The Dark Trinity (Book 1): Shuffle (11 page)
She wore a ratty pair of denim overalls, a fluffy pink down
jacket smeared with blood, and a red knit cap with a big happy face sunshine on
the front. The cap was the kind with ear flaps that had those cute tassels
hanging down. White skin, red eyes, forked tongue; the whole shebang.
Was
that a teddy bear in her hand?
Yep. Dangling like a hanging victim from her
left hand was a teddy bear; the fur matted with blood.
The girl just stood there in the street. Motionless.
Expressionless. Nathan wondered if she was like some of those other
zombie-things he’d seen.
Maybe she won’t attack me. I don’t want to have to
shoot a kid.
He was so focused on the little girl, that he hadn’t noticed
the mass of thirty zombies assemble behind her.
The girl, whom he had dubbed Sunshine, flashed a devilish,
bloody grin at him. It was at that precise moment that he realized that there
was a mob of murderous zombie-things standing behind her. Now fear began to
grip him as he was not only afraid for the girl, but for himself, as he was now
cornered against a building. The creatures just stood there, growling a low,
rumbling growl. Not a single one in the lot moved towards him or the girl.
What’s
going on? Why aren’t they attacking her?
Slowly, Sunshine raised her right hand and pointed at him.
She unleashed an ear-splitting screech, which caused the horde to advance, but
they ignored the girl and headed right towards him.
Oh, that’s why. Fuck all.
Nathan finished strapping on the machete to his leg,
unsheathed the blade, and un-holstered his pistol. There was no hesitation this
time. He unloaded two rounds at the closest creature, hitting it square in the
chest. Knowing that he couldn’t let the horde get in front of him, he picked up
the duffel bag and slung it onto his shoulder. Raising his left hand, he
brought the blade of the machete down on a middle-aged woman’s head.
Blood sprayed as he heard her skull split like a coconut.
Planting a foot on the woman’s chest, he pushed her back, dislodging his blade
from her melon. Turning quickly, he fired another shot into a Goth teenager’s
face. Another swipe took off an arm and then a head. Blood gushed from the
wounds, soaking the already dirty slush that covered the roads.
He saw an opening ahead and pushed forward, then turned to
fire off another four rounds at the advancing mob, dropping three of them. Two
more shots exploded the head of an elderly man with a bowler hat.
Who the
fuck still wears a bowler hat?
He dispatched another ghoul with his last two rounds, then
swung full circle with the blade, slicing a fat leather-clad biker across the
gut. His abdomen opened up like a big jelly donut, spilling his innards all
over the street. For a moment, the zombies nearest the biker stopped their
pursuit and began to gorge on the intestines that littered the street. Nathan
turned and ran as fast as his load would allow; he had to put some distance
between himself and the horde of monsters behind him.
Another screech sounded. A quick glance showed him that
Sunshine had refocused those feeding on the biker and now they resumed their
pursuit. His eyes also registered that the creatures which he had shot in the
chest had gotten back up and continued to give chase. The ones he dismembered
followed as well, although some dragged themselves along on the ground, since
he had lopped off a leg or two.
“Shit, this is not good,” he muttered.
Okay, just like in
the movies then. Head shots only. Make the ammo count.
He continued to haul
ass down Liberty until he finally made it to the intersection with Grant
Street. Unfortunately, the foot chase attracted attention from others in the
area. A lot of others. Now the crowd that was tailing him had at least doubled.
Things were going from bad to worse. Luckily, Steel Plaza
Station was only two more blocks away. He had a one block head start, so with a
little luck, he’d be able to make it into the station before he’d be overrun.
Then, the inevitable happened.
He tripped.
EVOLUTION
“Fuuuuuuuuuck!” he exclaimed as he finished heaving for a
fourth time.
Ronnie had only walked three blocks before he needed to duck
into an ally and heave. The vomit that he expelled turned into a thick, bloody
mess. He had just gotten off the phone with Nate when the attack from his own
body began. After two more episodes, his stomach stopped contracting. He
staggered into the nearest alley, not wanting to get pulled back into the fray
of carnage that had been escalating ever since his run in with the infected
elderly man.
“Man, that was rough,” he said to himself.
I hope I didn’t
catch that nasty shit from Grandpa.
He did, of course, catch that nasty
shit from the old man. Unbeknownst to Ronnie, his body was changing at an alarming
rate after a mere five minutes after infection. DNA was shuffling, allowing his
body to create new structures. His cells created new tissues, blood chemistry
altered, and neural pathways rewrote themselves. The rods in his eyes
multiplied, which allowed for better night vision. Ronnie didn't care about
what was happening to him. All he knew was that it hurt worse than anything he
had ever experienced before.
