The Last Five Days: The Complete Novel: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (7 page)

Don't beg. Be tough,
Melanie thought. Unsure of her ability to stay strong, Melanie didn't respond to Dean.

"I'm not the same kid I was when we first met." Dean laughed. "Back then, I was just some punk robbing chicks for beer money. I've matured. I've developed a taste for the finer things." Dean paused. "Like murder."

Murder
. The word shook Melanie to the core. She never accepted that the virus would kill her. She was healthy and hadn't come into contact with anyone who was sick. Eventually, there would be a cure.
Murder.
It put focus on her mortality. The way the town was surrounded. First Sergeant James Carpenter couldn't pull some strings and get his own daughter out. Black Dog was viewed as a threat to national security. Her father preached "eliminate the threat." Reality hit and it hit hard. Melanie was going to die in Black Dog, but she would not give Dean the pleasure of taking her life.
All I have to do is get him to untie me,
she thought.

"Fate really must be on my side. I had no idea when I moved to Black Dog that I'd get the girl and be allowed to kill at will. No law makes Dean a happy boy."

Melanie laughed. "Fate. You're trapped in a town the United States military views as a threat to the country. You can't leave. No matter what happens today, you will die here. I will die here. Anyone still alive will die here. I think you mean karma is on your back."

Dean smirked. "Just gives me something else to kill. Splitting Luther's gourd with an ax was fun. Choking out that weird waitress with a chain was a rush. Those highs don't last. I'm jonesing again."

"You killed Vera?"

Dean's lip curled, and he nodded. "She wasn't even sick. She begged for her life just like you did."

Melanie ignored the comparison. "And at work? Did Tyler attack you?"

"Nope. Harold screwed everything up. He had to go. Jerry smelled like tuna. He always smelled like tuna. I hate tuna." Dean mimicked a shiver. "Tyler, well, he was the boss. I have a problem with authority." He went back to carving something into the chair.

"What do you plan to do with me?"

Dean jammed the knife into the wood. He scratched his chin. "Decisions. Decisions. Decisions. Any ideas on what I should do with you?"

"I'd say let me go, but I don't think that's going to happen."

"You're the reason I'm here. Now that I got you, I'm not letting you go." Dean cocked his head as if he were studying Melanie. "You've grown up too. You're not that scared little girl anymore. This will be fun."

"How can it be fun if you keep me tied up?"

Dean stood up and walked to the bed. He traced the knotted rope around Melanie's ankle. He never touched her, but that didn't stop her flesh from crawling.

"I've had plenty of fun with tied-up girls."

Dean leaned in to kiss Melanie. She turned her head. His lips rested on her cheek. Melanie noticed they were chapped and rough; something she ignored when she thought Dean was her soulmate. His warm breath held a faint stench. Maybe coffee. Something else that Melanie hadn't noticed. Dean wasn't Mr. Perfect.

"Playing hard to get, huh?"

Dean ran his hand over Melanie's stomach. Butterflies she once felt for him were now tiny daggers stabbing her gut. She fought back the urge to vomit. Dean rubbed his crotch against her bound hand. The zipper scraped her knuckles. Melanie refused to acknowledge the pain.

"I've been dreaming of this since that night in New York," Dean said.

I have to get free,
Melanie thought. "Of what? Raping me while I'm tied up?"

Dean stepped back and shook his head. "I don't want to rape you. Sex does nothing for me."

"Then untie me. Chase me. How far can I get? Don't you want this to be memorable? You came all this way to kill and you're not even going to let me put up a fight."

Her defiance against being a victim surprised Melanie. It surprised Dean too. He took another step back and sat in the rocking chair. He took the knife and pointed it at Melanie.

"Why aren't you scared?"

"What do I have to live for? This isn't like in New York. I'm not graduating in three weeks. I may be a prisoner in my own home, but worse than that, I'm a prisoner in this town. I can't escape. So why keep me tied up?"

