Friend, and he had a chance.

Jack ran from the forest. “Help!” he yelled, though it came out horse and low.

He fell to his knees, tripped up by something, a snow-covered branch or rock. This was it one way or another. Killed or saved. 

“Jack?” a voice called out. “Is that you?”

Focusing, Jack recognized the person. It was Paul from Cliff House. Duane, Mark, Rob and someone he didn’t recognize were with him. They all held rifles.

They hurried forward.

Jack waved his arms. “Wait,” he said, trying to warn them.

Cable stood just inside the tree line, his form hidden behind a tree. He aimed at Jack. This was too easy. He almost felt like closing his eyes, at least to make the shot somewhat difficult.

Jack had been a worthy opponent. Proved to be more than just a civilian. The type of quarry that deserved a better death. Instead, Cable aimed his G36 at one of the men in the field. They were also easy targets, but he didn’t know them. Didn’t share the hunt with them.

With the squeeze of his forefinger, he fired the gun and watched the man he had in his sights go down. A dead center kill shot. The others returned fire in a panic, the shots random and none threatening. Cable waited until the gunfire stopped, then retreated. He would deal with Jack at another time, should fate warrant it.

Chapter 16

Jack and the others made their way back to Cliff House. The man who had been shot was dead. His name was Mark Jones. Jack couldn’t help feeling it was his own fault, and wondered why the man that had chased him hadn’t shot him instead.

On the way to the house, his shoulder barking and bloody, Jack told the tale of how he, Zaun, and Maria were ambushed and taken to a house not far from where they currently were.

“We were kept in a basement; Zaun and I were chained to a pipe. Ten others, mostly women, were locked in a cage. I was brought to a man named Cannibal.”

“We know of him,” Paul said in disgust.

“The sadistic monster was eating a human leg,” Jack said. “I think all those people in the basement are food. We have to get them out of there.”

“First we need to get you to Cliff House and to the doc,” Duane said. “We’ll talk about what we’re going to do when you’re fixed up.”

The group rested a few times, taking turns carrying Mark’s body. Jack wanted to help, but was too injured and needed his strength. Makeshift bandages were applied, but it did little to stop the bleeding in his back.  

At the house, Jack’s wounds were tended to by Darcy Kloom, a nurse who used to work at a nearby hospital. Cliff House’s garage had been divided into an infirmary and surgical center. Darcy was not a surgeon, but between herself and Jim Gunner, a veterinarian, they did their best when someone was injured. Fortunately for Jack, Jim wasn’t going to be needed today.

“You’re lucky,” Darcy said, “bullets must not like you.”

Jack truly had been lucky. The graze on his knee was just a burner, the skin sizzled away. His back proved worse, but not as bad as it could have been.

“No way was this a direct shot,” Darcy said as she examined him. “I’d say you caught a ricochet. The bullet’s lodged against your scapula, but there doesn’t appear to be much damage.” Jack was given a rolled up cloth to bite down on as Darcy plucked the slug with a pair of forceps. Both wounds, along with some scrapes, were disinfected and bandaged. With no working hospitals around, and very little in the way of on-hand antibiotics, infection was something a person did not want to deal with.

Jack thanked Darcy, who told him he should rest.

“I’d love to, Doc, but there’s too much at stake.” 

He headed upstairs to Don’s room, desperately needing to talk to the man.

The bedroom was a fair size, probably the master suite. Windows on one side of the room were completely boarded over while windows that looked over the valley were not. A queen-sized canopy bed took up much of the floor space to the right, along with a rich mahogany bureau and makeup piece including a chair and long mirror.  In the corner was a matching-in-style upright dresser, the doors closed.

On the other side of the room, sitting in front of a working fireplace, was a plush, purple ornate-looking sofa and a dark, cherry-colored, leather recliner. Don was adjacent to these items, sitting at an executive’s desk and writing in a notebook. He looked over. “Jack,” he said jovially, then rose to his feet and hurried over to him. “Looks like Darcy patched you up pretty well.” 

