The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented (19 page)

“Hey! Touch the goods
early and Lincoln will have your balls.” Big Mike said.

Trips circled around the
three of them, removing all their weapons. Slicing the sling on Tom’s M4, he
handed it to Big Mike and said, “Real nice.”

Big Mike holstered his
revolver, looking over the rifle. Hefting it a few times in his hands, as if
testing the weight, he looked directly in Tom’s eyes. “You killed some good
men…friends.” He looked over at Hank and then Rachael, leaving his eyes on
her. “You’re all gonna pay. You’ll wish those things had got ya.” He said,
nodding toward the other side of the lake.

“Hey, I think I know this
guy.” One of the men said. The middle aged man wore a ripped up set of BDUs
and held a pump shotgun pointed at the ground. “This is that Tom guy from the
local documentary last year. Some hot shot survival trainer. The documentary
was on him training that big expedition. I think they wanted to climb Everest,
trace the Amazon, and cross the Sahara in one year…maybe something more, can’t
remember.”

“Think Lincoln could use
him?” Big Mike asked.

The man stood thinking.
“Probably…military contracted him off and on for training.”

“Live around here?”

“Up north. Not sure
exactly where, but I bet Peterson knows. He used to live out that way…knows
everybody.”

Tom’s stomach knotted up,
knowing where this conversation was going. He debated saying something, but
worried it would make them want to find his house all the more.

“Hook up with Peterson
when we get back, grab a few men
, we can take a trip. Bet there is some good
supplies out there.”

Tom's mind flashed to the
thought of Kelly and Sam hunkered down at home, surprised by these dirt bags
showing up. Tom started to say, “I think we can…”

Before Tom could finish, he
saw the butt end of his M4 flying right at his face and then everything went
black.

******

Lying in bed with little
Sam’s head resting on her lap, Kelly continued to listen to the incessant
banging downstairs. It had been a couple days since they all started pounding
at the window shutters and doors. Her mind was in a haze with little to no
sleep over the past forty-eight hours. She was in constant fear of
being overrun by the demented and the noise was a
constant reminder of what was trying to get in.

Little Sam stirred in his
sleep and mumbled something under his breath. The words were unintelligible
but it was clear he was having a nightmare, a common occurrence lately.
Rubbing his back lightly, he calmed to her comforting touch.

From downstairs came the
sudden sound of splintering wood followed by an angered growl. The pounding
increased in intensity. More splintering and cracking wood. They were getting
in.

Kelly’s pulse raced, her
heart pounding in her chest.

The thud of something
falling to the floor echoed up the stairway. More
angry growls filtered up from downstairs and were immediately followed by
guttural grunts.

Shaking Sam, Kelly
watched as he slowly opened his squinting, sleep filled eyes. “Wake up
honey.” She didn’t want to startle him, but knew he could only be protected
from the truth for so long. “The crazies are getting in, wake up.”

Blinking rapidly a few
times, he said, “I’m up…I’m up.” His head snapped around, eyes widening when more banging came
from downstairs. Immediately tears began to well up, fear filling his
face.

“Shh…Shh…we gotta stay
quite.” She whispered. “Get your backpack on."

Both of them were already
dressed, having slept with their clothes on to be as ready as possible. Kelly got up out of bed and
tip toed over to the windows that they spent so much time staring
out of. Peering down, she
could see several of them still staggering around in the lawn. They acted
unaware that others had found a way inside the house.

Hearing more grunts from
below, Kelly continued watching out the window. A couple of the demented
raised their heads, cocking it to the side, listening. Mesmerized, she
continued to watch as one of them opened its mouth, grunting in return and then
two of them raced out of view. Several still remained shifting around in the
yard.

Reaching down, she grabbed
her backpack and began slinging it over her shoulders. The banging escalated,
followed by an enormous thud. She reached into the corner, grabbing the
shotgun, knowing it had a round chambered, ready to fire. Holding a hand out
toward Sam, signaling him to stay put, she moved out into the hallway, continuing
to listen.

