Zombie Rage (Walking Plague Trilogy #2) (4 page)

“Anna, if we can get your uncle and your dad better, then maybe we can help others, too.”

“
But if you think that...that drowning is the cure, then why didn’t you just do it to...” She couldn’t finish but Carla knew Anna was referring to her father.

“
Listen to me, Anna, listen to reason.” It was the closest Carla had come to an order with the teen. “Joe has been infected longer than your dad. We have no idea how this condition will play out. But we’re sure, pretty sure, that this is what helped Mike. Joe may not have much time. And if it helps him, it’s better to help him first because your father is only in the first...stage.” Stage of what, Carla still wasn’t sure. But she knew her logic was sound.

“
So, it’s not time to...do
it
yet?”

It
being, of course, drowning her father. Carla shook her head and Anna’s face creased in understanding.

It was then that Jared finally took Anna’s hand. Anna held on tight. Carla’s reaction was a mixture of joy and concern. Yes, they were both so young, but Carla could tell by their connection that this was no puppy love.

Chapter Nine

Mike had time to think during the drive down to Sunset Beach. He knew it would be smarter to take on Joe alone, and recalled again about how powerful he himself had been in that blood-thirsty state.

“A man’s got to know his limitations,” he said to himself, thinking of Clint Eastwood. In spite of the circumstances he smiled a little at the quote. It would have been good to have Bad Ass Clint with him now. Or good ol’ Bruce Willis.

As it was, he was alone and he was going to drown his best friend to save his friend’s life. He hoped. He was mostly sure that was the cure.

In order to do this, he needed to get Joe alone. Mike remembered his previous heightened senses, especially that of smell—something which Joe and Stetson would surely pick up on. Most likely, they would catch Mike’s scent as human again. That would be disastrous. So this shit that was coming down had to be quick and dirty.

Mike pulled onto the highway shoulder and got out of the car. Just to his right, there was a small, private beach, but it was winter, so this particular beach wasn’t too populated during the night. He felt it was safe enough.

He entered the restroom. He checked the toilets; there were only two in the men’s room. The place was empty. He walked out onto the sandy beach. There were a few campfire rings made of large rocks. Mike prayed for luck. The first one was cleaned out. So was the second. He ventured a little further, and found that the third fire ring still had some firewood. One large piece of wood in particular. He hefted the weight of it. It would do.

Mike thanked whatever gods were helping him and carried the large, heavy log into the restroom. He put the trash can into the larger handicapped stall and buried the wooden log underneath some used paper towels.

Mike washed his hands to get rid of the gritty charcoal from the half-burned log. He returned to his car. Other vehicles sped by at an alarming rate.

Everyone speeds in California
, he thought to himself. He kept to the right side of the car and let the air out of the back right tire.

Then Mike Mendoza called his best Navy buddy, Joe Carter.

“I got a flat tire and the spare is bad.”

“
So, how far away are you?” Joe asked as he frowned into the phone.

“
About eight miles,” Mike answered from the side of the highway. “I’d run the distance myself, it would be a piece of cake. But I’m not clothed for running. And the beaches are private around here, I’m pretty sure. Can you pick me up?”

Mike knew that was a lie, of course, as there were no private beaches in California. Hopefully Joe wouldn’t pick up on that.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another,
Joe thought to himself. Joe had been ecstatic that Mike was coming down and was on board with their plan. Now they were going to have to be careful to not attract any attention whatsoever.

Sunset Beach was a kind of ritzy, but also a sleepy, kick-back community and all they needed for their kind of party was one houseful of people—human flesh. Yes.
Yes.

Joe was almost past self-control. He’d waited for Mike to come celebrate and now this. Mike needed Joe’s help.

“Joe?” Mike’s voice came through the cell phone. A wash of brief anger rushed through Joe’s veins. There was a small amount of control left, though. If he had to pick up Mike, then so be it.

“
I’m here,” Joe said grimly.

Stetson was listening to Joe’s half of the conversation with growing anxiety. Stetson was intelligent. He thought he smelled something fishy, and not from just the ocean nearby. He shook his head at Joe, but Joe ignored him.

Perhaps it was fate that caused Joe to ignore the doctor/scientist in his mind. Instead of letting logic dictate his actions, emotion ruled him at the moment...and Mike was his friend. In either case, Joe got directions to where Mike said he was stranded and hung up.

“
You’re sure about this?” Stetson asked.

“
Of course, I’m sure,” Joe answered defensively. “But I really don’t want to drive the car I stole. Can’t take any chances.”

“
There’s a car in the garage,” Stetson reasoned. “I think the keys are hanging by the door. It’s safe. Use it.”

Chapter Ten

Mike Mendoza waited by the bathroom door until he saw a car pull up behind his. He remained hidden in the shadows as he watched Joe get out and look around.

“
Joe?”
Mike made a retching sound.

“
Mike, where are you?”

“
I’m in the bathroom,” Mike said and coughed for good measure. “I’m sick, Joe. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Are you feeling okay?”

“
You’re sick?” Joe frowned. Joe relished his strength now and almost couldn’t remember what it was like to feel ill. But maybe this was some phase of...whatever it was. “Maybe you shouldn’t come with me, then.” Joe felt a little guilty, but he and Stetson had plans that night for some decent flesh. The craving was overpowering.

“
No, don’t leave me here, please,” Mike begged, gagging a little more. He had to lure Joe into the bathroom. This was his only chance. “I bet it was some...bad meat, you know? I’ve been really careful, but maybe that deer wasn’t a good choice.”

