Zomb-Pocalypse 2 (13 page)

I feel exposed and helpless without my belt, and the smell of rotting corpses does nothing to reassure me that this isn’t the end. I can’t help but freak out, wondering if these guys are going to feed us to some pet zombies or something equally as horrible.

They press a wicked looking gun into Silas’s back, and he grudgingly gets to his feet and hands over his own knives and guns, then Ryan next. They even search Sunny, though she doesn’t carry a weapon.

I want to scream in anger when they use itchy rope to tie my hands behind my back and pat me down once more, far more thoroughly than needed.

When they are finished binding us all up tighter than a trussed up turkey on Thanksgiving, they open a door and shove us inside. It’s dark, but slowly, I begin to make out the shapes of rows of pews.

My heart pounds so hard in my chest that I’m worried I won’t be able to hear any zombies shuffle up. My eyes search the darkness, trying to make out the shape of anything lurking in the dark. I don’t think there is anything, nothing has attacked us yet, but I can’t be sure. The smell of rot and death persists, and Silas goes and sits down heavily on one of the hard, wooden benches.

“What are we going to do?” I ask in a whisper, trying to keep the panic from my voice, but it comes out all tight and squeaky.

“We need to figure out a way to get out of here,” Silas says, looking around for anything he can use to escape. I’m not sure if he can see much though, because I sure can’t.

“We should’ve let the zombies eat that son-of-a-bitch!” Silas curses, and I wish we could go back and change things too.

Chapter Thirteen

“What are they gonna do to us?” Sunny asks tearfully, and I don’t know how to answer—nothing, I hope.

“They aren’t going to do anything,” Silas interrupts, surprising me that he’s taking the time to reassure the little girl. “We’re getting out of here.”

I look around the room. There doesn’t seem to be any obvious escape routes. There are a couple stained glass windows that let a tiny bit of light filter through, but they are small and located too close to the ceiling for us to climb out.

It’s ironic that one of the things that makes this church so secure from the dead is the same reason we won’t be able to escape.

I struggle against the rope that’s wrapped so tightly around my wrists. It instantly starts to rub and chafe uncomfortably, but I try to ignore the sting and keep tugging.

“Blondie,” Silas calls quietly, coming up beside me. I look up at him in the semi-lit darkness. My eyes are finally starting to adjust, and I can see a little better. Silas looks grim.

“Reach inside my jacket, the inside pocket on the right,” Silas tells me, and I wrinkle my nose at him.

“Why?” I demand, hear him let out an impatient breath.

“I have a knife in there that they didn’t find,” he whispers, and his words make my heart leap inside my chest. My hands are behind my back like everyone else’s, and I have to do some twisty maneuvers so my back is to Silas. I shake out my fingers to try and ward off the numbness that’s starting to creep up into my blood-deprived digits, so it isn’t with a lot of grace that I force my hands roughly into Silas’s pocket. He’s tall, and the angles are all wrong. My hands fumble around, and I can feel the hardness of the handle amid the fabric, but I can’t actually grab it.

“Just relax and take your time,” Silas murmurs soothingly in my ear, which seems crazy since we’re being held captive by a bunch of lunatics, and time is of the essence! “Breathe,” he commands when I attempt my uncoordinated attack once more.

I wipe away an angry tear, it’s so frustrating that such a simple task is so difficult for me, especially now when it matters so much.

I stop my exploration by brute force and pause to take a deep breath like Silas suggested. I feel hot and sticky with sweat and fear, and I’m sure I don’t smell the best either. I gently move my fingers to feel the edge of his pocket and then concentrate on dipping my hand inside. My thumb brushes against the knife, and I get excited and lose contact again.

“Almost had it,” Silas confirms as I pull back for a moment to regroup, panting, and my wrists burning like they’re on fire. I turn around and look at Silas as an idea strikes me. He’s looking back at me calmly, totally uncharacteristic for Silas—but he probably realizes that freaking out at me right now will only make me more nervous and inept.

“I have an idea,” I whisper and feel my face flush a little. It’s weird enough that it might just work. Sunny and Ryan are watching us now, which makes me feel even jumpier, but this is life and death, and I have to push all the other dumb teenager stuff aside.

“Try to hold still,” I tell him as I take a step closer and use my head instead of my hands. It’s odd, and the thick jacket covering my face, makes me sweat worse as I press my forehead into Silas’s rib cage and try to locate his pocket with my mouth. I can hear the crazy beat of his heart hammering away, and now I know that as calm as Silas is acting, he’s secretly tripping balls right now too.

