The Demented Z (Book 2): Desolation (Book 2) (18 page)

Tom pulled the pistol back out from his waistband.
  Looking around he did not see anybody, only a
few cars in the nearly empty parking lot.  
His heart hammered in his chest.
Here goes
he thought to himself.
  He raised the pistol and both hands above his
head and started walking across the parking lot.
  “Lincoln!”  
He shouted. There was no response
and being the middle of the night, he did not expect one right away.
  “Lincoln!”  
He shouted again as he continued to walk across the dirty pavement.

A soft glow appeared in one of the windows.
  It bounced and shifted erratically.
  The glow slowly dimmed and faded only to
reappear in the next set of windows. As
someone walked their way down the central hall with a flashlight the glow continued
to move from window to window.

“I’m here, you wanted me, and here I am.”
  Tom shouted while still holding his hands up
above his head.

More lights flicked on inside the giant brick building.
  They all trickled into the interior hallway
and eventually coalesced near the main entrance.
  Both large doors swung wide open, allowing
blinding lights to pierce the night. Tom
squinted his eyes, trying to shield them from the
brilliant glow.

“Lincoln, I’m here.  
It’s Tom.”

“Drop the gun!”   A
voice shouted from behind one of the flashlights.

Leaving one hand above his head, Tom slowly crouched down
and sent the pistol clattering across the pavement.
  He used his newly freed hand to cover his
eyes in an attempt to diffuse some of the blinding light.

The noise had stirred up the infected that stood at the gate,
their moans cutting through the night.  
Metal clanged as they shook the gate.  
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that this would draw demented and
undead from all around. A few weeks back
this would have been deeply unsettling to everyone, but people had quickly
become accustomed to their presence.

“Austin, check him for weapons.”
  Lincoln said.

Austin crossed the ten foot span while he slung a beat up
AK47 over his shoulder. He walked back
behind Tom and began patting down his chest and waist.
  He moved lower to Tom’s thighs.

“Whoa big guy, keep going.”
  Tom said.

This got the reaction Tom was hoping for.
  Austin stopped checking him and said, “Don’t
you wish.”   He stepped away and unslung
his rifle. “He’s clean.”

Lincoln started to say something, but his voice was drowned
out by the growing number of infected at the gate.
  “Grab him, let’s get inside.”
  He shouted.

Austin pointed his rifle at Tom’s chest and said, “Get
going.”

The group of men at the top of the short steps turned and
headed back through the front doors. Tom
and Austin followed behind them. Relief
flooded over Tom when he fully realized that he would get inside the building
and still have his revolver. Looking
ahead, he quickly counted at least seven bobbing flashlights...more than they had
guessed during their planning.

After the doors closed behind them, blocking out the sounds
of the infected, Tom said, “Stop, where’s Sam?  
If you...”

Before he could finish Lincoln spun around and shouted,
“You’ll what? You aren’t going to do a
thing, we own you.”

Using every bit of restraint Tom could muster he stood still
and said nothing.

Lincoln went on, “Even if we chopped your precious son into
pieces, cooked him up and ate him, there’s not a thing you could do.”

Austin let out a low chuckle from next to Tom.

Anger flushed over Tom, turning his face hot with rage.
  Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
  He continued to stand still, using every bit
of effort to appear calm on the outside.  
He could hear his heart pounding, each beat sending shockwaves through
his head.

“What...nothing to say.”  
Austin jeered from next to him.

Resisting the urge to punch him in the face, Tom Looked at
Lincoln and said, “Please don’t hurt him.  
Do whatever to me...he’s already been through more than any kid should.”

“No worries, we won’t hurt him.”
  Lincoln pointed back toward the demented at
the main gate and added, “They might though.”  
He looked over to a couple men standing next to him.
  “Go get the kid...throw
him over the fence.”

“ Nooo!”
  Tom shouted.

