Slow Burn (Book 3): Destroyer (15 page)

When the last noise gurgled out of the kid’s slashed throat, the last light of the sun had gone from the sky, and the crickets chirp
ed loudly into the hollow night.

In a hoarse voice, Murphy said, “We should go.”

Some were easy. Some were hard. Some were really hard. I asked myself how many infected I needed to kill before I could stop paying an emotional toll.

I climbed the short wall to the next tier and froze. “You know what?”

“What?” Murphy was immediately alert and looking around as he brought his rifle up.

“That’s the kid’s car up there.”

“That fucked up Mercedes?” Murphy asked.

I nodded and jumped down to the grass beside the kid and started going through his pockets. I found his billfold, of no use to me. Then I found his keys. I pulled them from his pocket. They glimmered in the light of the half moon as I looked up at Murphy and tried to smile. “Bingo.”

“House keys?” He asked.

I nodded and added, “And the car. I’ll bet he has a garage door opener in the car.”

“Fuck, yeah!” Murphy nodded with as much enthusiasm as could be mustered.

“Zed, why don’t you run up there and check out the dude’s car? I’ll go let Dalhover know what’s up.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.
“I’m sure they’re wondering by now.”

Together we
clambered up the terrace walls and took off in our separate directions.

The run back across the property took an unexpected
toll. When I reached the flagstones of the courtyard, I was breathing heavy, sweating rivers, and dragging my feet. I realized that I’d been pushing myself way too hard for too many days. I needed sleep, a full night of it, maybe a few. I bent over, putting my hands on my knees to catch my breath, and looked down along the line of the wall. Murphy was agitated and walking up and down in front of the section of the wall that we’d entered over. Uh oh. Something wasn’t right.

What do to? Run back down the hill and shout futilely at a wall, or proceed with the plan? We had no way to get back over the wall. I put my hopes on the Mercedes and ran as fast as my tired legs would carry me. When I got close to the car, I fumbled with the keys and then pressed the single worn button on what looked like a car’s keyless entry fob.

Click
.

The noise didn’t come from the car. I looked to my right, at the double door entrance at the end of the garage.

“Oh.”

It clicked again. Relocking
itself, I assumed.

I pressed the button again and the door clicked again.
Sweet!

The door’s locking mechanism clicked ag
ain as I jammed the most likely-looking key on the ring into the old Mercedes’ door lock. Luck! I hopped in and a few seconds later, cranked the starter and the German engine purred.

Something was actually going right.
Hard to believe.

With the headlights off, the agile little car zipped around the curve of the courtyard and crunched loudly on the crushed granite driveway. In seconds, I was rolling down my window and skidding up next to Murphy. His face was as worried as it had been the day we’d stormed into his mother’s house. In a taut voice he said, “No answer. I checked up and down the wall.”

“This is the spot where we came over.” I yanked a three-button garage door opener off the visor and showed it to him. I’ll bet one of these opens the gate.”

The wall on the front side of the house ran in a straight line that paralleled Mt. Bonnell Road. At one corner was the gate near where we’d parked the Humvees. Perpendicular to the front wall, and through the gate, was what I guessed was a long section of the driveway, that ran along the
side wall of the property for eight or nine car lengths. That section of the driveway was blocked off from the main compound by another wall. At the far end of that section was an interior gate that matched the gate to the outside.

Murphy ran toward that gate as I drove toward it, pressing button two as I went. I didn’t know how the remote was programmed, but button
two made sense. Button one for the exterior gate. Button two for the interior gate. Button three for the garage door. Or vice versa. Either way, two was the answer.

Over the revving engine, I heard the mechanical click from some large piece of machinery. The interior gate started its slow slide open. I killed the engine, pocketed the keys and ran with Murphy through the widening gap.

To my right, as I passed through the gate, I saw a guard shack built into the back wall. Beside that was parked a small black pickup truck. A peek through the shack’s windows revealed that it was empty. Good.

I caught up with Murphy as he ran down the length of the gauntlet and I pressed the first, then the third button. Nothing happened.

“Fuck!”

I stopped and looked down at the three-button controller. I pressed button one, then three again.

Murphy stopped and looked at me with eyes full of anxious, silent questions.

Looking back at the door still open behind us, I quickly deduced that the outside door might not open until the interior door was closed. From a security perspective, that made sense. I pressed button two and the interior door started to close. With exaggerated body English I urged the interior gate to close while Murphy ran toward the exterior gate to wait.