The downstairs had
erupted into a cacophony of sounds. They were
tearing the place apart in search of their prey. Everything from breaking
glass to splintering wood to banging metal to rage filled shrieks could be
heard. With each ear piercing shriek, Kelly’s heart skipped a beat, stinging
vomit rising in her throat. It was everything she
feared coming to fruition.

Standing halfway in the
hall, shotgun pointed at the floor, she tried to decide what to do. She was
sure that Tom was gone, probably never having made it out of Portland. He would have been back by now. Was this to be her
and Sam’s last stand? They couldn’t get to Sam…she would never let it go that
far.

Creeping toward the
stairs, she continued to listen to them tear her house apart. Partway down the
hall she could just see over the top step, down to the wood landing below. The
wood was mostly covered by scattered debris.

Staring back at her was
their family portrait, taken nearly a year ago, the glass shattered and
scattered around it. She stood, glaring down at it, angry at it. Knowing
her previous life was gone, it angered her that it
had the audacity to flaunt it in her the face. She wanted to scream at it.
She wanted to shoot it. She hated it.

“Mommy?” Sam said.

His soft voice brought
her back.
We have to get out of here.
She knew it immediately and
without question, if they stayed, they died.

Just as she started to
spin toward Sam, movement caught her eye. Turning
back, she saw one of the demented at the bottom of the stairs, standing, and
staring at her. She stood, frozen, unable to move. Her world went silent, as
if frozen in time. Neither of them budged. He stood still, his flannel shirt
covered in grime, blood dripping from his mangled knuckles. It was as if the
demented was waiting for her to move, to know she was real.

“Mommy.” Sam repeated in
a whisper-shout.

This was the bursting of
the dam. The last piece of concrete that held back the flood. With incredible
speed Flannel began racing up the stairs, two at a time, while growling with
rage. His arms stretched out in front of him, reaching for her, finally
finding the prey he had desired for so long. Below him the downstairs had
erupted into a cascade of shrieks and growls. They all sensed it, they all
knew.

Spinning back around,
Kelly lifted the shotgun to her shoulder, and the second she had a bead on
Flannel, she pulled the trigger. With a deafening boom the shot hit him square
in the chest, sending him toppling over backwards and landing at the base of
the stairs.

Before she had time to
assess what just happened, two more of them were leaping over
Flannel and racing up the stairs. Behind her, over
the ringing in her ears, she heard Sam screaming for her, sobbing and
terrified. Racking the pump she chambered another round. With another boom
she hit the first one in the head, tearing
away a huge chunk of its face. Another pump, another boom, and the next one
collapsed backwards onto the others. More were coming, she could see them just
coming into view.

“Sam! Get back in my
room!”

She chambered another
round, firing at the next face that entered her view. Never registering that
it was Plinky until she saw her bloodied pink shirt lying across the stairs,
Kelly racked another round. Watching in horror, she saw Plinky struggling to
rise to her feet. Lifting her face and chest off the stairs with her one
remaining arm, she trembled and shrieked at Kelly. Pointing the shotgun
directly at Plinky’s head, she pulled the trigger and watched her topple over
backwards, only a red mist remaining in the air.

More growls emanated from
somewhere downstairs. She quickly began backpedaling away from the stairs,
trying to get back to her room and Sam. Hearing footsteps pounding on the
stairs, she turned and ran for the open door. Rushing through the doorway,
she turned and slammed the door closed behind her, locking it. Throwing the
shotgun on the bed, she ran over to the large dresser and pushed it in front of the closed door.

Turning around, she saw
Sam curled up in the fetal position, lying in the corner. His bulging,
superhero backpack looking grossly out of place.

With a loud boom, one of
the demented slammed into the door. Another boom, and then another as demented
continued to pound relentlessly at her last line of defense. She looked out
the window and saw several of them were gathered in the lawn below, staring up
at her, drawn to the noise.