People ran past the alley, screaming for their lives. The
infected gave chase and slaughtered the terrified crowds without mercy. Blood,
body parts, and innards paved the streets of Pittsburgh, melting the remaining
slush on the roads. A noxious vapor emanated from the pavement. The sound of
automatic weapons grew closer, as the National Guard had arrived and were now
trying to win control of the bridges.
He peeked around the corner of the alley entrance and stared
down Grant Street. He knew that he was only a few blocks down from the T
station, which meant that he was getting closer to Nathan. The bloodletting
seemed to occur primarily within a two block radius of his alley, leaving a
large expanse of open street to the subway. If he could slip by those zombie
fuckers and make it to the open road, then he could definitely make it to
Nathan without incident.
Beyond the vacant swath of street, Ronnie saw another mob, a
large group, chasing after some poor shmuck who now ran for his life down the
street towards him. The prey had to have been three or so blocks beyond the T
station and would most likely be overtaken by the swarm before they reached his
current hiding spot.
Sucks to be that asshole,
he thought as he returned
to the relative safety of the alley.
The creative hot dog vendor slumped onto the ground and
leaned against a garbage can. His breathing had become labored and shallow.
Ronnie’s hands hurt bad. Looking down, he could see hard, bony protrusions
poking through the tips of his fingers. The nails were a grayish color; a
pinkie nail fell off and fell to his lap.
That’s gross.
His vision began
to tunnel. “Enter Sandman” started playing through his earphone as his vision
started to get dark and blurry.
That’s pretty fucking ironic,
he thought, chuckling to
himself. A moment later, Ronnie Manguba took his last breath as a human.
SAFE HAVEN
Every curse word spilled out his mouth as he face-planted
onto the pavement. Nathan jumped to his feet and sprinted onward. Beyond the
subway station, he saw more infected a few blocks down Grant Street. More and
more attacks occurred as the infection spread at an incalculable rate. He
refocused on the station doors, which drew closer with every stride.
His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted as fast as the
slippery streets would permit. He was one block away from potential safety, the
subway station only one more block ahead of him. The impending doom which
chased him had gained some ground on him, but was still at least a half a block
back. Half a block left. He was able to pull a few more yards ahead of the
crowd. Finally, he reached the entrance to Steel Plaza Station.
The first door he tried didn't budge. The second door was
locked as well. Same with the third. Christ, don’t tell me they’re all locked!
He pulled hard on the last set of doors as the legion of blood-soaked zombies closed
in on him fast. The door opened, almost sending him reeling backwards, since he
didn't expect it to be open. Nathan slipped through and slid the lock bolts up
into the door frame. Just as the last bolt clicked in place the mass of bodies
outside hit the facade of the station. The entire front of the vestibule
buckled under the weight of the impact, but the doors (and glass) held.
Not wanting to wait to see how strong the glass was, he
turned and ran down the escalator. The station was empty. No Port Authority
workers sat in the token booths. No police patrolled the platforms. No scared,
frightened citizens looked for an escape from the city.
Well, no scared,
frightened citizens besides himself, that is.
The only train at the station
sat dead on the closest outbound track where he stood. Ronnie was right, the
military had ordered the trains to stop their runs, which wasn't a big
surprise. The train blocked the tunnel that led under the river and out of the
city. He'd have to go through the train to get past it.
There was no sign of Ronnie anywhere, which could only mean
two things; either he had arrived already and went on without him or he hadn’t
made it. Nobody appeared to have tampered with the train doors. Ronnie
definitely hadn't been here yet. An uneasy feeling began to take hold of him.
With the army of dead in front of the entrance, his friend would not be able to
join him, assuming he was still alive.
He placed his gear on the platform and pulled out his cell
phone. He keyed Ronnie’s speed dial number and listened, but he was getting
zero reception underground. Even if he could get reception, he doubted that
he’d get through to anyone anyway. Most likely, the military shut down
the cell towers by now. Placing the phone back in his jacket pocket, he decided
to do a quick weapons check.
After checking all the spare pistol clips, he started loading
all the other extra ammo clips. Nathan secured the clips within the multitude
of utility pockets on his pants and jacket. He then grabbed one of the UMP45s,
locked and loaded it, and slung it over his back. Then he loaded the other
sub-machine gun and placed it back in the bag. He opened a box of shotgun
shells and loaded the 12-gauge, which he then shouldered. With his Smith &
Wesson holstered and his trusty machete in its sheath, Nathan felt somewhat
ready for whatever lie in store.