Paranoid fucking owners!

But that was a good thing, assuming we could take control of the place.

The interior gate finally locked into place and I tried button one again as I ran toward the outer gate and was rewarded with the metallic sound of the outer gate sliding to the left.

As soon as the gap was wide enough, Murphy squeezed through. I followed him onto the moonlit dirt road between the compound wall and the cedar forest. Once through, I paused and thumbed the remote. As the gate stopped and reversed its motion, Murphy rushed toward the dark shapes of the Humvees parked along the wall.

I waited for the gate to come to a close before proceeding. It wouldn’t do to have any Whites running into the compound while we weren’t looking. Once the sound of the gate’s mechanism silenced, I heard disturbing noises coming out of the darkness up the gravel road: scuffling, shuffling, and sobbing.

Shit!

I ran toward the murky shadows by the Humvees and saw a cluster of black figures struggling in the dark. My rifle was up and I was ready to shoot, but as I drew closer, the details resolved.

What the hell happened?

“Dammit!” I hissed, as I came in close.

Murphy was engulfing Mandi in his big arms.

Steph lay on the driveway, sobbing and trying to give instructions to Dalhover, who was working at trying to stop the bleeding on her neck, or shoulder, I couldn’t tell.

The other soldier, the guy whose name I’d never learned, lay face down on the caliche in a mess of blood and brains with his feet and legs still in the Humvee.

Kneeling down beside Steph, I asked, “What the fuck?”

Dalhover looked over at me with his permanently sad face and rasped, “Jackson turned and attacked Nurse Leonard.”

I grabbed Steph’s hand and leaned over. She was frightened and hyperventilating. Tears flowed.

She gasped, “I…I…don’t think…it’s bad...
We…need…to stop…the…bleeding.”

“We will,” as calmly as I could fake. I looked over at Dalhover.

“It’s a nasty bite,” he told me. “Tore off part of the trapezius near her neck. It’s bleeding like crazy, but… I think we can stop it. This is a military first aid kit. The gauze has a coagulant in it.”

“Steph,” I said, leaning over and looking into her panicked eyes, “can we move you inside? Do we risk making it worse?”

She shook her head immediately. “No risk… Move me… Keep…the…pressure on…the…wound.”

“Okay.” I took a microsecond to collect my thoughts and devise a plan. I jumped to my feet and looked around. “Mandi, you come here and keep the pressure on Steph’s wound. Murphy, you pick her up and get in the passenger side of Dalhover’s Humvee. Dalhover, you drive it. I’ll take the first
one. You follow me in. Let’s go. Now!”

They all jumped at my command. I ran to the Humvee in front and got into the driver’s seat. I looked back. All the others were getting loaded up. With the engine started, I pulled forward and pressed button number one on the remote. The gate started its slow slide open while Dalhover’s Humvee came up behind me.

Once the gate opened wide enough, I turned right and drove quickly inside, pulling all the way to the end of the gauntlet with Dalhover behind. I pressed button one again and the exterior gate obediently stopped, then reversed direction.

Again, I urged it forward. “C’mon.”

But it didn’t close fast enough.

First one, then two more infected came running through the shrinking gap and pounced on Dalhover’s Humvee.

“God dammit!”

I jumped out, drew my machete, and ran to the back corner of my Humvee. The gap in the door was almost closed. Another infected had just run through. I spotted movement through the gap in the gate. Whites were running through the cedars toward the opening, probably drawn by the noise of the opening and closing.

The time for machetes was past. Time to think clearly. 

The Ogre and the Harpy.

There were four in the gauntlet and more on the way. I wanted to shoot those running for the door. Getting the door closed with the minimum number of infected inside had to be a priority. An open gate and an unknown number of Whites inbound, were the first ingredients in the recipe for disaster.

But fast moving targets in the dark over seventy feet away were targets I’d likely miss. And once
I pulled the trigger, the ones already inside would charge. I only had one choice but I needed to be goddamned quick about it.