She knew the defense
shotgun had two rounds left. She looked down at Sam.
Could it have come to this?

When he first awoke, Tom
had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. His face and head stung
with intense pain. Each beat of his heart was like a hammer blow to his skull,
shooting pain through his brain and into his eyes.

Fighting
through the agony, he slowly opened his eyes, squinting into the blurry
darkness. He found himself in a small room surrounded by shelves, their
contents shrouded in inky blackness. Directly in front of him was a door with
a sliver of light sneaking under the bottom. He was in some kind of
utility closet or small storage room.

Screams erupted from
somewhere beyond the door.

It all came back to him
in a flash - the hill, the subdivision, the lake…and the dirt bags that took
them. He wondered if it was Rachael he heard screaming. He tried
to pull his hands out from behind his back but
found that they were zip tied to the shelving. The
connection was down low, nearly touching the cement floor, making it impossible
for him to get to his feet.

Sitting still, he listened
intently. Between screams he could hear muffled voices, shouting, and maybe
laughter. They sounded far off, maybe several walls away, making their words
unintelligible. Whoever was screaming sounded terrified…and maybe angry.

His thoughts flashed to
his encounter with Big Mike. He was sending some of his goons north, to his
home, to Kelly and Sam.
How long was I out? Had they already gotten home?
Are those Kelly’s screams?
He had to get out of this damn room.

He had tried enough times
and seen others try enough times to know that
the zip ties would never be broken by brute force and were much tougher than
one would expect. Using his fingers, he felt the edge of the shelving and found
it was thin metal. It was not very sharp, but it would have to do. Pulling up
with his arms, he began rapidly sliding his hands from side to side, scraping
the plastic across the metal, over and over. Hot pain stung
his wrists as the hard plastic dug into flesh. Gritting his teeth, he continued
the sawing motion, his muscles straining.

He froze as shadows
filtered in under the door, their vague form shifting through the yellow
light. Someone stood just outside. Tom held his breath, not wanting to make a
noise. His heard pounded so hard he was sure it could be heard outside the room.
After a few moments the shadows shifted out of the light. Continuing to listen,
he heard metal scraping on concrete followed by a soft creak and a sigh. Then
came the unmistakable s
hick-
shick
of a lighter.

He should have known they
would keep a guard watching him. Keeping him alive was actually a bit of
surprise, but he was glad they underestimated him.

As quietly as possible, he
went back to sawing at his bindings, clenching his teeth to keep from grunting
with pain and exertion. After several minutes his hands popped free with a
snap. Reaching in front of him, he rubbed the throbbing pain out of his
wrists. His wrists were slick with either blood or sweat,
it was too dark to know.

Suppressing the urge to
rush out, fight off his captors, and save whomever he could, Tom instead took a
few calming breaths and began looking through the shelves. Even in the
darkness there was just enough faint light to make out most of the objects and
it was clear that he was in a small janitorial closet. Toilet paper, rags,
cleaners, and other odds and ends littered the shelves. In a corner leaned a
variety of brooms and mops. Not the massive arsenal he hoped for.

Intense, muffled screams
echoed from somewhere outside the door, reminding Tom that
time was critical.

Reaching out, he grabbed
one of the wooden brooms and then stepped back away from the door, squatting
low. Kicking hard at the contents of one of the shelves, a slew of items
toppled to the floor, clanking and banging loudly in the small space. He let
out several soft grunts and then sat still, watching the base of the door.
Almost immediately he could hear the shuffling of feet on concrete. Shadows
filtered under the door. Still grasping the broom, Tom let out a soft moan and
then knocked a paint can from the shelf.

From the other side of
the door he could hear the guard working the
slide on a pistol, chambering a round. Tom silently eased his way over to the
side of the door. He was surprised to see the doorknob start rotating…they
hadn’t even locked it. Tensing, he prepared for the fight to come.