“Yeah. She did a fine job.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Come, let’s talk.” Don walked over to the fireplace and sat on the recliner, keeping it upright.

Jack took a seat on the sofa, wincing as he did so. 

“Darcy give you pain meds?”

“I didn’t want any. Save them for people who really need them.”

A low burning fire danced in the hearth, the warmth welcoming.

“I’m sorry about Mark,” Jack said.

“Yes,” Don said, nodding. “Me too. He was a good man. A hard worker and well-liked.”

“Did he have family here?”

“No. He came to us after his wife was killed.”

Jack shook his head. “Again, I’m terribly sorry.”

“Anyway,” Don went on, “I heard about what happened to you and your friends. I must apologize, Jack. I thought we’d scared those people off.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Would you like a drink of water?” Don asked.

“Sure.”

He got up, grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to Jack before sitting back down.

Jack unscrewed the top and drank about half the water before replacing the cap and setting the bottle next to him. 

“They have our weapons,” Jack said, looking Don in the eyes. “It’ll help them if they plan on attacking you again. We’re talking flashbang grenades and machine guns.”

“It is definitely a concern, but what I’m more worried about are your friends and the others you say are being held there.”

“We have to rescue them.” Jack said. “The sooner the better. And we need to discuss Cliff House’s situation.” 

“Situation?”

“Those men out on the road were waiting for us. They knew we were coming.”

Don’s eyebrows shot up. “How can that be?” Then, as quickly as they went up, they furrowed. “Wait . . . what are you saying?”

“You have a mole in Cliff House.”

Don let out a breath, looking dejected. 

“There is the possibility that we were followed from the bridge when you rescued us, and Cannibal’s men simply waited for us to leave.”

“No,” Don insisted. “No way. We made sure the area was clear before we left for the bridge and no one was following us on the way back.”

“Then you’ve got a traitor amongst you.”

“Imposs—” Don began, then stopped himself. He shook his head slowly. “It just can’t be. Everyone here is . . . like family.”

“You know them all, personally? From before everything happened?”

“Most, but not all.”

Jack inhaled, feeling a stab of pain in his upper back. “Now that I’m here
, whoever the mole is will want to report back. You need to keep an eye on your people. And keep this conversation, this knowledge, between only the few you know you can trust.”

“Right.” Don nodded, seeming to stare off into space. 

“Step up patrols. Get the lockdown established. No one in or out. Only put guards on ground duty who you
know
. And be ready—because they’re coming. Cannibal is one sick man, and now that he’s armed, he’ll be even more dangerous. It’s only a small number of guns added to his arsenal, but it could mean the difference.”

“Thanks to you they’re down three men. That should aid in our favor.”

Don went into action with Jack’s help. Security patrols were stepped up. The house was locked down. Members were going to pull extra duties, gathering food and supplies. People looked scared and tired. During dinner that evening, Jack saw defeat in their eyes, something he didn’t see the first time he’d walked into Cliff House.

“Don,” Jack said, later that evening in his room. “I’m really worried about the people here. They don’t look so good.”

Don smiled and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay. These folks have been through a lot. They’re resilient. And they can all handle a gun.”

Except for Don, Duane, and Paul and a few others, the people of Cliff House didn’t seem like they were ready to go into a defensive war, let alone try to save Maria, Zaun and the others. Cannibal’s people were vicious killers, and wouldn’t hesitate when it came time to do what must be done. Don’s people had fought off those same men, but now the stakes were upped.

“And I know we haven’t found the spy yet, but I don’t think we can afford to wait around to see who it is, or for Cannibal’s attack.”

“What are you saying?”

“That we attack them first.” Jack watched as Don’s brows knitted together. He imagined having to work the man hard, convince him that going on the offensive was the right idea, but the man appeared to be thinking.

Don nodded as he rubbed his chin. “That’s an interesting idea.”