Dean dropped the knife, placed his hands together, put his thumbs under his chin, his index fingers under his nose, and thought.

"More than likely, this will be your last kill. Take a look around. There isn't anyone left. Untie me. Work for it. I can't get away. Let the chase turn you on."

Dean smiled. He picked up the knife and walked to Melanie. Dean traced the rope tying Melanie's ankle to the bedpost. He ran the blade underneath the rope. With one hand on the rope, Dean jerked upwards. The knife shredded the rope. Melanie's leg was free.

"I am going to kill you."

Dean moved to her other foot. Another swipe of the knife and Melanie's other leg was free. Kicking Dean as hard as possible flashed through her mind, but her hands were still bound. If she reacted now, she wouldn't have a chance.
What am I going to do when he frees my hands?
Melanie thought.
I'm going to have to kill him. Can I do that?

Dean grabbed Melanie's wrist. The rope dug in, burning her flesh. She bit her lip so that she wouldn't whimper aloud. Dean ran the blade along the length of the rope between Melanie's wrist and the bedpost as if he were whittling a piece of wood.

"I'm not stupid," Dean said. "I'll cut this hand free and you'll try to poke out my eyes or something as I reach over you to free your other hand."

Dean straddled Melanie's chest. His weight forced her to gasp. He held the knife to her throat. Melanie closed her eyes in attempt to fight back tears.

"I'm not going to kill you yet. You were right. The thrill is in the kill, but there's nothing like a good chase to get the adrenaline pumping."

Dean freed Melanie's wrist. He didn't realize the rope attached to her other wrist had frayed from the early knife play, but Melanie knew. While Dean was cutting her right wrist free, she grabbed a full-size Maglite that her father bought her for Christmas with her left hand. She kept the flashlight next to the bed in case the power went out.

Melanie's wrist was still bound to the bedpost, but the tension had loosened. She hoped she had enough strength to hit Dean with the light and free herself.

"One more and then the fun begi…"

Before Dean could finish the sentence, Melanie landed the flashlight against his temple with enough force to break the rope and render Dean unconscious. She screamed, not out of fear, but as a way to release pent-up emotions. Melanie pushed Dean off her. His body slumped and made a sickening thud when it hit the floor. Melanie didn't care.
Hit him again.
Melanie's mind tried to convince her it was the right thing to do. This was her chance at revenge. A rare opportunity to regain the dignity she felt she lost during the robbery. As her mind screamed to finish Dean, something inside told her it wasn't the right thing to do. Melanie was afraid the guilt of murdering someone would be worse than lost dignity. She clutched the flashlight to her chest and ran. Melanie had survived — for now.

* * *

"
F
ive gallons
of gas gets quite heavy after a while."

Winston switched the can to his left hand. Baker Street was empty, not that it ever had gridlock, but gauging by the sun, it was getting close to five o'clock. Normally, a few people would be heading home from work. But there was no one. Not even a dead guy wanting to dine on Winston's flesh. There was something soothing about the peaceful street mixed with John Denver.

"Am I really starting to like John Denver?"

Winston refused to answer the question, opting to marvel at the iPod's battery life instead. It had become a trusty friend, sticking with him through a near death experience and the treasure hunt for gas. Winston didn't think it would be too hard, but without power, gas pumps didn't work. He tried a few cars, but someone beat him to it. Gas was going to be gold without power. It took a few cars and a mouthful of gas, but Winston finally filled up the can. And all along, the iPod was his wingman. Just as "Pink Moon" by Nick Drake came on, the iPod died. Winston couldn't help but laugh. He sat the gas can down to examine the iPod. A scream startled him. The iPod hit the asphalt. From the corner of his eye, Winston saw someone running for him.

"Help me."

Winston drew the Colt and aimed it at the voice.

"Don't shoot me." The woman fell to her knees and rolled onto the sidewalk.

"Melanie?"

Melanie got her feet and started toward Winston.

"Stay back." Winston aimed the gun at her head.