The door came swinging
inward, filling the narrow space with bright light. Despite the stinging
brightness, Tom stepped forward, knowing he only had the briefest of moments
before the guard saw he was no longer bound to the shelf. The guards eyes went
wide, his gun held to his side, clearly not expecting Tom to be free.

Using the end of the
broom handle like a spear he rammed it directly into the thug’s throat,
crushing his windpipe. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.
Tom saw him beginning to raise his pistol in defense, so he whipped the broom
down cracking it against the guard’s wrist. Falling from his grip the pistol
clattered to the cement. Not wanting to let up for a second, Tom brought the
broom back up and cracked it across the guard’s face, splintering the wooden
handle in two. Using the splintered end, he rammed it into the guard's exposed throat.
Before the guard could topple to the floor, Tom grabbed him by the arms and
swung him through the open doorway into the utility room. Tom quickly scooped
up the pistol and closed the door.

Looking left and right, he
found himself in the wide hallway of what could only be a school. Along the
hall were large bulletin boards, void of papers, out for the summer. Both sides
were dotted with lockers, broken up by classroom doors. The thin carpet was
stained with blood, a scene that never belonged in a school.

Following the sounds of
shouting, he worked his way along the hall, away from the double doors that surely
lead outside. As he got deeper into the school, the voices grew louder,
interrupted occasionally by shrill screams. Glancing back, he saw the twin
doors far down the empty hall.

Nearing an open set of
double doors that he guessed led to a gymnasium, the sounds became very loud.
Sneaking up to the opening, Tom eased his head out into the doorway, fearing
what he might see. Daylight spilled in from large windows that sat up high on
the wall, surrounding a large basketball court. From the looks of things, the
group had been amassing a variety of supplies. Filling the near side of the
gym were stacks of boxes, most appeared to be food, but he also saw water,
toiletries, and a variety of other everyday items. At the far end of the large
space Tom could just see the tops of people’s heads over the boxes. Watching
for several seconds, he counted at least eight people, none of which he
recognized as friendlies.

Needing to get closer, he
ran in a half crouch over to the nearest stack of boxes, keeping his head low.
Holding his pistol out in front, he began slowly working his way through the
stacks, drawing nearer to the screams. They were pained and sounding of
exhaustion.

He was just beginning to
make out some of the words people were shouting. The
cavernous space distorted their words, but he could
still distinguish a variety of vulgarities and
lewd comments. Most of it was the typical garbage you would hear from a bunch
of pumped up, testosterone filled guys, but there was also a darker, more
sinister side to the shouting.

Trying to keep his
breathing calm and heart rate down, while also rushing to get to the front as
quickly as possible was very challenging. In the back of his mind he could
picture Rachael or Kelly tied up and surrounded by brutes, taunting, hurting,
and doing even worse to them. The thoughts alone filled him with rage, his
head flushed with anger.

Nearing the far end of
the gym, he saw Hank sitting up against the bleachers along the wall. His head
was drooped down, chin resting on his chest, covered
in dried blood. His arms wrapped around his
back, likely bound to each other or the bleachers.
Soaked in crimson stains, it looked like he had taken
a savage beating. Motioning with one hand, Tom tried to get Hank’s attention,
but he never budged. After a few tries,
Tom ran in a half crouch over to the edge of the
boxes, getting as close to Hank as possible. It only took a quick glance to
see that he was out of commission. Tom was relieved to see that his chest
still moved rhythmically with
each breath.

Focusing his attention
back toward the group, he dodged through the last few stacks so that he could
get a good view of what was going on. He was horrified to see a frail looking
young woman, barely clothed, bound to a large picnic table. Several of the
thugs surrounded her, taunting her, and groping at her exposed
flesh. They would all laugh and continue to prod at her, thrilling in her
torture. Tears streamed down her face. Her energy was clearly drained and she
only occasionally let out a meek scream or mumbled resistance. Rachael was
nowhere to be seen.

He recognized one of the
men from earlier, when they were captured at
the lake. His camo pants were resting at his ankles, exposing his white
underwear, partially covered by his hanging belly. Standing to the side of the
girl, he made vulgar, gyrating motions with his
hips, while all the men around him laughed and shouted encouragement.