Joe Carter was torn. He was so hungry. He’d just driven a car that smelled of human flesh and he had to
eat
.

But Army buddies are for life, Joe reminded himself. And if he could just get Mike back to the cottage, well, if Mike didn’t want to join them in their first nightly hunt, he could stay and babysit that son of a bitch Cole, the Agent in Black.

“You’re in the bathroom by your car?” Joe asked.

Mike hid his relief. It was going to work. Had to. “Can you come in here? I think I need a little help to the car.”

“All right,” Joe agreed. “But you’re gonna have to get better, man.”

“
I will, I know I will. I’m hungry, and I can smell...”

“
Stop,” Joe said. “I am, too, bro. I can barely stand it. On my way.”

Joe could hear Mike groaning as he neared the restroom.
Shit.
He hadn’t planned on this. All he could think of was getting Mike into the car and getting this over with, and then....

Joe’s overpowering cravings left him completely unprepared when he entered the bathroom and Mike jumped out. The log came crashing down toward Joe’s head.

Chapter Eleven

“
What the fuck—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Mike slammed the hard wood into his face, and then his gut. Joe was surprised and dazed only for a second, but that was all the time Mike needed. He whipped out the handcuffs Carla had given him and slapped them onto Joe’s wrists.

“Hey! Are you
insane?!
”

Mike had wanted to get Joe’s hands behind his back but Joe’s instant fury and strength scared him. Joe’s eyes gleamed red—a deadly red—as he brought his hands up, ready to bring them down on Mike, who was now up against the wall.

Mike ducked at the last minute and Joe’s hands hit the tiles, shattering them. Mike picked up the log, rolled behind Joe and locked the door. He meant to butt Joe in the back of the head but Joe turned too quickly and took the blow on the side of his face. One of Joe’s teeth flew across the public bathroom.

Joe still couldn’t believe he’d been tricked like this just as  Mike kicked him hard, sending Joe sprawling into the bathroom stall.

Jesus,
Mike thought as he brought the log down again, this would have killed anyone else. But Joe uttered a low growl so Mike hit him again, this time drawing serious blood from the back of Joe’s head.

Mike didn’t let himself even think as he brought Joe’s hands up above the toilet handle and shoved Joe’s head into the bowl. The lid came crashing down. Mike instantly sat on it and began flushing.

Again, the element of surprise helped more than anything else. Joe hadn’t been expecting this. He used all his strength to get his face out of the water, but Mike managed to hold him down.

Christ, he’s drowning me!
Joe panicked. He could only hold his breath so long. A wave of fear filled him. He struggled...but he was losing strength fast. Joe couldn’t think of anything else as the first dose of water filled his lungs.

And still Mike kept flushing. He was sweating, scared.
What the fucking hell am I doing? I’m killing my best friend.
He fought for reason as well as strength.
No. I’m saving him. This will cure him. It has to, because if it doesn’t I’m totally fucked. We all are.

So, he kept flushing.

The sensation of drowning swept all logic from Joe’s mind. Nothing mattered
but
getting air
.
He forgot all about feeding, about his strength, even that this was Mike Mendoza doing this.

His lungs flooded with every desperate effort to inhale, and whatever thoughts he did have faded—his heart slowly stopped beating and Joe Carter finally stopped struggling.

Chapter Twelve

It wasn’t until Joe Carter’s body convulsed a final time, and his twitching arms and legs finally went limp that Mike stopped flushing. Now, Mike was dripping with sweat. It wasn’t easy to drown someone he knew, not even a zombie, or whatever the hell Joe had become...or was about to become.

Now, the only sound in the bathroom was the magnified echo of his own panting.

Mike’s own body was shaking as he climbed off the toilet seat that held Joe’s body.
Jesus fucking Christ
. Mike backed away and stared at Joe’s lifeless body. He wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve. He realized he was bleeding from the stitches he’d received.

Least of your worries. Get a hold of yourself, Mendoza.

Carefully, he removed Joe’s hands from the top of the toilet and pulled his head out of the bowl. Joe lay still, in a heap on the dirty, smelly floor.
Maybe I drowned him too much
, he thought to himself and let out a hysterical laugh. It was too much for him. Yes, he’d been trained to kill, but never had he dreamed that he would do something like this.

Joe’s eyes were still open, which was creepy. Mike turned him on his side. Nothing.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit
.
Now what am I going to do?

He was furious with himself, with Joe for not breathing, with the whole goddamned situation. He wiped his face again and kicked his friend in the back.

The restroom door jiggled. Someone was trying to get in.

“
Use the women’s,” he called out, hoping he sounded a lot more calm than he felt.

“
Is everything okay in there?” a concerned voice called. “We heard some commotion.”

“
My friend here is just a little sick.” The understatement of the year. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Just give us a moment, okay?”

Whoever it was apparently didn’t buy it. “How come I don’t hear anyone but you?”

It was then that Joe started coughing. Mike was so relieved he actually let out a laugh—this time, a normal one. Joe was spurting and coughing and making such a ruckus that Mike raised his voice. “Hear that? That’s my friend. He’s going to be okay. All right?”

“
Well, all right,” the voice answered back. “Maybe we’ll check on you in a few. Just in case you need some help.”

“
Fine,” Mike answered. He wasn’t paying attention anymore. He clapped Joe on the back as Joe coughed and then vomited.