The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented (17 page)

“Where’s Ben?” Tom said.

Hank nodded over to the
side of the lawn and started in that direction.

“We have to go…they will
be coming.” The kid said.

Tom knew it was not the rest
of his group the kid spoke of, but the infected. They would have heard the
firefight and been drawn to it, knowing noise
meant food. As if on cue, several howls could be heard over the crackling fire.

Near the edge of the lawn,
Hank laid Rachael down. Next to her sat Ben, grabbing his side. Red blood
oozed out between his fingers, soaking his shirt. Looking over at Rachael, Tom
could see no wounds. He looked up at Hank.

“I think its smoke
inhalation…passed out.” Hank said.

Tom hunched over her
still body and used his hands to check the back of her head for injuries.
Finding none, he agreed with Hank’s assessment.

He stood back up and
slung his rifle over his shoulder. Knowing it was risky, but having little
choice, he raced back toward the burning
mog. Taking a deep breath, he ducked through the opening into the smoky
interior. Immediately his eyes began to sting. Squinting to see, he climbed
into the rear of the Unimog and began searching. From his memory of the layout
inside the camper, he was able to find the emergency backpack containing a large
first aid kit as well as other survival items. Tom was also able to find a
couple packs they had loaded up with ammo and small weapons.

Unable to hold his breath
any longer, he sucked in air and immediately regretted it, the smoke burning his throat
and lungs. Becoming light headed, his vision blurred and mind fogged. Losing
his balance, he stumbled and caught himself with one arm up against the
mini-fridge. Working to focus, he staggered to the edge of the doorway and
leapt down to the floor below. Falling to his knees, he crawled, pulling the
gear he had risked his life for, until his hands felt the cool comfort of grass.

With a shudder, Tom’s
stomach heaved, spilling what little breakfast he had eaten out onto the lawn.
Gasping for air, he flopped over onto his side. His lungs and eyes continued to
burn from the smoke.

Angry growls could be
heard from back in the trees, many sounding very close. If not for this, Tom may
have lain there for quite some time. Instead he groaned and rolled back to his
knees, working his way back to his feet.

Hurrying as best he could,
Tom made his way back over to the others. The kid had removed his shirt and
sat next to Ben, using it to apply pressure and slow the flow of
blood. Hank stood next to them and scanned the distance using his rifle scope.

Hearing Tom running up on
them, Hank said, “There are a bunch of infected coming. We don’t move, we’ll be
tits-up in no time.”

Dropping down next to
Rachael, Tom began digging in one of the packs and said, “Buy us a few.”
Pulling out and cracking a pill of smelling salts, Tom held it under her nose.
Her reaction was nearly instantaneous, head shaking and nose wrinkling, she
opened her eyes, squinting in the bright light.

Hank’s M24 thundered next
to them.

“We’re out of the house,
but we have to move.” Hank said to Rachael, hoping she would snap back to the
world. Confusion crossed her face, but not wanting to waste precious seconds,
he spun toward Ben and the kid.

Ben’s face was pale and
nearly lifeless.

Tom reached back into his
pack and pulled out a wound coagulation pack, tearing it open, he said, “Move
the shirt.” Tom dumped the white powder over the dark, oozing wound. Using
gauze and adhesive, he dressed the wound as best he could, knowing it was likely
too little too late.

Hank’s rifle continued to
fire next to them, pounding their ears with loud booms. Between shots, angry
growls and shrieks could be heard.

“We have to move!” Hank
shouted while reloading.

Tom stood and raised his
M4 to his shoulder. Looking in the distance, he saw hundreds of demented racing
through the trees, the fastest of them nearly to them.
Sighting through the scope, he began firing at the nearest ones. Once he heard
Hank’s rifle back in the fight, he lowered his rifle and spun around, checking
all around them for threats. Listening, he heard the pack like growls in the
distance, but there were no infected within immediate sight.

Turning back, he saw
Rachael just getting to her feet. She looked at him and nodded her head, a
silent “I’m okay.” He nodded back, raising his rifle to provide cover fire
while Hank reloaded his M24. Every demented he shot was replaced by another.