I find his pocket by using my tongue to locate the opening—gross, I know—only it doesn’t seem that gross. Thankfully, his coat is new and clean of any zombie guts, and the inside of his jacket smells like Silas, fresh soap and outdoorsy. I get a good grip on the pocket with my teeth after realizing it’s too small for me to slip my whole face inside. I bite down hard and pull with everything I have.

I feel Silas sway towards me a little, but he rights himself quickly and stands his ground, and finally I hear the most joyous sound of my life: the fabric tearing. I feel the knife about to fall, so I press my chin into Silas’s ribcage to pin it down. I hear him let out a little squeak, and his entire body shudders, and despite the seriousness of the situation, I smile a little and tuck the information away for another day. Silas is ticklish.

I feel the knife slip, and I wipe the stupid grin off my face and slowly nudge the pocket knife along until I’ve got it clamped between my teeth. I straighten up, feeling a surge of elation, and Silas motions me towards one of the pews.

“Set it down there on the seat,” he tells me, and I eagerly jog over to carefully drop it where he instructed.

Silas sits down and manages to get a hold of the knife with his bound hands. Then we all sit for ten minutes, with our breath held, while he tries to cut himself loose.

It’s very anti-climactic watching him. He’s tied so tightly that he doesn’t even look like he’s doing anything other than sitting on the bench. I hear him grunt in pain, and move in closer out of concern. I’m close enough that I can see the beads of sweat popping out on Silas’s forehead. It seems like an eternity before he stands up and pulls his hands from behind his back.

His ropes are bloody, but he doesn’t complain as he brushes past me on his way to Ryan and begins to cut him loose. “No offense to you, Blondie, but if those guys came in here right now, I want someone free who stands half a chance in a fight against them,” Silas mutters as he hacks away at Ryan’s ropes.

“I didn’t say anything,” I protest innocently. His reason actually makes a lot of sense to me, now that he’s looped me in.

“You were thinking it,” he retorts, finishing up with Ryan and moving in behind me. I feel the cool press of the knife against my skin, but thankfully he doesn’t cut me. The ropes spring off, and the air actually makes the rope burn hurt worse.

“Thanks,” I tell Silas gratefully, but he doesn’t reply as he kneels down behind Sunny. The little girl whimpers when he starts to cut, but Silas is uncharacteristically gentle with her.

Sunny runs to Ryan as soon as she’s free, and Silas doesn’t bother sparing her another glance.

“See, Blondie, this is why you don’t always need a
Crocodile Dundee
sized knife,” Silas takes the time to tell me, and because he’s expecting some kind of reaction from me, I stick my tongue out at him—though I also make a mental note to start hiding my own small jackknife somewhere from now on.

“What now?” I ask, and we all look to Silas for an answer.

“We need to get out of here, but they have our guns and the keys to the truck,” Silas says, thinking out loud.

We all freeze when we hear the door being unlocked from the outside. “Put your hands behind you and pretend you’re still tied up,” Silas whispers urgently as he lunges forward and kicks the severed rope under one of the pews.

We all gather in a tight circle and move as far away from the door as possible, up towards the podium at the front.

One of the large men who’d wielded an automatic weapon earlier comes strolling in, though he’s ditched the scary looking machine gun now for my pistol. Anger flashes through me as I recognize the muzzled weapon. The man strides in without fear, wrongly assuming we are no threat to him because we’re tied up, and I can’t help but wonder how many people they’ve done this to! He seems so calm and confident; I know we can’t be his first victims.

He gets closer and points the gun towards us. “Time to go,” he orders with a sneer, and fear starts gnawing away at my belly. I have a lot of trust in Silas, but what can he really do with a small knife against a man with a gun?

“Where are you taking us?” Silas demands, probably trying to piss the guy off so he’ll make a mistake.

“To meet your maker,” the guy says with an evil chuckle, and Sunny starts to whimper. Ryan quickly moves in front of her before she can give away the fact that her hands are no longer tied behind her back.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, taking a page from Silas’s play book.

“I’m not the one doing nothing,” the guy replies with a twisted grin. “I just like to watch ‘em bleed out,” he retorts, and I feel sick just looking at this monster’s face.

“We’re not going,” I goad him, and he gets a funny look on his face as he strides towards me, intent on proving me wrong. He pushes past Silas and Ryan as he takes a grab at me.