I
pointed my rifle at the closest of the infected, the one trying to get through Dalhover’s door. He wasn’t more than six feet away. I fired and his chest erupted in a fountain of blood. The two infected on top of the Humvee immediately sprang at me. The female led and fell over the windshield. She spider-crawled across the hood, scraping her knees and palms to blood in her hurry to taste my flesh. She caught two rapidly fired bullets, one in the head, and one through the throat. Without missing a beat in my firing rhythm, I hit high on my next shot, but the fourth caught the next White in the shoulder, spinning him over the other side of the Humvee.

The running guy was closing fast, but Dalhover swung the Humvee door open at the last second and the running White collided with it and fell. Two shots accompanied by muzzle flashes from behind the door told me that that
the infected was dead.

I looked back toward the gate. “Damn!” It had reversed direction after hitting an infected
who was down, but struggling through. Apparently a safety feature built into the closing mechanism had reversed it.

I ran toward her, firing as I did.

Bam, bam, bam.

All three shots missed.

I stopped and steadied my gun. She was up and running at me with wild eyes and chomping teeth.

Breathe!

I pulled the trigger again, once, twice. She fell.

I reached into my pocket and fingered the remote again, pressing all the buttons. The gate stopped and reversed again.

I ran toward the closing gap.

I saw two more infected men jump over the big stone blocks that bordered the drive, running at me. I fired again and again and again, four shots at the two runners to get one down, but the gate closed. The last White outside hit the metal gate with a loud bang then went quiet, knocked out by his own anxious stupidity, perhaps.

“Jesus!” I gulped a deep breath and looked around. Dalhover was out of his Humvee and on the other side. He shot two more times and that last wounded White was dead.

I listened. Somewhere out there, I heard the sound of a few infected, screaming. I couldn’t gauge the distance with the walls, but they were few and far enough away that I felt safe for the moment.

Dalhover hurried around the back of his Humvee and checked each body as he went.

“All dead?” I asked as I ran by.

He nodded.

I pressed button two on my remote and the interior gate slid slowly open. I hopped into my Humvee and as soon as the gap was wide enough, I drove in. Once through the gate, the Humvee’s tires chewed up some of the lush green sod as I drove it around the little convertible I’d left on the driveway.

With both Humvees through, I fingered button two, then waited to watch the gate close and stop.

God damn
!

With
Dalhover behind, I sped up to the courtyard in front of the garage. I slowed once my tires hit the flagstones and I pressed button three. The door on the end of the garage, the furthest from the breezeway, opened and exposed a well-lit empty spot. I pulled in and to my left I saw an old blue mid-sixties Corvette convertible with the top down. To the left of that sat a Tesla.

I jumped out and ran past
those two cars and a Bentley, then passed an empty space. At the other end of the garage sat a very shiny Mercedes. It was silver, sleek, and expensive as hell. That much was clear. It was also clear that it wasn’t locked.

I flung the door open and hopped into the driver’s seat, realizing immediately that I didn’t have the keys to start it. I wanted Dalhover’s Humvee in the garage and the Mercedes out, but I had no way to move it. I jumped out of the Mercedes and ran back up to the garage door that I’d left open.

Murphy, carrying Steph, came in with Russell who was glued to Mandi’s side, and Dalhover behind. I pressed the button on my remote and the garage door closed. Then, it was silent except for our labored breathing and Steph’s pained, soft moans. We were safe, but somehow, that concept didn’t sink through to attenuate our need for urgency.

Realizing suddenly that all eyes were on me, I said, “C’mon.” I hurried back toward a pair of double doors at the other end of the garage. They matched the two I’d seen outside, so I deduced that they must open onto the breezeway to the house. Once at the doors, I stopped. There was no knob. Of fucking course, it had no knob. “Really? Every fucking tiny little thing!”

I glanced at the faces of the others. They were expectant, anxious.

Fuck!

I jammed a hand into my pocket and pulled out the old Mercedes keys. The key fob with the other remote! That had to be it! I pressed that button and the door clicked and swung open. As though I’d planned it all along, I held it open and ushered the others through. As we hurried across the breezeway, the door clicked shut behind us.

A very roomy patio was inset into the house at the other end of the breezeway. Flowerpots of every size held tropical plants and flowers. The front door was way oversized compared to any house I’d ever been in. It was constructed out of black iron in an ornate pattern of ivy and flowers, with a sheet of glass behind. It had a large iron handle.

A handle! Thank God!

I pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. I tried the key fob again. A welcoming click followed. I pulled on the handle and we all stepped into the immeasurable comfort of an air-conditioned house.