Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 3): Mitigation Book 3) (41 page)

Sullivan’s smiled barely receded but something happened to his eyes. They narrowed and filled with anger. Whatever calm had been a part of his facade evaporated as his fury formed into threatening storms of emotion promising to burst at any moment.

Jess, her eyes still not in focus, wouldn’t have paused even if she could see the homicidal urge in Sullivan’s eyes. “She was, wasn’t she? My hero. Hey, maybe as an encore, you could take one of those kids and—”

Starting across the cafeteria, his hands balling into angry, tight fists, Sullivan’s acidic voice cut her off, “You better watch what you say bitch, ‘cause you’re next.”

From the entrance to the cafeteria, one of the Colonel’s girls, he couldn’t be sure if it was Sherry or Terry, screamed, “What are you doing? You’ve got to stop! They’re just children for God’s sake!”

Sullivan was once again hearing someone tell him what he could and what he could not do, and he had just about heard enough of that for one day. He especially didn’t like to be given orders by a woman. He’d never worked for a woman and couldn’t imagine having done so. With a murderous scowl, he looked at the woman standing in the middle of the hallway and thought about what to do for a moment.

With no other ideas surfacing immediately, Sullivan leaned back on his heels and hurled his large knife at her. The blade rocketed across the cafeteria, turning end over end as it cut through the air. Having practiced such a throw for countless hours on the Colonel’s ranch, Sullivan had gotten quite adept at throwing knives and axes over the years. This distance, however, was several more yards than that to which he had grown accustomed. The blade struck its target, but instead of sinking itself into her flesh, the silver metal only cut her. A wound opened up on her arm and her abdomen which spilled a torrent of blood from cut arteries.

The woman screamed and fell over backward. Out of Sullivan’s sight but viewing all of this was the other of Colonel Bear’s
secretaries
who had just emerged from the Colonel’s office. She saw her friend fall, scattering blood on the floor and walls. Both women were now screaming, though the one still standing took off running down the hall toward the library.

Flanked by two of his more loyal men, Colonel Bear was by then standing behind the counter separating the office from the hallway. He watched the young woman, who only moments before had been pleasuring him to his delight, run toward the library, screaming.

He looked at the two men and with his chin gestured down the hallway toward the library. His obedient men did his bidding without question. They marched down the hall and out of sight. Colonel Bear sighed heavily, already regretting what he suspected he would be forced to do. Teaching lessons to these people was something in which he had no interest. Carter, and especially Sullivan, were thankfully more willing to put forth the effort necessary to rein in people’s wills.

Seconds after his guards disappeared into the doors, the Colonel could hear the doors open again. There was commotion erupting; voices filled with anger and devoid of fear filled the echoing hallway. Jess had relit the pilot lights of their resolve and the other woman’s hysterical shouting had added fuel to the fire.

The two militiamen did their best to quiet the agitated civilians. Unfortunately, their efforts were limited to pointing their rifles and shouting at everyone to “get the fuck back!” When the two men felt like they had exhausted all their options, they started to pull their triggers.

Already excited, the civilians did not shrink away from the shooting. They surged forward, a mob with a single purpose, and quickly overwhelmed the men, who were bludgeoned to death with boot heels, fists, and the butts of their own rifles turned against them.

A new voice found its way above the others in the hallway. It was one of the men who had refused to join his militia; Daniel maybe. He was trying to get them organized. The Colonel could tell by their frantic voices that they had guns and were now trying to decide how best to use them. There were only a few brief moments before the uprising would likely begin. It would likely be messy and the Colonel didn’t have the resources to be able to fight a battle outside against the skins and one inside against...his slaves.

The Colonel shook his head and sighed a disappointed chest full of air. The hallway was now bubbling with new voices and with questions. There was doubt where there had only been fear and control before. Again the Colonel sighed. He had so hoped his efforts could lead to a new beginning. Apparently it wasn’t going to be this time. He would simply have to try again. He was going to miss his little mistresses, but he had to do what he had to do. He had to have control, especially now. He couldn’t allow this moment to slip away from him.

