A Dark Evolution (Book 2): Deranged (21 page)

“Tom, get Sophie too!”

Kala marched out from the trees with long, even strides. The assault rifle was already at her shoulder, and she maintained her sighting as she moved. Andrea saw her when Kala was only fifteen or twenty feet away. She shrieked.

“Tom! She’s back!” Tom spun around toward her, reaching for his rifle.

“I don’t want to kill you, Tom,” Kala said coldly, as she continued her forward march. Tom was only ten feet in front of her now, a shot even a child could not miss. Andrea was fifteen feet to her right, at the rear of the SUV. “You, Andrea,” she said without shifting her gaze. “I do want to kill.”

Sophie had stopped her playing around and stared at them with her mouth forming a big “O.”

“Sophie, get in our tent right now,” she told the girl.

“But Kala-”

“Right now, Sophie,” she said sternly. She had never spoken crossly to the girl before now, and Sophie hung her head and stomped to their tent, ducking inside. Kala was sure there would be tears in her eyes. She felt bad because she wanted her bond with Sophie to be one of trust and love.
Love means discipline,
her mother had told her, usually when she was being punished. That one never really made sense to her.

Andrea made a quick movement and Kala fired, sending a bullet whizzing inches from Tom’s face. His eyes widened and his face visibly paled. “The next one will be through his fucking face, Andrea, now drop what you’re holding.” The single-shot muzzleloader pistol Andrea had just picked up clunked onto the ground.

“Now Tom, listen to me very carefully-”

At that moment, James burst out of his tent, holding the double barreled twelve-gauge. He was shirtless, and wore only some boxer briefs over surprisingly muscular legs. “What the?” he said as he paused in mid-stride. His eyes moved from Kala to Tom and then Andrea. Then he saw Dylan lying on the ground and the spark of realization must have hit home. He placed one palm under the barrel of his shotgun but did not raise it.

“Kala,” Tom said. “This idea of yours is insane. You’ll get us all killed. And
he
probably isn’t going to make it anyway.”

“Get back in the tent, Sophie,” Kala said as she caught the little girl peeking out through the corner of her eye.

“You can do what you want Kala, but we need to do what’s best for our family, for the children,” Andrea said, a well-practiced desperation in her voice.

“Come on James, you know we’re right,” Tom said, glancing over to the young man as he stood outside his tent. Mae now stood right behind him. When he tried to shush her back, she stood rigid, her pale eyes sucking up every detail. “She’s lost it, call it young love, or psychosis, I don’t care. We can’t let her go through with this, man. Help us, please!”

Kala never dropped her sights from Tom’s face, but observed James from the corner of her eye as he processed this new information. Mae stepped up to his ear and whispered something so softly it was carried away by the wind. After a moment he nodded, and Mae slipped back into the tent behind him.

“Tom, lower the rifle to the ground by its shoulder strap. Do not touch the stock.”

Tom didn’t move, his eyes flicking between Andrea and James.

“James, please, listen to reason. She’s on a suicide mission. Come with us. We can start over together, make a life and take care of each other. Now is the time to stand with us,” Andrea said. Each word made Kala twitch just a little. She could not believe the betrayal, it cut through her so deep, but she could not let those thoughts rise up now, or the sadness and anger would completely overtake her.

James stepped forward toward the uneasy standoff, making the fourth point on the diamond that was Kala, Tom, and Andrea. Kala’s heart was pounding madly now as she watched the shotgun out of the corner of her eye.

“You’re right, Andrea. Her plan is nuts.”

Kala’s heart dropped.

“I don’t like the plan, and it’s dangerous as hell.” He raised the shotgun. “But I like yours even less.”

What?

James narrowed his eyes at Andrea, the obvious brains behind this half-cocked plan. “There’s only one person I know who would give her life to save a friend she only met a month ago. And that’s Kala. She has guided us, helped us to find food, and kept us safe. Friends don’t abandon each other when things get tough, they also don’t leave each other marooned on the side of the damn highway.”