"It's me, Winston. He's trying to kill me."

"Are you sick?" Winston asked, taking a few steps back with the Colt still pointed at Melanie.

"I'm not sick. Dean's trying to kill me."

Winston lowered the pistol.

"He's not who I thought he was." Melanie paused to catch her breath. "He's evil."

"Dean's not evil. He's sick. The virus makes people dangerous."
Dangerous.
The word lodged in Winston's throat like a chunk of meat. Winston had killed people; infected or not, they were still people. He was dangerous.

"Dean's not infected. He killed Luther, Vera, and God knows who else."

Winston thought back to the marks on Vera's neck.
She wasn't dead when someone strangled her. Byrd said the dead don't do that.

Melanie grabbed Winston's arm. "We have to go. I hit him, but he'll come for me."

"Are you sure he isn't infected? How do you know he killed Vera?"

Melanie tried to pull Winston. "He told me. We have to…"

A gunshot interrupted Melanie. Winston screamed out, broke free from her grasp, and clutched his right arm. Another gunshot. This one barely missed Winston.

"Run," Winston said, falling to the ground. He rolled, aimed the Colt, and fired toward Melanie's porch. The bullet lodged into a wooden column next to Dean, who was wearing the clown mask again.

"It was cute of you to offer me a knife, but did you really think I wouldn't have a gun?"

Dean fired a shot at Melanie, purposely missing her. A warning shot to let her know at any moment he could take her down. She froze.

"Take shelter," Winston said.

His words thawed Melanie. She dove behind an old station wagon.

"You've got a gun. I've got a gun. Let's talk about this, Winston."

Dean was defiant. He didn't take cover. He opened his arms, welcoming Winston's next move.

Winston got to his knees and dragged himself behind a row of shrubbery. The asphalt grated flesh from his palms. His knees felt as though they were bleeding, but the pain from the bullet lodged in his arm numbed everything else.

Dean laughed. "I can still see you."

Winston tore the sleeve of his hoodie to inspect the damage. He wasn't lucky today. Yesterday at Luther's, Randy's bullet grazed his arm. This one stuck and stuck deep.

"You're boring me, Winston. Entertain me or I'll kill you...and then I'll kill Melanie."

Winston bit his lip to the point that it bled. He was trying anything to mask the pain from the gunshot.

"I'm going to give you to five, and then I'm emptying this gun into you," Dean said. "I'll use the knife on Melanie, since it was her suggestion. Come on; you want to play the knight in shining armor, don't you?"

"Looks like I'm going to have to. All the clown costumes were taken, Bozo."

Dean laughed. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Let's have some fun."

Dean stepped off the porch, tore off the clown mask, and started toward Winston.

"He's coming, Winston," Melanie shouted from behind the Pinto.

"Look out. I'm coming, Winston."

Dean pointed the gun at the shrubs and fired. The bullet missed Winston's head by a few inches. He would have to peek around the bush to return fire. That was sure death, but his options were slim and disappearing with every step Dean took.

"You know, Winston, I never liked you. You just have this look about you. Like you're smarter than everyone else. Killing people gets me off, but killing you will be damn near multi-orgasmic."

"If you're looking forward to it that much, why don't we put the guns down and get to know each other on a more personal level?" Winston said.

"Didn't I suggest that ten minutes ago before you went the coward route and hid?"

"It takes me a while to open up. I'm a bit shy."

"How many bullets ya got, Winston? And don't lie."

Jimbo. The porch column,
Winston thought. "Seven."

"No fair. I only have two. Tell ya what. Let's even out the playing field. Lose six bullets." Dean aimed the gun at the gas can Winston left behind and fired. "I've got one. We'll each have one shot at each other."

"I don't know, Bozo. How can I trust you? You're wishy washy. First you want to lose the guns and now you want to have an old west duel."

Melanie screamed, startling Dean. He fired a shot in her direction, shattering the windshield of the station wagon.