“Wait.”   Lincoln said
to the two men who had started to walk down the hall.
  “Throw him over where there are no
walkers.”   He looked back at Tom.
  “We’ll give the kid a chance...do the honorable
thing.”

Just the thought of little Sam being outside the fence by
himself at night, nearly brought Tom to his knees.
  He would sit scared and crying until the
infected found him. His last moments
would be wondering why Mom and Dad never came for him.
  Tom prayed it would never come to that.

Lincoln stood in the middle of the hall smiling at Tom.
  It was an egotistical grin of
self-satisfaction, knowing he had won.  
The revenge he had wanted so badly had finally come to fruition.
  Not only had he stole a massive stockpile of
weapons, food and supplies, but he had also captured the man he hated
most. It was time for the fun part, time
to make him pay.

The same arrogant grin was still on his face when the first
shots rang out. The rapid volley echoed
down the large hallway, causing Lincoln and all his men to turn.
  Their confusion caused them to move in what
felt like slow motion, all of them with a look of surprise on their face.

Tom was ready for the shots and had already planned out his
move. He sprinted for the large opening
that would usually have a couple secretaries sitting at the counter waiting to
help kids and parents. Knowing Lincoln
and his men would only stay confused for a second or two, Tom launched himself
head first through the opening knocking papers and office supplies from the
counter before crashing to floor on the other side.

The gunshots came to a stop and were replaced by shouts from
the men. There was confusion whether
they should go after whoever fired the shots or go after Tom.
   Using their indecision to his advantage, Tom
reached for his ankle holster and pulled the revolver free.

Gun in hand, Tom scrambled back to his feet and raced
through the office area to a narrow hallway that he remembered from when he
rescued Rachael.    Tom raced past the
doorways, trying to gain as much distance from Lincoln as possible.
  Just ahead he could see that the hall opened
into a larger room, maybe a break room.  
Light flared down the hallway, casting a long shadow on the wooden
conference table.

Cack...cack...cack

  The shots went
whizzing
past Tom, far too close for
comfort. He hunched low as the men
continued to fire down the hall at him.  
Reaching the entrance to the next room, Tom ducked to the side, out of the
line of fire.

He quickly surveyed the room and found that it was an
employee break room. Along one wall sat
a pair of vending machines, one for beverages and the other for snacks.
  Both had their viewing windows busted out and
all the contents removed. Next to the
machines ran a long counter with a microwave, coffee maker, and a mini-fridge
sitting on top. Light bounced
erratically as Lincoln’s men climbed over the counter in pursuit.
  Even in the difficult light Tom could make
out a set of three large windows along the outside wall and a wooden door on
the opposite wall.

Knowing he would never have time to climb out the window,
Tom turned and flung open the door. He
raced into the darkness beyond, slamming the door closed behind him.
  He found himself back in the main hallway
that ran the length of the school. To
his left were the bouncing flashlights of the men that chased after the source
of the initial gunfire. Tom spun in the
opposite direction and began sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him.

Gunfire erupted in the hall.  
None of the shots were directed at Tom.  

The darkness got even deeper as he continued to run down the
hall. Behind him the door was flung
open, slamming into the wall with a loud
crack
.
  Someone shouted and then a bright light cut
into the darkness around him.   The new
light was immediately followed by a volley of gunshots.
  Pain shot through Tom’s arm as one of the
rounds caught him near his elbow. The
wound burned with excruciating pain. It
felt as if his nerve endings were exposed to searing acid.
  Pushing through the pain, Tom continued down
the hall, bullets flying all around him.  
Another shot clipped his leg, sending him crashing to the hard tile.

“I hit him, I hit him.”  
One of the men shouted.

They stopped firing down the hall.
  Other than boots pounding on the floor, the
hall was filled with an eerie silence.  
There was sudden shouting, but it was distant, at the far end of the
hall.

Tom looked to the side of the hall and saw a classroom
door. He pointed the revolver toward the
men that chased after him, and fired of several rapid shots.
  Barely even looking to see where his shots
went, he quickly scrambled for the door.  
Grasping the doorknob, he blindly fired off two more quick shots, opened
the door, and slid through the opening.