Zaun, Maria, and the rest of the people being held at Cannibal’s might already be dead. Don had the numbers and most of the people were capable of using a firearm, but that didn’t mean they were marksmen or soldiers, cut out for infiltrating a heavily armed enemy. Defending a home from intruders was one thing, going out and acting like a soldier was another. Suddenly, Jack’s idea wasn’t looking so great. But he couldn’t let his friends die over there. He had to try and save them. If he had to, he’d go alone.

“We’ve always been of the defensive mindset,” Don finally said. He paced back and forth. “Fortify, and defend against any danger. With Cannibal having extra weapons, and a spy, if there is one, staying put here might not be the best thing for us.”

“It won’t be easy, but if we defeat Cannibal, we’ll get rid of a growing threat and save a lot of people. By attacking first, we’ll catch them off guard. They’d never expect it.”

“I like it,” Don said, “but we have to find the traitor. This won’t work if the mole relays our plans. Without the element of surprise
, we won’t stand half the chance.”

“I agree.”

“But even before that, I need to talk to the others here about the plan. Convince them. I may be the “leader” so to speak, but I cannot order anyone to do anything.”

“I understand.”

“Any ideas on how we are supposed to find the spy?”

Jack smiled. “Call a meeting. Announce the plans to attack. Then keep an eye on who leaves the house. We’ll flush the bastard out.”

“It’s risky, but I don’t see any other choice.”

“It’s the best option.”

That night, a meeting was called. Everyone not on duty gathered in the living room, the people on patrol already filled in on the goings on. Don spoke about the plan to attack. The mood in the room seemed to darken as hushed whispers broke out. People were afraid, wanted to leave. Find another place.

“We cannot run,” Don proclaimed, standing on a chair next to the fireplace. “They could attack at any time. If they catch us as we’re leaving
, we’ll be slaughtered, or worse, taken prisoner and eaten by that devil. If we strike first, and hard, we can defeat them and free those poor souls trapped there. In this time of peril and mayhem, there needs to be a voice of right. I know it’s scary, but I feel this is our best bet.”

Jack sat back and watched the people’s faces. They were quietly chatting among themselves. Duane and Paul had been informed of the plan before they headed out to patrol and were already onboard.

“You don’t know me,” Jack said, standing, “but I’ve come a long way and been through much, like many of you. I’ve seen bad men, and this Cannibal is one of them. He’s thriving in this new world. We can’t let this happen. He’ll only get stronger over time. He’s overconfident, and now is the perfect time to strike. Citizens just like you are being held prisoner over there, kept in a cage waiting to be slaughtered and eaten. This has to stop. Those people need to be freed.”

“We can do this,” Paul said, entering the room, having finished his patrol duty. “The ones who guard the house, like
me, all agree with the plan and what must be done.” 

An elderly man stood up. “I’m with you all.”

Soon the room was aloud with talk and the consensus was in. People were still clearly frightened, but the resolve to fight was present.

Don clapped his hands. “We get ready tomorrow. Plans have been drawn up for those of you that won’t be coming with us and for the children. A day from today
, we’ll march on that evil place and show those men that their kind aren’t welcome around here.”

The next day the house bustled with activity. Supplies were gathered, including food and essentials. Jack, his shoulder still aching, sat in the living room and loaded bullets into magazines. The group had a nice assortment of rifles, handguns and shotguns, but no automatic weapons or explosives, at least not until Paul came in to show him what he’d been up to since last night. 

“We found a bunch of these about a week ago.” Paul was holding what used to be a small propane tank, the kind used for backyard barbecuing. All around the white canister were nails and screws—stuck to the thing with some kind of resin. What appeared to be a fuse was leading up to the spout. “Turn on the gas, light the fuse and run like hell.”

“Roll them in like barrels or plant them somewhere when the enemy is attacking?”

Paul grinned, pleased with himself. “You got it.”

“Great job. I’m sure they’ll come in handy.”

Jack was pleased to see the ingenuity being used. Don had said his people were resilient. Jack hadn’t seen them in action, and wondered how tough they were, but so far, he liked what he was witnessing.