“James,” Andrea pleaded, “we can help each other.”

Now James actually chuckled. “You see, Andrea, I think that if Kala hadn’t woken me up with that gunshot, you two would have been fifty miles down the road before I knew anything about it. Help each other? No,” he shook his head, “you don't want to help me, or us, or anyone but yourself.” James raised the shotgun, leveling it out at Andrea’s chest. “Now Tom, I really suggest you do what Kala said. From the look on her face, she’s about ready to kill every one of you.”

He wasn’t wrong, Kala’s finger trembled with eight pounds of force on the ten-pound trigger. She would not let them take her supplies, and they sure as hell weren’t going anywhere with Sophie. Slow, long breaths blew out of Kala’s mouth as she watched Tom carefully lower the slung weapon to the ground. She mentally breathed a sigh of relief, but now she had another problem. What the hell was she going to do with them?

“Tom no! No!” Andrea screamed, then started crying hysterically, batting at her hair and scratching her face with her nails. Tom looked dumbfounded by his wife’s crazy outburst.

“Andrea, we can’t-” Tom began.

Suddenly Andrea loosed a howl, tilting her head back. “I can’t - I just can’t anymore!”

Shit!
Kala saw Andrea’s eyes flick to the open driver’s door and knew what was about to happen. The now hysterical Andrea leapt for the driver’s door, launching herself in over the seat and pulling herself to a sitting position.

“Andrea no!” Tom screamed and started running toward her.

Kala pivoted, the iron sights coming to bear on Andrea. She didn’t want to shoot her but she couldn’t let her take their ride.

“Stop Andrea!” Tom screamed again, and Kala heard Devon crying from the backseat. Andrea reached for the gearshift.
I’m sorry Devon.
The Kalashnikov barked once, shuddering and bucking in her grip. Kala lowered the gun as Andrea dropped out of the truck. She was screaming madly and hyperventilating. A bright red spot was blooming behind her left shoulder where Kala shot her. She rolled on the ground, crying in pain. Kala sighed. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Andrea had been her friend, or at least Kala thought she was, and that made the bitterness of her betrayal so much worse.

Shouldering the rifle, she threw James a look and motioned to the AR that Tom had left on the ground. James nodded and went over to retrieve the weapon while Kala examined Andrea. She was losing steam quickly, panting instead of screaming. Big tears streaked down her face and she held her shoulder. Kala rolled her to her stomach, avoiding Andrea’s clawing hands as she did. It was a perfect shot, through the shoulder and out, bursting through her clavicle as it went. She could tell from the modest amount of blood seeping out of her that no artery had been hit. She would live, maybe, but she would need a hospital.
Ironic,
Kala thought bitterly.

Kala rose and left Tom to fiddle over his wife while she removed the keys from the truck’s ignition and pocketed them. She retrieved their first aid box and pulled out a bottle of peroxide, some loose gauze, and two large self-stick gauze pads.

“Hold her still, Tom,” Kala ordered. She poured peroxide over the larger wound on Andrea’s front, then pushed some of the loose gauze down into the wound. Andrea howled louder at what must have been excruciating pain. With the blood temporarily staunched, Kala placed the plastic lined self-stick pad over top of the bullet hole, sealing the wound. She repeated the process on the back of Andrea’s shoulder. “She’ll live, Tom, but she’ll need a hospital.”

Tom fell back onto his bottom and wept. She didn’t blame him. They were screwed and he knew it.

“Now what?” James asked from behind her. He was holding the confiscated weapons and his own shotgun.

“James, I really don’t know - but we’re leaving tonight. Whether these two live or die...well I just don’t know. Sophie, you can come out now honey. James, can you get Devon out of the truck? Maybe see if Mae will hang with them for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he said and moved away.

Kala stood and took his arm. He looked at her curiously. “Thanks for having my back.”