“We have to move.” Tom
shouted. He looked over at the kid, pointed at Ben and said, “Grab one of his
arms and help me drag him.” Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Tom reached
down and grabbed one of Ben’s arms and shouted, “Go, go, go!”

The two of them began
running as fast as they could, dragging Ben’s limp form behind them. His eyes
never opened and he barely let out a moan.

“I’ll catch up.” Hank
said from behind them, continuing to fire at the oncoming horde.

Tom knew he would have no
problems catching up to the three of them. Even Rachael was slow moving,
burdened by the heavy ammo and survival packs.

Between heavy breaths, Tom
said, “Drop the pack…Hank will grab it if he can.” Beside him, the kid was
gasping for air.

“I can’t.”
The kid said between ragged breaths.

Tom’s legs burned with
pain. His lungs ached for more oxygen. He knew all too well just how the kid
felt. “Top of the hill…just make the hill.” He said.

The forest was not thick
through here but instead dotted with giant Ponderosa pine trees that left giant
pine cones strewn about. Footing was becoming difficult as the hillside got
steeper and the piles of round cones became more
abundant.

Nearly to the top, the
kid staggered and fell to his knees, gasping for air. He tried to say
something, but nothing came out, just a sucking sound as his body desperately
tried to get air.

Letting go of Ben’s arm,
Tom said, “Somebody check Ben.” He unslung his rifle and turned back the way
they had come. Partway to them was Hank, throwing the survival pack
over his shoulder and reaching down for his rifle. Less than 20 yards behind
him were several demented, sprinting awkwardly across the uneven ground. Dozens
more followed in their wake.

“Covering!” Tom shouted
just before pulling the trigger on his M4. His shot hit nothing but dirt. He
fired several more shots...dirt. The adrenaline was well past gone and his
body was beginning to shake, its desire for fuel causing micro spasms. He
tried to take several deep breaths. Kneeling into a crouch, he rested his elbow
on his extended leg and began sending lead downrange.

“He’s gone.” Rachael
said from behind.

Tom knew it was Ben she
spoke of and it sickened him to think this, but he was relieved.

Drawing the kid’s pistol
out of his waistband, Tom handed it to Rachael and said, “Go.” She started to
say something, but he cut her off. “Just go.”

Turning back around, Tom
saw Hank working his way up the steep incline, his face dripping sweat.
Raising his M4, Tom fired several shots down the hill before his rifle ran
dry. “Loading!” he shouted before dropping the empty mag to the ground and
reaching for a fresh one in his vest pouch.

Hearing this, Hank
stopped, pulled a pistol out of his side holster and began popping off rounds.

Slamming a fresh magazine
into the empty well, Tom shouted, “Go…I’ll follow” and began firing again. His
shots were rhythmic and well placed, focusing on proper breathing and
controlled trigger pulls.

There were far too many
infected to gun them all down, but Tom hoped
to at least buy everyone some extra time by taking down the quickest ones.
Their relentless speed was astounding. They did not seem to tire. Growling
angrily, they went after their prey with single minded focus. Aiming for their
heads to keep them from coming back later, Tom emptied another mag and
immediately turned and began racing for the top of the hill.

Not seeing the others, he
knew they must have made the crest and started back down the other side,
hopefully with a safe haven in sight. Breathing heavily, he reached the top and found the others were in fact racing down
the other side. Not exactly to a safe haven, but to a sprawling house
development. The twisting streets and packed in houses had to have somewhere
to hole up.

He gave one final glance
behind him. The sight terrified him. Nearly a dozen demented were already on
the final steep pitch leading to the crest and behind them were hundreds more, tripping over each other to get at him. From his high vantage point
it looked like a rising tide of shifting waves.

On the road far below he
saw several trucks and a couple cars making their way toward the Unimog’s final
resting place. One of them was the blue sedan from earlier, the passenger side
riddled with bullet holes and the windshield busted out. They were nearing the
two story house that was now a towering inferno, flames shooting high into the
air, and thick smoke billowing out across the river to the south.