The boys spring into action, and Ryan jumps the guy from behind while Silas lays a bone-crunching punch to the center of his face. Our captor lets out a roar of anger and accidentally drops his gun when he’s forced to use both hands to ward off his attackers.

I dive for the gun, and the guy aims a brutal kick at my ribs just as my hand grazes the barrel. I let out a yelp and double over in pain as all the air is forced out of my lungs. My head spins, and I try to suck in a breath but can’t. I begin to panic and look up just in time to see Silas viciously stab the guy in the stomach. He stabs him several more times before he collapses down on his knees, and I have the vague presence of mind to wrap my fingers more firmly around the gun and roll out of the way with it.

Silas stabs the guy again and then pushes him all the way down onto the ground. The guy collapses beside me with his eyes wide and lifeless, and if I’d enough breath left in my lungs, I definitely would’ve screamed.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, falling to his knees beside me.

Despite the horrible pain, I nod.

“Just force yourself to take that first breath,” Silas tells me, bending down and clasping my hand and pulling me to my feet. The sharp pain of being pulled up makes me gasp and, thankfully, air finally finds its way inside my burning lungs. The next breath is easier, and even though it still hurts, it isn’t as bad as it was. Silas pulls the gun from my hand and pats me on the shoulder.

“You did good, Blondie,” he tells me.

I manage a weak smile at his praise; it is few and far between.

Ryan lets go of me to tend to Sunny, and I use a wooden pew to lean on as I watch Silas skillfully take apart my pistol and check how many rounds are left in it. “Full,” he says when he catches me watching.

“What now?” I ask, hiding the majority of my pain so I won’t be a burden.

Silas ignores me for a minute as he bends down to search the corpse of the guy he just ruthlessly dispatched. He pulls another gun from the back of his pants and hands it to me. “You and Sunny stay here,” he commands. I want to object, but he has that look on his face that says it won’t change his mind.

“Shouldn’t we all sneak out of here together?” Ryan questions, and I smile at him gratefully. It still hurts to breath, never mind talk.

Silas shakes his head. “They have our keys, and probably half of our supplies pulled out of the truck by now,” he disagrees. “Besides, we can’t leave them alive to keep hurting people.” The last bit is spoken with a deadly intent that makes me shiver, glad that Silas is on my team.

“You stay here and keep the kid safe,” Silas says, obviously done debating anything. He motions for Ryan to follow him. Ryan looks torn between staying to protect us and going out there to protect us. After a minute he walks over and plants a short but sweet kiss on my lips.

“You’ll be okay,” he tells me, and I’m not sure which one of us he’s trying to convince. I pull away from Ryan’s arms and see Silas watching us, his eyes lingering on my lips. He looks away when I glance up at him.

“Keep it together, Blondie,” is all he imparts to me as he heads to the door.

Sunny and I watch the boys sneak out the open door before disappearing, slipping away into the shadows.

Sunny starts to cry, and I pull her more closely to my side, wincing when she burrows her head in a painful spot. I pat the girl gently on the back as I struggle to take a couple deep, not-at-all calming breaths. “It’s going to be okay, Sunny,” I tell her more confidently than I feel. “You need to be a good girl and stay quiet,” I say sternly, trying to channel my inner Silas.

I lead us past a couple rows of pews before I steer her into a row mid-aisle. She goes to sit on the seat, but I shake my head. “Let’s sit on the ground instead,” I tell her, and she slides to the floor without protest. I join her with a small huff of pain, and then we have nothing to do but wait.

I worry what the effect of seeing all this violence will have on Sunny as she grows up, if she grows up. Hell, I should probably be worried about myself too!

We hear gunfire erupt from somewhere in the church, and I grip the pistol until my knuckles turn white. I hear the door creak open, and my heart stutters in my chest. I glance carefully around the aisle and see that it isn’t Ryan or Silas, but one of the guys that helped kidnap us.

I look back at Sunny and put my finger up to my lip to warn her to be quiet. Something about my face must have alerted her to how serious this is, because she claps her hands around her mouth and closes her eyes, burrowing herself right underneath the pew. I wish I could do the same thing, but I wouldn’t fit.

The guy is breathing heavily and moving up and down the aisles, looking for us.

This is a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and I have to repeat my warning to Sunny back to myself. Every fiber of my being wants to scream at the top of my lungs.

As the guy gets closer, my mind wars with what to do. Part of me wants to pop up and shoot him, but he also has a gun and is probably a much better shot. I finally settle on hunching down further and praying that he won’t spot us.