James nodded and flashed his crooked grin at her, then ducked inside the SUV.

“I’m going to check on Dylan,” she said and walked over to her friend, who looked more dead than alive, lying on the ground like he was. She placed a hand on his forehead and felt that his fever was still burning high, roasting the boy’s brain. His pulse was good though, and for that she was thankful. She placed a hand on his warm chest and frowned. His breaths were shallow...but rapid.
That’s odd,
she thought. Kala would have thought his breathing would be slowed, but his chest rose and fell quickly, in shallow, subtle breaths. It was like he was panting.

She opened his mouth with her fingers, making sure there was nothing blocking his airway. It was clear, but his throat and tongue looked swollen. Kala shook her head. His skin was turning grey, and while she didn’t know much about African American skin, she knew that wasn’t good. When they had met in the airport, Dylan had a rich, warm, brown complexion. He now looked like he was draining away, leaving his life and his color behind. She set about removing the bandages from his leg, hoping she could clean it a little then redress it. What she saw when the last of the bandage came off knocked her to her butt. She stared down at his calf, holding the rotten bandaging. Then she started to cry. She couldn’t hold it in, she wouldn’t even try. The wound was black, as was the flesh around it for several inches. Streaks of grey were spider webbing out from the wound, faint, but there.

“Goddammit. Goddammit, why won’t you help us, just a little!” she cried, looking up to the sky, where the only living things left were soldiers patrolling by attack helicopter. “You really have abandoned us, haven’t You?”

The first shot only clipped it through the shoulder, so Robert quickly pumped the shotgun and fired again. The big slug caught the creature in the top of its face, blowing off the crown of its skull in a shower of brains and bone. It dropped to the ground forty yards from Robert’s hiding spot. Then Jackson's gun barked,
once, twice-

“They're coming over the fence!” Jackson screamed and fired again.

Robert’s first instinct was to run to his aid, but Jackson had a good position and now Robert was the only one protecting the flank of the farm. Mary's rifle
boomed
from up on the roof; there was a pause as she resighted, then it sounded again, raining down hot, leaden death from above. Robert heard quiet popping coming from a little farther off, that would be Jonas, at the other side of the barn facing out.
My god,
Robert thought,
they're coming from every direction.
He did not have time to panic though, for just then two teenage zombies came flying around from the back field, crashing through the disabled fence.

Robert tracked one of the fast-moving teenage killers. The shotgun roared and bucked in his grip and one long-haired, shirtless zombie tumbled to the ground. Its partner immediately turned in Robert’s direction. Robert was hidden in the cab of the tractor, but would be easily spotted as soon as the creature got close enough. Robert fired two rounds but missed with both. Hitting a running target was difficult even for accomplished shooters, and Robert’s aged, arthritic hands were not holding the gun as steady as they had in his youth.

The zombie leapt up onto the large brush-hog attachment on the back of the tractor that Robert and Manuel had used to clear several acres of overgrowth just days ago. Though he was dead quiet, Robert was dripping nervous perspiration, and finally the teenager caught his scent and locked on, lunging up from the big platform toward the cab. Robert craned his body as far around as he could in the tight space and brought the shotgun over and up just as the young monster came barreling into the cab. The shotgun bucked in his hands once more, and the zombie’s head was vaporized only an inch from the end of the barrel. The cab of the tractor was painted a dirty red with the boy’s brains, and Robert wiped a nervous palm through the sticky blood that covered his face.

Robert pressed back against the seat, trying to regain his breath, but each wheezing pull of air his lungs took in, brought more of the iron rich stink of the young man’s blood. He threw up, coating his legs and feet with vomit. He was getting dizzy, and he felt like consciousness was starting to slip away from him. Robert was fading away, his head becoming lighter and lighter and his chest felt like it was being gently squeezed. Somewhere far off in another world he heard a man scream. There were many more gunshots, and someone screamed close by. It was getting louder, too loud, and all he wanted to do was rest. A warm bed waiting for him, he just had to get there, and he was wading through his mind, looking for its comfort. The screams did not relent, and he clearly heard his daughter Mary.