He slammed the door closed and looked around the room.
  It was dark, but moonlight spilling through a
wall of windows let in enough light to see.  
The large space was dotted with children’s school desks.
  A giant blackboard ran the length of the
nearest wall.

Seeing no other exits, Tom could think of only one thing to
do. Fighting through the pain, he forced
himself back to his feet and looked to the windows.
  He started racing across the classroom, gun
raised. As he neared the window he fired
a single shot into the center of the glass.  
The pane did not break, but it punched a hole that sent cracks stretching
out in all directions like a giant spider web.  
Just as he reached the wall, the sound of someone working the doorknob
could be heard behind him. He was fully committed.
  Raising his forearms in front of his face, he
leapt head first through the window.

Tom was surprised by the jarring impact.
  In the action movies they made it look like
an effortless and painless task.  
Instead, stinging pain shot through his forearms and head from dozens of
lacerations. The hardened glass nearly
brought his momentum to a halt, dropping him on the pavement directly below the
window. Landing hard on his shoulder,
pain shot through his arm and back, knocking the air from his lungs.
  Shards of glass crashed down all around him.

“The window.”
  One of the men shouted from inside the
classroom.

With a groan Tom regained his feet and looked out across the
pavement. The large fence that
surrounded the school was nearly fifty yards off and Tom didn’t know if he
could cover the ground before being shot in the back.
  Making a quick decision, he ran along the
school’s wall, his entire body aching with every pounding step.

Glass
clinked
to
the pavement as the men peered out into the night trying to find their
quarry. “That way.”
  One of them shouted.
  Loud
booms
split the night as they began firing at Tom’s fading form.

Tom was relieved to reach the far corner of the school,
dodging around the back side, out of the barrage of gunfire.
  The hail of gunfire stopped, replaced by
shouting and more breaking glass.

Knowing the men would not give up the chase easily, Tom
began sprinting across the short span of pavement that led to the back fence.
  There was a small section of road that ran to
a rear loading dock used by delivery trucks.  
The fence butted up against the road’s curb, barely more than a dozen
feet away. A short span of trees
separated the fence from the road beyond.

 
  Using the cement curb to gain some height, Tom
launched off of it, catching the top of the fence at waist level.
  The fence rattled loudly as he hoisted
himself over one leg at a time. Dropping
to the bark covered landscaping, Tom saw two men round the corner of the
school. They stood for a moment, looking
for him, and then one of them pointed Tom’s direction.

  “There!”
  One of them shouted.

Before they could get off any shots, Tom ducked back through
the overgrown trees, disappearing from sight.  
He quickly raced down the row of trees, looking for a thick Spruce.
  Just a few trees down he found exactly what
he was looking for. The prickly branches
were thick and full, drooping nearly to the ground.
  Tom slid in under the spiky appendages and
then used the large branches to climb up off the shredded bark floor.

Within a few short moments he could hear the chain link
fence rattling as the two men chased after him.  
There were footfalls on the pavement followed by silence.
  Tom couldn’t see what was going on, but he
could imagine the two of them standing in the middle of the street looking
around, trying to decide where he could have gotten to.
  The far side of the street was packed with
various small businesses and shops.

Tom remained motionless as he tried to listen to the two men
whispering to each other.

“...gone far...buildings...maybe...far side...”
  There was a moment of silence then Tom could
hear one of them say, “...split up. You go
that way.”

The sound of footsteps got louder as one of the men ran down
the road in Tom’s direction. He knew he
was hidden from sight behind the thick branches, but Tom’s heart still pounded
in his chest. Taking slow breaths he
tried to calm himself and keep as quite as possible.