Colonel Bear took a small contraption from a wooden box on the counter. The olive colored device wasn’t much larger than a cell phone but looked kind of like a hole puncher. He clicked off the safety and then detonated the claymore mines which lined the hallway walls outside the library.

The explosion shook the school to its core. The shrapnel, without anywhere else to go, careened seemingly endlessly off the walls, wreaking a bloody vengeance upon flesh with utter abandon. The intensity of the blast forced a rush of hot, fiery air to surge through the hallways, knocking the Colonel, who hadn’t anticipated the fury of the explosion, onto his large posterior. The gush of wind along with the concussion of the explosion also set Sullivan off balance, sending him to the floor as well.

Taking the opportunity to get around him, Danny stood up and tried to run into the back rooms to find Claire. He took one step and was tackled by the big, scary man. Danny kicked and struggled, but the man was just too big, too strong, and too willing to be mean. Very quickly, the man had his hands around Danny’s throat and was squeezing until Danny’s eyes felt like they would burst from the pressure.

Danny was fairly certain the man was going to kill him until Jess intervened with a kick to Sullivan’s side. The man let up his grip slightly, but didn’t release Danny. When Jess reared back to deliver another kick, Sullivan rolled and grabbed her leg. He pulled her to the floor, punching her between the shoulder blades.

Luckily, Danny was able to extricate himself from the fray. He retreated to the wall and pulled his legs up to his chest. He’d never been so afraid in all his life. Trying to draw him out from his stupor, Jules yelled, “Danny! Do something! He’ll kill ‘er!”

Sullivan had finally gotten his hand onto the back of Jess’ head and was in the process of forcing it down violently onto the floor. Danny shook and in so doing, he felt that familiar weight in his jacket pocket.

Danny stood and pulled the revolver from his pocket. He screamed at the top of his voice, “Leavvvvve her alooooooone!”

Sullivan stopped and smiled up at Danny. If the man was afraid at all, he was doing an amazing job hiding it. Danny immediately felt like the man was more in control of the situation than he was, despite the fact that it was Danny who was holding the firearm.

Sullivan sneered, “Kid, unless you’re ready to use that thing, you better not make a habit of pointing it at people.”

Danny wilted. The gun began to sag and droop in front of him, like a lifeless tree branch ready to be pruned. The pistol felt so heavy and the trigger seemed so impossible. Sullivan was probably right. The image of the other man Danny had inadvertently shot flashed into his mind. It had happened so quickly. There had been no thinking on Danny’s part; he only reacted and then the man was dead. This felt so different; so premeditated and vengeful. It felt so much more real and calculated.

Danny was crying frustrated and fearful tears by then, which Sullivan saw and relished. The man’s smile grew until it filled the entire room. He laughed. “I knew you didn’t have it in you. You’re no killer.”

From behind and to the side of Danny, Emma shouted, “No, but I am!” She fired two three-round bursts from close range, all the bullets striking Sullivan in the torso and legs. He tried to move as the bullets punched holes into and through his body, breaking bones and laying waste to internal organs. His right lung, pierced completely through from front to back, filled with blood and collapsed. Another bullet shattered his torso. Still another found its way to his groin, emasculating him violently. Sullivan fell backward with an ugly, startling thud.

Jerry was already running over to Danny, who was still pointing his gun at the dead or dying Sullivan. Danny was still crying. He was ashamed. He needed to be strong and he was unable. He felt like he’d let down Jules, Nikki, and Paul; not to mention Jess who was very nearly beaten to death.

Jerry stepped next to Danny and slowly lowered Danny’s arm back to his side, removing the pistol from his hand. Sensing Danny’s frustration, he said reassuringly, “I’m proud of you, buddy.”