“They’re overrunning us!” Followed by more rapid gunshots. Suddenly the warm, comfortable place was jerked away from him, and Robert took a sharp, startled breath. His eyes opened to a painfully bright day, and the stink of blood and vomit.
What happened?
he asked himself, then Jackson cried out.

“Help us, someone help us!” Robert’s vision snapped into place and he dropped the shotgun by his feet. His hand fell to the ignition key and turned, the giant diesel engine roaring to life. Robert didn’t know what he was doing until his hands and feet started working on their own, pushing the tractor into gear. He rode straight up to Jackson’s sniper nest, where his son-in-law was trying desperately to fend off the zombies.

“Jackson!” he cried. “Get everyone in the van and move out, do it now!”

“We’re pinned in, Robert, we’ll never make it out!”

“Just do it, goddammit!” Robert shouted at the frightened man. He powered around the stack of hives and the front of the barn and the driveway came into view. It was swimming with the living dead. Six of them were piled up in a mad frenzy and Robert realized, when he saw Jonas pumping rounds into the pile, that Manuel was underneath them, being ripped apart by the monsters. His stomach lurched again, thinking of his oldest friend being killed by those creatures. Robert sounded the loud air horn on the tractor and everyone, including Jonas, and Mary up on the roof, looked at him. The zombies fixated on him for a moment.

“Get the fuck out of there, Jonas! Get everyone into the van!” he cried madly, then pushed the throttle up on the engine and engaged the brush-hog behind him. The brush-hog was a ten foot wide by ten foot long rolling platform dragged behind the tractor. It stood three feet off the ground on tall wheels and beneath the platform were hundreds of spinning blades used to clear out thick brush. Robert saw Jonas’s eyes widen for a moment, then the young man sprinted away from the group of zombies, who were now massed together and moving toward the tractor.

There must have been thirty of the bloodthirsty creatures, with more coming down the road in ones and twos. Robert screamed a loud battle cry and slammed the tractor into gear. It roared as the big engine revved up to speed. In only seconds, he plowed straight into the group of raging monsters, crushing them under his giant wheels before grinding them into bloody bits of pulp with the bush-hog. He drove through the middle of the pack, with the accelerator all the way down. Ten of the zombies went down right away, then Robert spun the wheel hand over hand, almost jackknifing himself as he turned one hundred eighty degrees to continue his reign of terror, chopping the bodies into gooey chunks under the massive spinning blades. Some of the zombies were fleeing toward the house after Jonas, who was helping Mary after she climbed down off the ladder. Robert caught the fleeing zombies quickly, and ground them into bloody chunks.

“Hurry! he screamed, but already he saw Jackson and Mark hustling the women and children out of the house, piling them into Mark’s minivan.

“Get out of here!” Robert screamed to Mary, who had paused to watch him. Jonas pulled his daughter out of the way and nearly shoved her in the van. Robert saw that Manuel's family was safely inside the vehicle before executing one last turn back toward the driveway. The zombies were massing again, somehow replenishing their depleted numbers. Now there were more than ever, and they were running at him at full speed. He tried to destroy as many as he could, but several jumped up onto the tractor, having witnessed the others’ grisly deaths.

Robert kept the gas floored as the tractor was overrun, he kept going down the driveway, plowing the path clear for his family. Even as the first zombie reached in and grabbed his neck, crushing his larynx, his foot stayed firm on the gas. The big zombie that had him by the neck screamed into his face, his breath a rancid mix of rot and blood. Then he yanked forward and the old farmer’s neck cracked, and he ripped Robert’s throat out in a shower of gore. Robert’s hazy old eyes rolled up. He thought he heard the rush of an engine passing by the tractor. He hoped it was his family escaping, and then the world faded away into a sweet black nothing where he felt no more pain, and no more fear.