A sudden scream echoed
from somewhere behind him, followed by several distinct pops from a pistol.
Turning toward the noise, he could see movement amongst the houses below.

Tom tried to get down the
steep hillside as quickly as possible; knowing that the demented that reached
the crest would rush down this side without regard for their own safety. He
would never be able to outpace their fearless charge. Picturing the wave of
bodies pouring over the top and rushing down toward him,
he began to race down the hillside, dropping to his butt and sliding where the
rocky terrain got too steep. His pants were beginning to shred, exposing his
flesh to the sharp rocks.

Coming to a skidding stop
at the base of someone’s chain link fence that separated their backyard from
the hill, Tom could hear the shrieks and growls of the demented beginning their
stampede down the slope. Not daring to look back, he quickly climbed over the
fence and started across the lawn in the direction he last saw Hank.

Darting across the open
space, Tom unslung his M4, and proceeded to slam in a
fresh mag and charge the rifle.

******

“The last one of ‘em just
went over the top.” Trips said. He was a thin man with a face full of stubble
and acne scars. He sat next to his father, Big Mike, in a slow moving truck.
They both had watched Tom and the others crest the top of the hill in an
attempt to escape the demented. Looking out the window, Trips fidgeted with the
bolt on his old hunting rifle. He stared up at the massive horde still
climbing the hill, wondering what could be done to save his little brother
Mikey.

Big Mike hunched forward, looking
out the front windshield. “He’s headed for the new subdivision. There’s a
huge cluster of houses on the other side of the hill.” He looked in the
rearview mirror at a small blonde girl and said, “We’ll get brother back…Mikey
is slippery, you know that.”

She nodded her head,
looking unconvinced.

Big Mike’s hands gripped
the steering wheel tight, a look of disgust crossing his face as they drove by
the burning house. Eying the wreckage of the Unimog, he shook his head. “Damn
waste…that was a sweet ride. You know how stoked Lincoln would’ve been if we’d
brought that beast back to him.”

“He’s gonna be pissed.
Several of our guys killed, couple rigs blown to hell, and we’ve got nothin’ to
bring back.” Trips said.

Glancing in his mirror at
the truck behind them, Big Mike cracked a slight grin and said, “Don’t forget
the redhead we nabbed.” He looked over at Trips and added, “I think Lincoln’s
gonna like her a lot…know what I mean.” His belly shook as he let out a
gravely chuckle.

Trips was quiet as he
thought back to when they trapped the little hatchback on the bridge. She was
clearly terrified when she stepped out of her car. He bet she had been on the
run for quite some time and never expected to run into anything like them.
Watching her pale white legs trembling with fear had excited him greatly. Even
now, with her in the next truck back he could almost taste her. Anticipation of
Lincoln getting done with her was almost too much. Her petite body would…

“Trips! I asked you a
question.” Big Mike shouted as he backhanded him in the face.

“Ouch…What? I was
thinkin.”

Huffing in anger, Big Mike
said, “Should we make some noise…draw some of those infected away from Mikey’s
trail?”

“They’ll be after us.”

“Just pop a couple shots at
‘em. Then we can take the cut-off, circle around.”

Trips nodded his head and
began rolling his window down. “Slow up a sec.” He awkwardly shifted the
rifle around until it was pointed out the window. Peering through the scope,
his view was filled with a thrashing mass of arms and bodies, desperately
trying to gain the hill. Rather than pick out a target, he just fired off a
round, never even seeing what it hit. Inside the cab, the blast sounded like a
nuclear explosion, causing all of their ears to start ringing.

Had anyone cared to look,
they would have seen Maggie, the daughter in the back, with her knees tucked up
to her chest, her hands over her ears, and small tears running down her
cheeks. Her world of princesses and ponies was gone, barely remaining even in
her own mind. Mikey had been the only good thing left in her life and now he
was gone as well.

Rapidly sliding the bolt
back and forward, Trips fluidly chambered another round. With a deafening boom,
he sent a second bullet flying up into the mass. Holding the rifle to the side,
he screamed out the window as loud as he could, “Hey! Come get some! Fresh
brains!” He began laughing hysterically.