The surge of adrenaline was wearing off, being replaced by
stinging pain from his cuts and bullet wounds.  
The worst of his pain was in the gunshot near his elbow.
  Looking down, he was horrified to see his
entire arm and shirt covered in dark blood.  
The moonlight was greatly diminished inside the trees cover, but he
could still see the deep black liquid.   A
deep, ragged gash marked the wound itself.  
Gingerly feeling it with his finger, he found the bullet had ripped
through the side of his bicep just above the elbow.
  The round missed bone, but tore out a huge
swath of flesh. Fighting through the
pain, Tom used his hand to cover and apply pressure to the wound.
  He squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to
stem the flow of blood.

An eerie silence came over the area.
  The footfalls had faded into the buildings
across the street. The only sound was
Tom’s own breathing and a steady
drip,
drip, drip
as blood continued to seep out of his body, forming a pool in
the bark below.    The noise was a
reminder of the limited time he had to get to their predetermined fallback
location. It was only a few blocks off,
but he only had so much blood to lose.

His stomach clenched thinking about the others.
 
Had
they found Sam?   Were they able to get
him?   Did they get away?
   If everything went perfect they would be
waiting in the large parking lot of the strip mall over a few streets.
  Sitting anywhere for too long in the city was
a dangerous proposition, and the longer it took Tom to join up with them the
greater risk they would be taking. In
the planning he told Hank that if he was more than ten minutes late they should
leave. Kelly would ensure they stayed
beyond the ten minutes, but they would have to leave eventually.

Gunfire tore him away from his thoughts.
  They were close, sounding like it was just
across the street. A few steady shots
turned into a volley of rapid, panicked gunfire.
  The shots were cut off by anguished
screams. The bone chilling screams
resonated through the night and were surely heard far in the distance.
  It was only a matter of moments before the
screams abruptly ended. The eerie
silence that existed before the gunshots did not return.
  Instead the angered growls and unnerving
shrieks of the demented echoed through the night.
  They would be coming, hundreds of them.

Tom knew he had to move or risk being surrounded by swarming
infected. If he got pinned in the tree,
he would bleed out in no time. Taking
one last look at his still bleeding wound, Tom slid his way down the tree,
dodging through the branches. He reached
the bark floor and scrambled out from under the scratchy branches.

The stores across the street remained shrouded in darkness,
their windows like black pits. The moon
cast long shadows across the street and sidewalk.
  One of the buildings, a small furniture store
sandwiched between two much larger buildings, had broken out windows and the
doors left wide open. The faint
moonlight spilled through the opening.  
In the dim light, movement could be seen.
  Shadows hid the source of the movement, but
their growls gave them away.

There were loud footfalls on pavement.
  Rushing in from several directions were
hordes of demented, their angered shrieks splitting through the night.
  They heard the shots and the screams, and
were drawn to them like moths to a flame.

Tom was hunched in the shadows of the spruce tree when they
spotted him. The loud huffing noise that
Tom was regrettably becoming accustomed to sounded out.
  The call caused those inside the furniture
store to spin around, looking at directly at Tom.
  They were likely devouring one of Lincoln’s
men and this caused them to hesitate.  
The decision to either continue feeding or chase after new prey clearly
weighed on their slow minds. Taking
advantage of their indecision, Tom sprinted across the street, veering at an
angle away from the furniture store.

The demented became infuriated when they saw him move.
  As one, they stood and raced out of the
darkness. Their faces and hands were
covered in blood and gore.

Before Tom reached the sidewalk on the other side of the
street a gunshot rang out. The angry
boom came from somewhere in front of Tom, maybe the next street over.

Boom...Boom...Boom
...the
shots continued.
  The demented had found Lincoln’s other man.

Directly in front of Tom stood a large department store,
cement blocks and dark windows staring back at him.
  With a surge he rushed directly at a pair of
glass doors marked as the entrance. Just
before hitting the doors at full speed, Tom glanced to his left and saw there
were dozens of demented filling the dark street.
 
Please
don’t be locked
, Tom thought to himself just before slamming into the
swinging door.    The impact sent a
shocking pain through his hand and wrist, but thankfully the door flew inward.