Danny looked up at Jerry questioningly. He couldn’t possibly guess the source of Jerry’s pride. He didn’t need an explanation though. He just wanted to get away from the school. He wanted to be away from the zombies. He wanted to feel safe again. At the moment, burrowing himself into Jerry’s jacket and chest would suffice. He hugged himself to Jerry and felt Jules’ little arms when she joined the embrace.

Jerry whispered to both of them, “I’m so sorry. I promised I’d protect both of you.”

“You came for us, Jerry,” Jules said. “You kept your promise.”

There was no time to discuss any of it at the moment. They needed to get away while the zekes were still threatening but not yet overrunning the base. Emma asked, “Where’s Claire? Where’s Alec?”

Danny turned to look toward the rooms in the dark corner. “I think Claire may be back there.”

Jules said, “We haven’t seen Alec since we got here.”

Jerry ran by her toward the doors to which Danny had referred. Jerry opened one but immediately ran across the hall to the next. He paused in the doorway, his breath taken away by what he saw.

Emma watched Jerry’s posture sink, his shoulders rolling forward sadly as if he was trying to wrap himself in a warm, protective cocoon. His whole body shook as he was swept by a sudden emotional wave. He didn’t seem capable of moving into the room on his own accord.

Emma stood up from the kids and walked over to where Jerry was standing. She touched his shoulder gently and stepped up next to him. The room was lit with a single, flickering incandescent bulb. The rank stench of body odor and human waste punctuated the already heavy, moist air hanging in the room.

Lying motionless atop a workshop classroom bench was the seemingly lifeless body of Claire. The gray-green tabletop surface was spattered and smeared with drops and streaks of blood, her blood.

Emma swallowed her gasp and whispered, “Do you want me to...?”

Jerry stepped into the room and slowly approached Claire. She was neither moving nor breathing. His hand shaking fearfully, Jerry reached out and touched Claire’s bruised and bloodied face. Her skin was cold and somewhat spongy, the result of the beating she had received. Jerry wasn’t entirely sure about what he was feeling.

The air was warm and sticky, like a small weight room where all the heat and smells from the lifters is trapped upon itself, and yet his skin crawled with goose bumps. His feet and hands hung so heavily at his side, but his head felt light and dizzy like a balloon threatening to drift away.

Emma, mindful of the fact that they had limited time with which to work, pivoted around Jerry. She stepped lightly, almost on her tiptoes, toward Claire. Even from this distance, she could see that Claire’s life had already fled. Seeing Claire’s mangled hands and feet on the table drew a gasp from Emma. She hoped Jerry hadn’t seen them yet. Emma knew she needed to get Jerry out of that room. She had precious little time and needed to act.

Emma grabbed Jerry’s arm and tried to pull him away but he was immovable; a statue with a vacant, pale face staring forever at his doom. Emma was suddenly gripped with fear.
What if she couldn’t get Jerry on the move again? Could she keep everyone going by herself?
And the fact that kept rearing its head through her doubt and indecision was that there was no time for any of it. The shooting and screaming and fighting outside was still loud and raging, but it couldn’t last. There were only so many bullets and a finite number of targets. When the shooting stopped, she would know that the clock had stopped ticking for them.

“Jerry, we need to go.” The words came without Emma’s knowledge or conscious intent. It was as if her thoughts became self-aware and took to flight of their own will. When she repeated them, she was less surprised, but in both instances Jerry either willfully ignored her or was unable to respond. Either way, her message did little to alleviate her anxiety or spur Jerry to action.

Jerry finally said, his eyes moving no more than his feet, “Go on without me. I’m gonna stay here with her. She shouldn’t be left her alone like this. She... I mean I....” His thoughts were as muddled as his speech. He was having a hard time understanding what had happened, let alone why.

Emma pleaded, “Jerry, she’s gone. I’m sorry but there’s nothing we can do for her.” She grabbed his arms and forced him around to look her in the eyes. “I need your help. Those kids...they need your help. Please.” By the time her final word emerged Emma was crying, which made her angry. She hated to cry. She resented her loss of control as a result of crying...the sniffling, the blubbering, the hyperventilating. She hated all of it.