No longer fearing for his
own safety, his anger overcoming him, Tom stepped toward the group, pistol
raised. Mentally prioritizing his targets, he began with those that were fully
clothed and closest to a row of weapons he saw leaning against the wall.
Aiming center mass, he squeezed the trigger, hitting his first target square in
the back. The shot sounded hollow, echoing through the large space.

Their reaction was slow.
Only a few even began to turn toward the
source of the noise.

Shifting his sights over
to the next target, Tom sent another round. Not even watching the bodies fall,
he continued to acquire targets, rapidly squeezing the trigger without mercy.

The
men slowly realized a threat existed and it was not
just one of their members screwing around. Everything was happening so fast. Noticing their comrades dropping to the floor, they began to realize what was happening.

Tom fired off several
more rapid shots, the acrid smell of cordite clinging to the air as more men
dropped to the wood floor.

A flicker of movement out
of the corner of his eye.

Swinging rapidly to the
side, he found one of the thugs standing just to the side of a stack of boxes.
The large man was sighting down an AK47. The
muzzle flashed.

Beginning to crouch while
bringing his pistol to bear, there was a sharp crack as the
AK's bullet flew over his shoulder, inches from his
head. Two rapid trigger pulls dropped the man to the floor.

Turning back to the group,
he saw that four men remained. Two of them were racing for the rifles that
leaned on the wall. Next to the girl stood the other two, both of which had
their pants around their ankles and were frozen with fear. Ignoring them, Tom
turned his pistol on the others and with a couple rapid shots they both
dropped, crashing into the wall, guns clattering to the floor.

Tom turned back to the
two remaining dirt bags, seeing one of them frozen in place and the other had
fell over his pants trying to get away and now lay face down, clawing at the
floor trying to drag himself away. They were so tough when all they had to
deal with was a young woman bound to a table. Now they just looked pathetic.

Noticing that his pistol
shook from the built up adrenaline, Tom lowered it to his side, staring the
standing man in the face.

“Please.” The man stammered,
nearly in tears. Urine ran down the inside of his legs, forming a growing
puddle at his feet.

Tom took several rapid
steps forward, eating up the span between them, and then raised his pistol and
slammed the butt against the man’s temple. He crumpled to the floor. Next to
him, the girl lay still, droplets of blood dotted her face, standing in stark
contrast to her ashen skin. The look in her eyes said it all – her spirit was
crushed and spent.

Still crawling away, the
last man could be heard sobbing and mumbling something under his breath.

Tom walked over to him,
pointing his pistol down at the man’s head. “I'll give you one chance.”

The man stopped crawling
and instead just stared at the floor.

“Where is Rachael? Where
is the woman I was with?”

Flopping over onto his
back, the man said, “Don’t kill me…please, just…”

Tom shoved the muzzle of
his pistol onto the man’s forehead causing the man to cry out in pain as it
burned his skin. “Where?” He shouted.

“Locked up…Lincoln locked
her up until he gets back.” His eyes glanced to the woman at the table. “Gave
us her.”

Tom wanted to stomp on
the man’s balls and give him a speech on respect, but knew it was a waste of
energy. “Where is she?” He repeated.

“Down the hall.
Principal’s office.”

“Where is Lincoln?”

“Went with the group to
your place, Patterson thought he knew where it was. Five of them…Big Mike,
Mikey, Trips, Lincoln and Patterson. Left awhile ago.”

“How long?” Tom asked.

Shrugging his shoulders a
bit, the sobbing man said, “Maybe twenty minutes.”

“Where are we?”

“A middle school…north
side of Spokane.”

Tom did some quick
calculations and figured if they were able to drive straight to his house, they
would be there in less than thirty minutes. He had to hurry. “Where are
cars…keys?

Pointing back to the
other side of the gym, the man said, “Out front…we leave the keys in ‘em.”